Arcane: Mage from Noxus

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The clamor of war had finally settled, leaving behind the echoes of steel and victory cries. Noxus had triumphed once again, their banners flying high over conquered lands.

Du Couteau's army, seasoned by countless campaigns, moved with precision and discipline, carrying out their post-battle duties with unshakable order.

In his secluded tent, Ryan, a military mage appointed by the Empire, poured himself a glass of strong Noxian liquor.

The fiery drink, known to ignite the soul as much as the throat, awaited not only his enjoyment but also the arrival of particular guests.

The tent's entrance flared open, revealing the towering figure of General Du Couteau. His confident stride exuded the authority of a man undefeated in battle.

Behind him followed Katarina, his eldest daughter, her crimson hair falling limp around a face drained of its usual resolve. Her eyes, once brimming with fiery ambition, now seemed to bear the weight of doubt and failure.

Ryan allowed himself a brief moment to admire her vulnerability—a rarity for the infamous Blade of Noxus—before turning his full attention back to the general.

"I brought this from the Immortal Bastion," Ryan said, holding up the bottle of spirits.

"Word is, General Du Couteau never misses a drink after a victory."

Du Couteau stepped forward without hesitation, seizing the jug with a firm grip.

"You don't strike me as one of the Trifarix's lapdogs," he remarked, his tone sharp.

"You carry yourself more like a pawn of the Black Rose."

Unfazed, Ryan shrugged. "No one says the Trifarix must all be warmongers, just as not every Black Rose agent is a scheming mage."

The Trifarix was Noxus's new governing body, created to reshape the empire into a meritocratic force. Its three heads represented Vision, Might, and Guile—a balance of ideals to guide Noxus into a new age.

The Black Rose, on the other hand, had been rooted in the shadows of Noxian politics since the empire's inception, weaving their influence into every regime change.

He had been approached by the Pale Lady herself, offered a seat within the Black Rose if he were willing to betray his old commander. Immortality, she promised, and a place of power within their hidden network.

But he had refused. His loyalty lay with his commander, the man who had saved him in the Battle of Presidian when the Empire had all but abandoned them. He would never forget how his leader had rallied the remnants of their forces and dragged them from the brink of annihilation.

The memory flickered through Ryan's mind as he refocused on Du Couteau.

Du Couteau tipped the jug back, taking a long, heavy swig. The liquor burned like wildfire down his throat—a true Noxian brew, unyielding and relentless.

Ryan's words carried more weight than casual banter, and Du Couteau knew it. The young mage's presence here was no coincidence.

The general's gaze lingered on Ryan, sharp and calculating. The mage's allegiance to the Trifarix—the ruling council of Noxus led by Swain, Darius, and LeBlanc—was clear. But his origins were far more mysterious.

Ryan wasn't born of Noxus—or even this world.

He had walked the verdant fields of Ionia and roamed the shining spires of Demacia, yet it was Noxus that had embraced him. In this empire of ambition, one's worth was determined by strength, skill, and cunning—not birthright.

And Ryan thrived.

"This Empire isn't perfect," Ryan began, his voice calm but resolute.

"But it's a place where talent can flourish. Whether it's strength, magic, or intellect—Noxus rewards those who prove themselves. That's why I'm here, General. The Trifarix isn't interested in petty infighting anymore. It's time for Noxus to rise beyond its borders, united."

Du Couteau drained the jug, setting it down with a heavy thud. Despite the potency of the drink, his expression only grew sharper—more focused.

Ryan's meaning was clear. The Trifarix sought alliances, and the general's support would be pivotal. Yet, Du Couteau was a man who valued independence. His loyalty was to the empire itself, not to the shifting factions that often threatened its stability.

Although Du Couteau's power and influence were undeniable, he had managed to maintain his independence amidst Noxus' ever-shifting political landscape.

For now, he saw no need to pledge allegiance to any particular faction. Yet, with the empire on the cusp of monumental change, even a man as formidable as Du Couteau had to consider his position carefully.

Having resolved his thoughts, Du Couteau turned his cold gaze toward his daughter, who stood silently behind him, her posture betraying a faint sense of inner turmoil. Without softening his tone, he spoke, his words sharp and deliberate:

"I am a General who conquers new territories, not a pawn in the games of imperial politics. I answer only to the highest authority in the Empire. However, I didn't come here to discuss that."

Ryan, reclining in his seat with an air of casual confidence, shifted his gaze to Katarina. A faint, knowing smile curved his lips.

"Please," he said, gesturing politely.

"Go on."

"I don't tolerate recklessness in my ranks," Du Couteau said coldly, his words cutting through the tension like a blade.

Ryan's gaze flicked to Katarina, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

"Trifarix isn't a charity, General. If she wishes to rise, it'll have to be earned."

The General, Du Couteau, played his part perfectly, adhering to his personal philosophy of using hardship to forge strength in his children.

Ryan, though inwardly skeptical of raising children through such ruthless methods, chose to remain silent. Family matters were not his place to intervene, especially when the father willingly served as a tool for his daughter's growth.

Katarina stood silently, her expression as cold as steel. Being evaluated like a piece of cargo didn't stir anger or hysteria within her—merely a flicker of dissatisfaction.

Noxus was built on the principle that the strong decide the fate of the weak, and the strong must never hinder the weak from rising. Strength alone dictated one's destiny.

Katarina had learned that hard truth as a six-year-old. In Noxus, cowardice had no place—only the frost of resolve could mask any frailty.

Breaking the silence, Du Couteau spoke, his voice calm yet cutting:

"Piltover has been restless of late. The dealings of the imperial nobles are being compromised there. His Majesty wishes to send me to handle it. But I'm not suited for diplomacy. I prefer war. Judging from Noxus' troop movements, there won't be an open conflict with Piltover anytime soon."

The general's tone hinted at his distaste for the assignment. He was a warrior, not a negotiator. For him, heading to Piltover as an envoy would be a waste of time.

Ryan caught the subtext immediately. Du Couteau wanted to pass this errand to someone else. But this task wasn't as mundane as it seemed. For Ryan, a Trifarix representative, this mission presented an opportunity—an excuse to tighten control over Noxus' noble class by leveraging their dependence on Piltover's Hextech trade.

"Piltover..." Ryan mused, stroking his chin.

"I've been curious about the rapid development of Hextech there. Meeting Jayce Talis could prove enlightening. We'll take care of this matter—Miss Katarina and I."

Du Couteau raised an eyebrow but didn't object. Ryan's willingness to take on the assignment was exactly what he'd hoped for. Ryan, however, had one condition to clarify.

"General, what name shall I carry for this mission?" He gestured subtly toward Katarina.

Du Couteau's gaze hardened. "Katarina is now Trifarix's subordinate as of this moment. The name Katarina Du Couteau no longer exists. But you carries the sign of the Couteau family, which represents my will and that of my house."

With that, the general turned on his heel and left, the empty bottle of Noxian spirits abandoned on the table. His departure was swift, his presence lingering only in the heavy tension he left behind.

Ryan turned his attention to Katarina, who mirrored her father's cold demeanor, her face an unyielding mask.

"Ryan Meredith," he introduced himself formally.

"You should know the name."

Katarina stiffened slightly. Then, in a gesture of respect, she knelt on one knee and bowed her head.

"Every Noxian knows of you, Your Excellency," she said, her voice steady.

"I'll serve you faithfully."

"Stand up," Ryan instructed, leaning back into his chair. His gaze lingered on her with curiosity.

"In the Immortal Bastion, I often heard rumors. They said Katarina Du Couteau was the most talented assassin of her lineage. A genius destined to surpass even her father. What's your opinion on that?"

Katarina's lips twisted into a bitter smile.

"A failure," she replied quietly.

"A failure who couldn't complete her first mission."

Her voice carried no trace of self-pity, only grim acceptance. Today, she had cost Noxus 25 soldiers—lives that were her responsibility. Though she lacked empathy for the dead, she would not shy away from her failure.

"And why did you fail?" Ryan asked pointedly.

"I disobeyed orders," she admitted, her eyes alight with defiance.

"I was confident I could end the war. If I hadn't acted on my own, the mission would have been perfect."

Ryan leaned forward slightly, studying her reaction. "Miss Katarina," he said with measured calm, "I don't think your actions were entirely wrong. Killing the enemy commander was a bonus, not a mistake. Your error was more fundamental."

Katarina clenched her fists, her face pale with suppressed frustration. She knew exactly what he meant.

"I made my choice, but I didn't have the strength to make it count," she admitted, her voice tight with resentment.

"Good." Ryan nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Hold onto that mindset. Tomorrow, an airship will take us to Piltover. There, I expect you to prove that you've learned from this."

"Yes, Your Excellency," Katarina said firmly.