Noxus Glory

Chapter 534 LeBlanc's Ambition and the Traitor's Fear

The Noxian Empire, southeastern sea area.

About forty or fifty miles from the mainland, there is a dark island hanging alone in the sea.

From a distance, it looks like a black rivet forgotten by the empire, firmly nailed to the edge of the Watcher's Sea.

Once upon a time, this dark island served as one of the logistical transit points for the Empire's invasion of Ionia.

Warships shuttled back and forth, and the air was filled with the clamor of voices, carrying the empire's ambition for rise and its desire for destruction.

However, with the end of the Ionian War and the loss of its strategic value, the Empire's attention and resources were quickly withdrawn from this place, like the receding tide.

Splash!

The waves surged and crashed against the dilapidated dock, which resembled the skeleton of a sea monster, causing the sunken wooden structure to sway.

In the seawater below, swathes of wood were soaked through, resembling stranded fish, their surfaces covered with slippery algae and unidentified dark stains.

As the waves rose and fell, the dock emitted an increasingly hollow sound, like the sigh of a dying man.

that's the truth.

After the Noxian Empire withdrew its gaze, the island itself became a complete prison at sea.

Apart from a small number of native inhabitants, the island is mostly populated by imperial slaves who were abducted during the war and forced to work as laborers building fortifications.

As the imperial warships sailed away, this group of people were forgotten along with the dark, desolate island.

Night fell.

The dim sky, like an unfolded curtain, slowly covered this nameless, isolated island.

Only in the center of the island, in a relatively flat depression, was a bright light shining through.

The campfire burned, and sparks danced wildly in the sea breeze, illuminating the jagged rocks and distorted figures around them, much like the demon priests in ancient legends.

Nearly a hundred figures gathered, wearing clothes patched together from tattered fishing nets and animal hides, their bare feet covered in calluses and scars, dancing around the campfire.

On their naked bodies, strange dark red paint was used to create eerie runes and marks.

As they danced and gesticulated, the marks seemed to slowly wriggle as if they were alive.

This is not a celebration!

Instead, it was a primal frenzy, a frenzied dance filled with sacrificial undertones.

The air gradually filled with the stench of sweat, blood, and a deeper mixture of fear and ignorance.

To the west of the campfire, a crude altar, hastily constructed from rough rocks and animal bones, appeared in the firelight.

Above the altar stood an even cruder stone statue, its exact form difficult to discern, though one could vaguely make out that it was a tall, handsome young man.

The stone statue was covered in red paint of indistinguishable material, as if bathed in blood, and looked down at the believers below with compassionate eyes.

Boom!Boom!Boom!

The rhythmic, dull thumping sounds brought the bonfire ritual to a climax.

Several emaciated goats with dull eyes and a featherless old hen were tied in front of the altar.

The rusty stone knife sliced ​​across his neck, and dark red blood gushed out, dripping onto the altar's surface, which had long been stained with countless blood offerings, forming dark brown grooves and dents.

At the very center of the altar, however, there were no livestock.

It was a child curled up, unconscious.

He looked no more than seven or eight years old, pale and thin, dressed in tattered clothes, with wet tear stains and dirt on his little face.

He was carelessly discarded on the altar, like a sacrificial offering.

As night fell, not a single star could be seen.

The dancing crowd suddenly stopped all movement, as if receiving a silent command, and prostrated themselves before the altar.

A deathly silence enveloped the campfire and the altar.

The only sounds were the crackling of flames, the roar of waves crashing against the rocks, and the sound of the sea breeze.

Sizzle...

...wisps...

Suddenly, amidst a faint sound, the runes engraved on the surface of the altar began to flash spontaneously, and a blood-red glow enveloped several livestock, instantly dismembering them.

The still-warm blood of the animals, freshly drawn out, began to gather along the altar.

In a short while, the gathered blood transformed into thin, dark red, tentacle-like blood threads, precisely reaching towards the child at the center of the altar.

The dark red bloodline seemed to possess an irresistible force, gradually wrapping around the child's wrists, ankles, and neck, dragging the child beneath the seemingly solid stone surface of the altar.

Immediately, the stone surface turned into a filthy pool of blood, and the child's body would sink and disappear silently without causing the slightest ripple.

Wait until it's all over!

The prostrate crowd rose, looked at the empty altar, and suddenly let out excited howls.

This means they have once again fulfilled the divine decree.

The gods still look after these abandoned people.

However, not far from the altar, in a corner shrouded in the afterglow of the campfire and the shadows of the rocks, there was a place that no one would notice.

A black rose, entirely outlined by darkness and shadow, appeared silently and bloomed in an instant.

The petals unfurled, eerie and cold.

The next moment!

The shadow beside the black rose rippled and spread like waves on water.

Immediately afterwards, a tall, graceful figure exuding an aura of mystery stepped out from the shadows.

She wore a well-tailored, luxurious dark gold robe.

The smooth, soft surface is not made of simple fabric, but rather embroidered with the finest craftsmanship, resembling a pattern of blooming black roses.

Her face was obscured by the shadow cast by the wide hood of her long robe, revealing only a beautifully sculpted jawline that exuded endless coldness, and dark red lips.

She stood quietly in the shadows, her gaze calmly sweeping over the altar and the almost dark red bloodstains in the trenches.

"How pathetic, Vladimir!"

"Has the once-powerful Crimson Reapers fallen so low?"

"The sacrifices even used the blood of livestock."

Having witnessed the entire sacrificial ceremony, LeBlanc thought of the offerings on the altar, and a smile curled at the corner of her mouth, as if mocking the increasingly pathetic Vladimir.

Without the slightest hesitation, she took a step.

The hem of the dark gold robe brushed lightly across the rough ground, yet remained untouched by any dust.

Her footsteps landed precisely on the nodes of the blood-stained paths, as if she were walking along a road that had been laid out for her long ago.

Step by step, they walked toward the altar, toward the place beneath the island, where the blood-red shadows were heaviest.

Beneath the dark island, directly beneath the altar.

The environment here is completely different from the simplicity and dilapidation on the ground.

The massive underground cavern shows signs of having been recently excavated, with its walls and dome meticulously polished and covered in dark rock.

The walls are adorned with a small number of wall lamps, but those with exceptionally ornate designs.

Dark red flames burned within, illuminating the space as if it were a flowing blood cave.

Continuing deeper into the cave from the wall lamps, in the very center of the cave, you can see a strange pool of blood filled with dark red blood.

The blood pool was about ten feet long, shrouded in a dark red glow.

Carved on the nearby ground were patterns of struggling and wailing faces, with intertwined lines extending outwards, seemingly connected to the altar runes on the ground.

Perhaps because the ritual on the ground had just been completed, strands of fresh blood were flowing into the blood pool like streams, following the rune trails.

Then, guided by an invisible force, it transformed into the purest crimson energy and surged into a tall figure lying in the blood pool.

This figure was none other than...

That's right, Vladimir the Scarlet Reaper!

But this is no longer the image of the handsome, dashing, and debonair young noblemen that the Noxian Empire always maintained.

His appearance revealed signs of aging; although his face was still handsome, it had lost its youthful charm, adding a touch of vicissitude and decay.

Her once blood-red hair had long since lost its luster, and was now streaked with a few barely perceptible strands of gray, casually draped over her shoulders.

Fine wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes, and the lines of her jaw resembled broken porcelain, making her look shocking.

Vladimir lay quietly in the very center of the blood pool, radiating an indescribable evil aura.

He was enjoying the fruits of the scarlet ritual after it ended.

Every drop of blood flowing in, every wisp of life essence rising, silently nourishes his increasingly decaying body, attempting to return to his former peak.

The cave was completely silent.

The only sounds were the faint murmur of flowing blood and the flickering of the wall lamp flame.

Until—

LeBlanc silently stepped into the underground cave, following the rune trails on the ground.

Beneath the hood, hidden eyes calmly gazed at the middle-aged nobleman who was enjoying his dinner in the blood pool.

"Vladimir!"

LeBlanc made no effort to conceal her presence; Vladimir should have sensed it the moment she stepped onto the blood-soaked altar.

"Look at yourself now, you're so pathetic!"

In her memory, Vladimir always wore an exquisitely crafted dark red velvet robe whenever he appeared at a meeting inside the Black Rose.

The collar and cuffs of the robe were embroidered with understated yet distinctive crimson patterns that signified status.

He is the eternal crimson ruler, the embodiment of elegance and danger.

Instead of the one now.

Although his face was still handsome, an aura of decay and ruin enveloped his entire being.

"The Pale Lady? The Enchantress of Deception?"

Vladimir slowly opened his tightly closed eyes, and LeBlanc's dangerous figure was reflected in his blood-red pupils.

"Or perhaps we should call you by your most original name..."

'

"LeBlanc!"

Vladimir's tone was less arrogant than usual, and more subtly wary and inquisitive.

How did this guy find his hiding place so easily?

"Whatever!"

LeBlanc waved her hand casually, seemingly unconcerned about Vladimir's emotional state.

She walked lightly to the edge of the blood pool, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

"But you won't have much time left to call me that."

His seemingly casual words were like a poisoned dagger, precisely piercing Vladimir's most sensitive and least desirable predicament.

Vladimir's pupils constricted, and he vaguely understood something.

Hiding here certainly avoided danger.

However, this also meant leaving the center of the empire and losing most of its sources of information from the outside world.

Vladimir rose from the pool of blood, a dark red glow emanating from his pale skin, which quickly condensed and solidified on his body, transforming into a blood-red horny armor.

Only those who have experienced death truly understand the preciousness of life.

"Tell me about it, LeBlanc."

Vladimir's voice came from inside the armor, sounding like the friction of metal.

He deliberately avoided the topic LeBlanc had brought up and instead steered the conversation toward LeBlanc.

"For you to go to such lengths to find a pathetic loser like me, you must be facing some insurmountable problem, right?"

Who isn't an old fox who has lived for countless years and experienced countless conspiracies and betrayals?

If LeBlanc has something to ask for on this trip, then he can glean some of the truth from her words, her conditions, and her attitude.

What exactly happened within the Noxian Empire, and even within the Black Rose organization, that made LeBlanc so troubled that she needed to find this "stray dog"?

"It's Huo Jixing!"

LeBlanc pursed her dark red lips, ignoring Vladimir's wariness and his attempts to change the subject.

He simply uttered a name that was familiar to both of them, calmly and clearly.

A name that nearly broke Vladimir's resolve!

Huo-Ji-Xing!

In an instant, it was as if a thunderbolt had exploded in Vladimir's mind, and his body, covered in blood-red armor, trembled slightly uncontrollably.

This is hatred etched into the soul!

In Vladimir's eyes, Hoji Star was once nothing more than a prey with decent talent and a slightly special bloodline.

Especially after learning that Huojixing was a Celestial Spirit bearer.

Vladimir realized that this might be a "top-grade blood food" that would allow him to take another step forward in his already stagnant level of power and life.

But even a lifetime of hunting eagles can end with one's eyes being pecked out by the eagle.

He, Vladimir, the Crimson Reaper, the thief of Darkin power, suffered an unprecedented and crushing defeat at the hands of the seemingly inexperienced Protoss bearer.

It wasn't just a defeat on a power level; the Crimson Society was also uprooted.

Ultimately, this led to Vladimir's current predicament, as he fled the heart of the Noxian Empire and sought refuge on this abandoned island.

"Tsk tsk, it's him!"

Vladimir looked at LeBlanc, sucking the fresh blood from his fingers, his malice undisguised.

"So, you also experienced defeat at his hands?"

LeBlanc did not answer, but simply gazed at Vladimir, awaiting his decision.

A long silence fell over the blood pool.

Only after all the crimson energy dissipated did Vladimir slowly raise his head and gaze at LeBlanc.

"What do you want to do?"

Upon hearing this, LeBlanc, hidden beneath her hood, finally revealed a victorious smile, her dark red lips twitching.

"if...

'

LeBlanc's voice was exceptionally soft, as if she were reciting an ancient poem.

"The Noxian Empire can be likened to a blooming, thorny rose."

"us..

'

She gently raised her hand, pointed to herself, and then pointed to Vladimir.

"That's the person who truly cares for this rose."

"From the time of ancient tribes, we have carefully nurtured it little by little, watching it grow from a fragile seedling into the most prosperous and powerful empire on the continent of Valoran today."

LeBlanc's words were filled with a possessive and controlling attitude.

"Swain and his group are nothing more than a few delicate petals that occasionally fall during the blooming of this rose."

"

"But it seems so now..."

'

LeBlanc shook her head slightly, a hint of amusement in her eyes, as if she were admiring something interesting.

"These petals also have some thorns!"

Thorny flower buds always have an unusual attraction and are more likely to please people.

"And during the time you were in hiding."

LeBlanc's tone suddenly became even more profound, as if she were telling a truly astonishing secret.

"You don't know yet, do you?"

"The Darkin... are returning!"

This time, Vladimir could no longer remain calm, and a hint of undisguised fear flashed deep in his eyes.

Compared to the humiliation brought by Hoji Star, he remembered the fear that the Darkin had brought even more vividly.

The fall of the Darkin tyrants is as legendary and terrifying as they themselves were.

Regarding this history, a record written in High Shurima has always been hidden in the Immortal Fortress.

The text subtly speculates that Vladimir's master was not imprisoned like other Darkin, but died at the hands of his own warband.

A few surviving mortals escaped, taking with them knowledge of blood magic.

Only Vladimir himself knew that the guess in that record was only half right!

He was the one who delivered the fatal blow!

Vladimir!

His Darkin master, his most trusted and beloved blood magic apprentice.

At that time, Vladimir was covered in wounds, and his sanity was taken away by the brilliance of the Darkborn's disintegration.

But he absorbed enough energy from the primal power that dissipated when his Darkin master fell, as well as the purest blood.

This power is enough to completely rejuvenate the body and transcend the lifespan limit of mortals.

Since then, he has resurrected his body countless times, using unspeakable and vile rituals.

Now, Vladimir, the traitor, looked extremely grim upon hearing the news of the Darkborn's return.

Once the Darkin truly begin their large-scale return, he will inevitably face their reckoning.

If he were in his prime, he might still have a chance.

But now he...

Their strength waned, they hid on a deserted island, like birds startled by the mere twang of a bow.

Vladimir suppressed all his thoughts and looked intently at LeBlanc.

"What exactly do you want to do?"

"I?"

LeBlanc extended her fingertips, as if caressing an invisible and precious work of art, and finally brushed them across her dark red, blood-red lips, her voice cold and sharp.

"I just want my things back."

At this moment, LeBlanc's voice was like ice that had never melted, yet it contained an ambition that could burn everything.

"Take back what belongs to the Black Rose, everything that should rightfully be under my control."

The power of Noxus, the future of the empire, and much more.

But there was one more thing LeBlanc didn't say aloud.

If I can't get it, then...

"Then let's do it together!"

Vladimir made the decision; he had no other choice.

Only by taking a desperate gamble and cooperating with LeBlanc can he save his life in the impending turmoil.

The darkness whispered, and blood stained the air.

An incredibly dangerous storm is silently brewing beneath this forgotten, isolated island.

Leaving the underground altar, which reeked of blood, LeBlanc followed the path she had taken and arrived at the edge of the island.

Beneath my feet, roaring, inky waves surged.

Behind them lay a silent, blood-red island.

Vladimir is in the final stages of the Blood Feast, absorbing his followers one by one into his body to maximize his own power.

This is to prepare for the impending crisis.

The sea breeze howled in, carrying a salty and chilly scent, fluttering the dark gold hem and the edge of the hood.

LeBlanc stood quietly on the reef, her eyes slightly raised, gazing northward at the frozen land covered in eternal ice and snow, as if waiting for something.

"Lissandra...!"

LeBlanc's dark red lips parted, uttering a cold name.

Her voice was very soft, almost drowned out by the sound of the waves.

But the complex emotions in his tone—coldness, mockery, pity, and a hint of sympathy—were clearly discernible.

You're using me...

""

The unrest on the northern border of the Noxian Empire, along with the well-timed loopholes in its military deployment, were all orchestrated by the Black Rose in secret.

This is the source of most of the offerings in the Volibear blood sacrifices.

Otherwise, how could the population and spoils of the Winter's Claw tribe alone satisfy the offerings required for the resurrection of an ancient northern god?

"And wasn't I using you too!"

This collaboration, which began with mutual scheming and ulterior motives, was a bait thrown out by LeBlanc.

What Lissandra wants is to corrupt Volibear, dragging this god who represents the ancient, wild, and destructive side of Freljord into her camp.

To complete her ultimate revenge on Freljord and add weight to her final ritual.

And she, LeBlanc, wanted something very simple.

A perfect cover, a war that can divert everyone's attention.

This will buy her time and an excellent opportunity for her next move.

As for the so-called ancient secrets and the darkness sealed by Zhenbing, LeBlanc has no interest in these.

It has nothing to do with her taking control of Noxus and reshaping the will of the empire.

They are merely pawns, tools.

The night was still like thick ink, painted across the sky.

The waves relentlessly crashed against the rocks.

Suddenly, many stars lit up in the night sky, which was covered with thick clouds, scattering starlight that was even more dazzling than usual.

LeBlanc seemed to sense the change in the sky. Her gaze passed over the dark clouds, and a smile appeared on her lips, like a beautiful black rose with thorns in full bloom.

"It seems the plan succeeded."

LeBlanc murmured softly, her charming tone carrying a hint of satisfied languor.

"I hope the secrets of Freljord will not disappoint me."

Finally, she gazed deeply at the ever-changing starry night sky to the north, then turned and left gracefully.

The dark gold hem drew an elegant arc in the starlight and sea breeze.

As a black rose silently bloomed, LeBlanc's figure blended into the darkness and disappeared completely.

"Vladimir, don't let us down either."

As for the covenant she and Vladimir made at the underground altar, and the many promises they made.

To LeBlanc, it was nothing but a mirage.

The grand show is about to begin.

Everything is just a pawn.