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50% Runeterra: Alexander The Eternal / Chapter 10: Chapter 10 (Encounter)

Chapitre 10: Chapter 10 (Encounter)

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"Lord Alexander?"

The voice echoed softly, yet it carried an authoritative tone that broke the concentration I'd built around the hall's resonating energies.

I turned slowly, masking any tension in my expression, as if I had been merely admiring the intricate carvings of the pillar before me. A familiar face came into view—the servant from earlier, now looking at me with a curious expression. Her posture was formal but not rigid, and there was no suspicion in her gaze.

"My apologies for the delay," she said, bowing slightly. "Prince Jarvan has been summoned to a meeting, and he requests your company. The king also extends his invitation, should you wish to join them."

"Of course. Thank you for informing me." I held her gaze for a moment before nodding politely.

The servant hesitated briefly, perhaps intrigued by my composure or wondering what had drawn me to this secluded part of the palace. But she said nothing further, departing with a slight bow.

I glanced back at the pillar, my thoughts lingering on what I had learned. The encounter had been brief, but it confirmed much—both about the sisters powers and petricite's potential.

"Lead on." I said calmly, allowed myself a quiet exhale. 'That was close.'

As I followed the servant, her footsteps echoing faintly through the marble corridors, I couldn't help but reflect on my growing position in this world. To be summoned alongside royalty, to walk through halls where power was palpable in every stone—this was where I belonged.

. . .

Damn it.

The young prince and I walked through the winding corridors of a structure devoted entirely to wisdom and learning.

"I didn't think you'd actually come, to be honest," Jarvan said, his voice carrying a mix of surprise and excitement. "You'll enjoy this, trust me."

"Yes, of course," I replied, masking my lack of enthusiasm. Internally, my thoughts were less composed. Fun? This is far from my idea of entertainment.

The event in question was a philosophy lesson—a gathering of noble children, brought together to discuss and reflect under the guidance of a scholar.

'I should have refused.'

As we approached the open courtyard where the session would take place, my attention was drawn upward.

Grand marble structures rose majestically, their polished surfaces catching the soft light of dawn. The interplay of light and shadow painted the space with an almost ethereal quality. Nature and artistry intertwined seamlessly here; the neatly arranged foliage around the courtyard felt as deliberate as the architecture itself.

For a moment, I paused, overtaken by an unexpected wave of nostalgia. My thoughts drifted to the past—lessons under the open skies of ancient Greece, the voice of Aristotle, calm yet commanding, echoing through time.

What is it about thinkers and places like these? I wondered, allowing myself a faint smile. It was a bittersweet memory, vivid yet distant, like the scent of rain on dry soil.

Though this setting was far more elaborate than the simple groves of Greece, the essence remained the same—a space for contemplation, free from the chaos of the world.

"Maybe the setting fosters a sense of freedom," I murmured to myself, my gaze wandering across the intricate details of the courtyard. "A connection to something larger."

"Sorry, what was that?" Jarvan asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Nothing important," I replied, dismissing the thought with a casual wave. The young prince tilted his head, deciding not press further.

As we stepped into the courtyard, I steeled myself for what was to come. Nostalgia was a pleasant distraction, but philosophy alone wouldn't prepare me for the challenges ahead.

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The lesson had yet to begin.

The philosopher tasked with guiding us was absent, leaving a stillness in the air, broken only by the soft murmur of voices from the small group of students scattered around the courtyard. The wind whispered through the towering pillars, carrying faint echoes across the polished stone paths.

I took the opportunity to observe.

'All of them are nobles, that much is obvious. But most aren't from the capital.'

During my time in Demacia, my education had extended far beyond combat and magic. I had come to understand the vastness of this world—a place of danger and mystery, where the known seemed insignificant compared to the unknown.

There were nearly twenty kingdoms scattered across the continent of Valoran—Demacia and Noxus were just the famous ones, because of their military strength I suppose—each kingdom holds its own history and secrets. The beasts that roamed this land were countless; some scholars estimated that less than ten percent of all creatures had been discovered, let alone studied in detail. A world this perilous demanded vigilance.

And yet, amid this vast complexity, my focus narrowed to a single point.

A girl.

She sat in the far corner of the space, distant from the others, her posture radiating indifference. Long dark hair framed her face, and her piercing blue eyes burned like a hidden flame. Everything about her seemed calculated, alert. Yet, her body language made one thing clear: she did not want to be here.

"Fiora," I murmured, almost instinctively. The name felt natural, resonating as if pulled from memory.

Unlike the others gathered here, she was someone I recognized. Not from this life, but from the fragments of knowledge I carried from before.

My memory wasn't perfect—I'd accepted that. But certain details stood out. She had once forced her brother to train her, shaping herself into one of the finest duelists in Runeterra. Why would someone like her be here? Perhaps a political arrangement, a deal between noble families?

Still, something about her seemed off. In the game, Fiora's hair had been shorter, streaked with rebellious pink. Her presence then exuded a fire that burned with arrogance and defiance.

Here, that fire was subdued, focused, yet undeniably present.

And then, I felt it.

A wave of foreign emotions surged through me. Not curiosity or simple admiration—something stronger, sharper. It was as though a door I hadn't opened had been forced ajar, letting in feelings that did not belong.

The realization irritated me. No—it enraged me.

How dare this happen to me? To Alexander?!

I fought to suppress the storm inside, taking a steadying breath. Outwardly, no one would notice a thing. But within, it was a battle—a relentless tide of unfamiliar sensations threatening to pull me under.

'Enough,' I commanded. This needed to be confronted. Whatever these emotions were, they would not be allowed to linger. Weakness had no place here.

'Love? for a child? Absurd. No, it's worse—something else. A fanboy? Pathetic.'

I stood abruptly, my decision made. The weight of the moment settled over me as I turned toward her.

Each step was deliberate, calculated. The air seemed heavier, every movement requiring focus to suppress the turmoil within. The closer I drew, the louder the storm in my mind raged, but I refused to yield.

I control. I command. I dominate.

If this was a challenge, I would face it as I always had—head-on.

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As I approached Fiora, the emotions threatening to overwhelm me grew fiercer, like a storm battering against a fortress. Yet outwardly, I maintained my usual calm, projecting an air of charisma and control.

"Hello," I said, offering a light smile as I forced myself to remain steady. "My name is Alexander. I don't believe we've had the chance to meet."

Her piercing blue eyes met mine, momentarily surprised, but she quickly masked it with a composed demeanor.

"I'm Fiora Laurent," she replied, her tone polite and measured. It was clear she wasn't interested in conversation, but her noble upbringing dictated a proper response. Her arms remained crossed, her stance guarded, and her gaze studied me with the precision of a fencer sizing up an opponent. Then, something shifted.

"The prince's training partner," she said, a note of curiosity softening her tone. "So you're… Alexander from the rumors?"

"Rumors?" I tilted my head, feigning surprise. "What exactly do they say?"

Fiora let out a short, almost cynical laugh.

"You truly don't know? A genius. A revolutionary. A dragon born from the mud. Many nobles are tired of being compared to you."

I stood still for a moment, processing her words. I had been so immersed in my training, my studies of magic, and refining my plans that I hadn't paid attention to how much my name had spread.

'The..mud?'

"I've done nothing extraordinary," I said calmly, brushing off the flattery. Titles meant little to me—I'd been called much before. "But I appreciate the kind words."

Fiora's expression shifted slightly, intrigue flickering across her features. Then, as if struck by an idea, her demeanor changed entirely.

"You dueled the king's guard, didn't you?" she asked, her tone sharper now, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

"Yes," I answered succinctly, trying to discern her intentions.

Before I could add more, she suddenly stood, closing the distance between us in a single fluid motion. Her face was mere inches from mine, her intensity almost palpable.

"Duel me!" she declared, her voice fervent, her eyes locked on mine.

The surge of emotion within me was instantaneous, threatening to break through the iron grip I had on myself. My breath hitched, and for a moment, I feared losing control. Closing my eyes, I took a slow breath and gently pushed her back by the shoulders, using the motion to compose myself.

She didn't move far, her unwavering gaze still fixed on me, brimming with anticipation.

"Well?" she asked, her tone expectant, a mix of confidence and impatience.

I opened my mouth to respond, but just then, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the courtyard.

"Good timing," I muttered under my breath, clearing my throat with a forced cough. "It seems the lesson is about to begin."

I turned swiftly, seizing the opportunity to distance myself, retreating to a far corner of the open space. Even as I walked away, I could feel her eyes following me.

From the corner of my vision, I caught Jarvan watching the interaction, a thoughtful expression on his face as he leaned slightly forward, as if piecing together a puzzle—he's up to something.

. . .

The lesson began.

My irritation wasn't entirely due to Fiora's presence beside me—though her proximity brought a subtle, unwelcome distraction. I kept my expression composed, forcing my focus onto the man at the front of the class.

The philosopher's words grated on me.

His teachings, while likely profound to those around me, lacked depth. They skimmed the surface of ideas I had explored and mastered lifetimes ago.

"The wise warrior," the professor intoned, his voice laden with a self-satisfied weight, "avoids the battle."

A flicker of annoyance rose unbidden. The sheer simplicity of the statement felt like an insult. Before I could stop myself, I let out a quiet, derisive chuckle:

"Ridiculous."

The room reacted as though I'd struck a nerve. Whispers rippled through the noble children like restless leaves in a storm, their protests swift and sharp:

"Show some respect!"

"Who even let him speak?"

"Typical—so uncouth."

From my peripheral vision, I caught Jarvan's posture shift. His gaze sharpened, and I could sense he was ready to intervene. But the professor, to my mild surprise, didn't take offense. Instead, he turned his attention to me, intrigued.

"Ah," he began, his tone curious rather than admonishing, "and what would your thoughts on this matter be, Alexander?"

I rose slowly, deliberately. The room quieted, all attention fixed on me.

"A wise warrior avoids battle?" I repeated, letting the words hang heavy in the air. My gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on the professor before I continued. "That's not wisdom. That's cowardice."

The murmurs began anew, but I raised a hand, silencing them with a single motion.

"A wiser warrior," I added, my voice steady, deliberate, "rules over it."

The room froze. Even the professor seemed taken aback for a moment before his expression softened into a smile.

"An interesting perspective," he mused, folding his hands behind his back. "And how would you define ruling over battle?"

For the next hour, the lesson evolved into a debate. The professor posed question after question, and I countered with arguments drawn from both experience and intellect. I wove examples from history—Runeterra's and my own—and dissected the philosophy with precision.

The students, once vocal critics, fell silent, reduced to mere spectators. Even Jarvan, usually eager to interject, seemed content to observe the exchange unfold.

As the session concluded, the professor approached me, his expression warm with genuine admiration.

"You possess a truly extraordinary mind, Alexander," he said, offering a slight bow. "It would be an honor to have you join us again. Your insights could bring fresh perspective to even the most rigid traditions."

I considered his words briefly, glancing at the other students as they filed out, their expressions ranging from awe to disdain.

"It was… stimulating," I admitted, my tone measured. "I'll think about it."

His smile widened, and with another respectful nod, he stepped away.

Before I could fully collect my thoughts, a sharp voice rang out from the courtyard.

"Alexander," it called, firm and unyielding, cutting through the fading murmurs of departing students.

I turned to see Fiora standing a short distance away, her arms crossed and her gaze locked on me. Her stance radiated a mixture of frustration and determination.

"We're dueling. Now."

Her challenge hung in the air, electrifying the space around us.


Chapitre 11: Chapter 11 (Aftermatch)

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The lesson's energy lingered as Jarvan guided us to a quiet courtyard, its cobblestone floor flanked by ivy-covered walls. The space was intimate yet open, the perfect stage for Fiora's fiery determination.

She wasted no time, stepping forward with her wooden sword already in hand. Her movements were sharp, practiced, and full of purpose.

"Alexander," she said, her voice steady but carrying an unmistakable edge. "No more excuses. Let's settle this."

Jarvan glanced at me with a grin, his arms folded as he leaned against one of the courtyard's pillars. "Well, you heard her. Humor us, Alexander—it's only fair."

I exhaled, studying Fiora's stance. There was no denying her resolve. And truthfully, I was curious.

"Very well," I said, retrieving a training sword from the rack nearby. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Fiora smirked, her grip tightening. "Just try to keep up."

The duel began with a flash of motion.

Fiora's first strike came fast—too fast for most to counter. But I wasn't most. My blade met hers with precision, redirecting her attack and forcing her to reset.

Her next strike came from below, aimed at my ribs. I stepped aside, deflecting her blade again, then countered with a feint that nearly caught her off guard.

To her credit, she recovered quickly, her movements sharper, more refined than I had anticipated.

"Not bad," I admitted, sidestepping another swing. "You've got speed, and your instincts are solid."

"I'm not here for compliments," she snapped, her strikes growing more forceful.

I let her press the offensive, watching her technique unfold. She had the raw talent, no question. But she was still unpolished—her balance wavered when she overextended, her footwork left openings.

Yet, beneath the imperfections, there was something undeniable: potential.

A gleam in her eye, a fierce smile that broke through her frustration—she was enjoying this. Not the struggle, but the challenge. The clash of wills.

"You're holding back!" Fiora growled, her frustration boiling over. "Fight me seriously!"

"Careful what you wish for," I warned, my voice calm but edged with finality.

I shifted my stance, raising the intensity. My blade moved faster now, each strike deliberate, each parry designed to disrupt her rhythm.

Fiora faltered, her breath coming harder as she tried to match my pace. But it was no use. With a calculated twist of my wrist, I disarmed her, her sword clattering to the stones.

Before she could react, I stepped forward, placing the flat of my blade against her shoulder—a silent declaration of victory.

The duel was over.

Fiora sank to her knees, fists clenched as she glared at the ground.

"Again," she demanded, her voice low but seething with determination. "I'll do better. I just need another chance."

I lowered my sword, letting the weight of my calm gaze settle on her.

"No," I said simply, offering her my hand. "You're not ready."

Her head snapped up, anger flashing in her eyes.

"Excuse me?" she hissed.

"Your technique lacks precision," I explained evenly. "Your strikes are aggressive, but they leave you exposed. You have potential, Fiora. Immense potential. But what you need isn't more duels."

"What I need," she spat, swatting my hand away as she rose on her own, "is someone who takes me seriously."

"Then prove you're serious," I replied, meeting her glare. "Channel that frustration. Control it. When you've done that, I'll be waiting."

The tension between us hung heavy, but before Fiora could respond, Jarvan clapped his hands, breaking the moment.

"Well, that was entertaining—she did way better than I anticipated." he said with a grin. "Fiora, if you're truly serious about training, I might have a better solution."

Fiora turned to him, her expression still stormy. "What solution?"

Jarvan's grin widened as he leaned in conspiratorially. "My birthday is in two weeks. The Laurents are always invited, but you've never come.. join us this year. It's the perfect opportunity to ask father for permission for you to train with us, formally."

Fiora frowned, skepticism flickering across her face. Suddenly, her eyes lit up in realization. "If the king orders it, my mother won't be able to argue. Then I could train freely."

Jarvan continued, his tone confident. "Consider it your chance to prove you're ready."

Her eyes narrowed, considering his words. Then, a slow smile spread across her lips, fierce and full of resolve.

"If it means getting stronger, I'll be there," she said.

Jarvan clapped her on the shoulder, grinning. "That's the spirit!"

Fiora turned to leave but paused, casting a sharp glance over her shoulder at me.

"You'll pay for this… oversized braggart." The words were clipped, her frustration visibly tempered by an underlying determination.

'Oversized what?'

Jarvan looked back at me with a smirk.

"You've got a way of bringing out the best in people, don't you?"

"Or the worst," I replied dryly, though a faint smile tugged at my lips.

Jarvan chuckled. "Either way, I think Fiora's just getting started."

I nodded, my gaze lingering on her retreating figure.

"So do I."

. . .

. . .

. . .

Two Weeks Later

Beneath a secluded noble residence in Demacia, I found solace in a subterranean chamber, fortified with reinforced walls and materials carefully chosen to muffle any external disturbances. This sanctuary, hidden from curious eyes, served as the perfect place for my experiments.

Standing in the center of the room, I summoned an aura of electricity. Blue lightning coiled around my body, snapping and sparking in rhythm with my controlled breathing. The faint hum of energy filled the chamber, a pulsing reminder of the raw power coursing through me.

With a deep inhale, I launched into a flurry of motion. My fists blurred as I executed a series of rapid punches, each strike accompanied by arcs of electricity. The air hissed with static, the ground beneath me buzzing as my movements accelerated. Kicks followed, each one leaving faint scorch marks where my feet made contact with the stone floor.

The electric aura heightened my reflexes and strength, amplifying every action beyond what my growing body could achieve on its own. Every fiber of my being buzzed with energy, but I knew this couldn't last forever.

I slowed, shifting my focus to a new test. Before me lay a solid weight of 100 kilograms, resting heavily on the ground. Bending down, I channeled more electricity into my muscles, feeling the surge of power course through me. With a deep grunt, I hoisted the weight above my head, my arms trembling slightly as the lightning crackled in protest.

For a fleeting moment, I felt unstoppable. Then reality set in—the strain was enormous, my body nearing its limits despite the enhanced strength. Letting out a sharp exhale, I dropped the weight with a dull thud and sank to the floor, sweat trailing down my temples.

"Not bad," I muttered between breaths, glancing at my reflection in the polished steel of the room's equipment. My body was lean but defined, the muscles of a child beginning to take on the form of adolescence.

"Nearly 1.40 meters tall," I noted absently. "At this rate, I'll outgrow this space before long."

Closing my eyes, I focused on calming the residual electricity crackling faintly around me. My muscles ached, my stamina spent, but I wasn't done. With deliberate intent, I summoned Kayle's celestial magic.

A warm, golden light emanated from my body, soothing the tension in my muscles and easing the strain. The healing properties of Kayle's power weren't instantaneous, but they were reliable, allowing me to recover enough to push further.

"The power of light," I murmured. "Resistance and healing. Limited, but useful."

As the golden glow continued to mend my fatigue, another aura began to emerge—a deep, shadowy violet layered over the light. Morgana's magic.

Where Kayle's energy felt restorative, Morgana's was defensive, forming a protective barrier just above my skin. The two magics intertwined, distinct yet complementary.

"They're not opposites," I realized aloud. "They complete each other."

Still, their effects were underwhelming. These copied powers were mere fragments of their true potential, far weaker than what the original wielders could achieve.

I stood, extinguishing the auras with a thought. My body felt lighter, though fatigue lingered at the edges of my awareness. The limits of my mana weighed heavily on my mind, a constant reminder of the gap between possibility and reality.

Reaching for a nearby water flask, I extended my hand—but instead of walking to it, I willed it to come to me. The flask floated through the air, carried by the invisible force of telekinesis.

I caught it midair and took a long drink, the cool water a welcome reprieve.

"Telekinesis," I mused, swirling the remaining water in the flask. "It's versatile. With enough mana, it could be used for so much more—flight, immobilization, even combat. But this world's dangers can't be underestimated. Overconfidence is death."

Setting the flask aside, I allowed my mind to wander. The thought of surpassing Kayle and Morgana lingered, tantalizing in its possibility. Though weak now, these abilities could evolve—especially with experimentation and time.

Returning to the center of the room, I summoned my electricity again, letting it hum and vibrate around me.

"There's a resonance," I murmured, my brow furrowing. "Their powers and mine… they respond to one another. Could it be celestial magic?"

The thought sent a ripple of excitement through me. Celestial magic was the most potent form in Runeterra, wielded by gods and capable of holding back the Void itself. If my lightning held even a fraction of that origin, its potential was staggering.

But such musings didn't solve my immediate problem.

I deactivated the electricity, my body sagging slightly as the effort caught up with me. My mana reserves were nearly empty—again.

"The real issue," I said aloud, pacing the room, "is storage. Every time I expand my arsenal, my mana proves more limited."

Artifacts capable of holding vast amounts of mana existed in this world, legendary relics of immense power. Yet relying on such items would be a fool's errand—they were rare, their locations unknown.

No, I needed something practical. Something I could create myself.

I turned toward a sketch pinned to the wall—a design I'd been refining for weeks.

"I need an armor," I concluded, my voice steady with resolve. "A vessel dense enough to store immense mana. A second reservoir to draw from. One that ensures I never run out."

The image in my mind was clear: a heavy, durable armor, forged to withstand the strain of battle and the demands of magic.

It wasn't just an idea—it was a necessity.

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