บท 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.
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