"You're saying a demon hunter named Shauna Vayne wishes to see me?"
Duke lifted his head in surprise from the dragon-blood samples he had been analyzing. Behind him, the attendant bowed respectfully and answered, "Yes, Master Duke."
"And your meaning?"
"She is inside the manor now."
"Very well. Arrange a reception room for me, I'll meet her shortly."
"At once."
Once the attendant departed, Duke set aside his research on Shyvana's blood and lit a cigar. He exhaled a stream of smoke, murmuring to himself, "Strange. The dragon-girl flees here right after being attacked, and Vayne arrives immediately after? That's… just a bit too convenient, isn't it?"
"Could it really have been Vayne who attacked her?"
"But why would Vayne be wearing armor, and wielding a composite crossbow? That's not her style at all."
Her rewritten backstory replayed clearly in Duke's mind.
After witnessing her parents brutally murdered by Evelynn, Vayne vowed vengeance. She used her family's wealth and status to seek the means to become stronger. She roamed the world, and eventually in Freljord, encountered a demon hunter. They bonded deeply, but during one hunt, that hunter revealed herself to be a shapeshifter, only to save Vayne's life.
And what did Vayne do? She stabbed her in the back.
Even though they had grown close like mother and daughter, the moment Vayne discovered her true nature, she killed her without hesitation.
From then on, this veteran AD champion turned completely dark.
She killed not out of justice, but for the sheer thrill of hunting demons.
Honestly, when Duke first read that reworked backstory, his mind had been full of complaints. Riot's designers really don't think like normal people, do they?
"Forget it. I'll just go see her myself."
He crushed out his cigar, rose from the desk, and began packing away his research instruments. Shyvana's blood was valuable beyond measure, sampled from a true half-dragon, its potential for research was immense.
But for now, the most pressing matter was to meet Shauna Vayne, that hunter who had once sacrificed everything for vengeance, only to sink into obsession.
"Vayne lost her parents at sixteen, made her first kill at eighteen… so how old is she now?"
Duke pondered the question as he walked down the corridor. Perhaps her age could give him a clue to what stage of her journey she was in.
Soon, he reached the reception room door and knocked lightly. From within, a woman's voice answered, "Come in."
He entered to see first a long black ponytail, draped over one shoulder. The woman wore a skintight leather bodysuit, with a cloak resting beside her. The outfit traced every curve of her figure, accentuating her sharp, striking presence.
As Duke stepped in, she was adjusting a pair of crimson night-vision goggles. Her face turned toward him.
The black ponytail framed her right shoulder. Crimson lips glowed against her pale skin. Blue-green eyes gleamed with intensity, yet beneath them, a cold detachment that pushed people away.
Her straight nose and the shadow of black eyeliner deepened her aloofness, but the fine arch of her brows softened it slightly, giving her a trace of elegance. Stray locks of hair at her temples lent her a girlish charm, an unexpected playfulness amid the icy veneer.
"Hmm…" Duke's eyes lingered on her red goggles as he approached the sofa. "Lenses made of redstone. Good for vision in the dark, but… still flawed."
"You must be Master Duke."
Her tone phrased it as a question, yet her certainty was absolute.
Duke shrugged. "That's me."
He sat, his gaze falling on the exo-suit case resting on the table. "Because of certain circumstances, I'm staying here a while. The attendant told me a demon hunter wished to meet me. So here I am."
Without waiting for her reply, Duke leaned forward and flipped open the case, inspecting it closely.
"This is a B-series exosuit, isn't it?"
The metal bore scratches and dents everywhere, proof of battles survived. Within was the folded frame, purely clockwork-driven, relying on interlocking mechanisms to amplify speed and strength. Outdated, yes, but still formidable.
"You've been through hell with this thing," Duke remarked.
"This exosuit has saved my life many times," Vayne answered quietly, her eyes shining. "I owe it everything. That's why I had to meet the one who made it. I wanted to know who created such a thing."
Her gaze carried an unfamiliar brightness, one Duke recognized instantly. It was admiration, almost reverence.
What the hell? he thought, tilting his head. Is this woman… developing a fetish for the armor?
That didn't make sense. Vayne was infamous for her ruthless, unyielding heart. Someone like her shouldn't be capable of such attachment. Yet, as she traced her fingers gently across the worn exosuit, her expression softened in a way utterly unlike the cold huntress he had expected.
"That set's one of my earlier works," Duke said honestly, shrugging. "My current designs are far beyond this."
Vayne finally tore her gaze away, meeting his eyes with earnest intensity. "I have an unreasonable request."
"Go ahead."
"Please help me repair this exosuit. Of course, I'll pay whatever you ask."
Duke lifted the armor, examining its joints and springs. He set it back down and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Shauna. The wear is too severe. Restoring it to its original state would be… difficult."
"I can, however, offer other assistance. I've heard Uncle Petyr plans to hire you to deal with the demon roaming Mithril City."
"The demon…"
Vayne's eyes turned razor-sharp, her hand suddenly clamping onto Duke's. For someone so slender, her grip radiated frightening strength.
Her icy mask had returned, the veneer of warmth vanished as though it had never existed.
"Vayne, calm yourself," Duke said mildly, glancing at her hand. She caught herself, slowly releasing him with a quiet apology. "Forgive me, Master Duke. I overreacted."
"It's fine. Understandable. Hunters like you loathe demons."
Her gaze flickered back to the exosuit. "It truly can't be repaired?"
"To its original form, no. But modified, improved? That's possible."
"Though it would take time. Alternatively, I could simply gift you a new one, as thanks for risking yourself for Mithril City."
Vayne hesitated, then shook her head firmly. "No. I can't let go of this one. If it can't be restored, then I'll fight with it until my last breath."
"That'll get you killed," Duke said bluntly. "If it breaks in battle, it'll take you down with it."
He reached into his inventory, casually laying out several gadgets. "Here, frozen grenades, arc grenades. One releases icy mist, the other bursts with electricity."
Vayne's eyes widened at his method of pulling items from nowhere. Her hand hovered over her crossbow. "Master Duke… are you a mage?"
"No. This is one of my research results, folding space. I can store objects in another dimension and call them out when needed."
He looked her squarely in the eyes. "Any more questions?"
Meeting his gaze, Vayne shivered slightly, her composure shaken. She averted her eyes. "No."
Duke smirked and continued, laying out more tools.
"A web-shooter. Ten cartridges, lets you scale walls, swing across rooftops."
"A night-vision device, better than yours, by far."
"Electro-gloves. They won't hinder your hands but let you cling to walls or discharge static."
"Silent boots. Enhance your speed and erase your footsteps."
"And this, my Mimic Cloak."
One by one, he piled gadgets onto the table.
"These are my personal sponsorship."
Vayne's cold mask faltered, her face showing rare discomfort. "This… this is too valuable."
"Just leftovers," Duke waved her off. "Made too many. They're gathering dust. Take them."
Then his expression hardened. "But in return, you'll owe me a favor. One favor, for a full set of gear. Fair trade, isn't it?"
Vayne hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Very well. I accept."
"Then may your hunt be a success."