"My name is Jax. What do they call you?"
For the first time, Jax revealed his name in front of the crowd. Leaning on his lamppost, he peered at Duke through the mask. Duke's performance had already earned his approval.
As someone who, a thousand years ago, once hung the corpse of a god-warrior in the streets for all to see, Jax's strength was beyond dispute.
And Duke, with his fists and fire, had proven himself worthy of recognition.
"Young warrior!"
"I already told you, I'm a scientist." Duke pulled a roll of bandages from his pocket, pinning one end against his arm. As soon as it touched his wounded skin, the bandage began to stretch and coil on its own, wrapping around his injury.
"Fighting is just a little side experiment between my research."
He raised his right hand for Jax to see. The lamplighter rubbed his chin as he watched the bandages wind themselves tighter.
"Well, that makes things tricky."
"Why don't we find a place and share a drink?"
Duke extended the invitation. To him, a monster who had lived for millennia was nothing less than a walking library, a fountain of secrets worth tapping.
Jax scratched under his mask, glanced at the broken, smoldering bridge beneath his feet, then hefted the lamppost onto his shoulder. Under the stunned gaze of the onlookers, he stepped down from the ruins.
"Got any boiled eggs?"
"As many as you can eat."
Duke chuckled, moving toward Dylan, who was still staring, mouth agape, wide enough to swallow ten eggs whole.
"I'm going to have a word with him. As for the bridge, handle it for me. Write up the damages, whatever they cost, I'll pay."
"Uh…"
Dylan blinked, dazed, staring at the cracked, burning bridge.
It was only now that he remembered why he had come in the first place: to smooth things over on behalf of the Laurent family.
So why had he suddenly become a spectator at the edge of events?
Were all Piltover craftsmen this terrifying?
He broke a bridge with a single punch!
"That wasn't magic just now?" someone asked suddenly, jolting the others from their daze. Duke's blow had left them shaken to the core.
A man drew out a pale, jade-like stone tablet. Staring at it, he muttered, "The gray seal hasn't reacted… it wasn't magic."
The rest glanced at the tablet. Made from anti-magic stone, the gray seal was a standard tool of mage-hunters. If magic had been at work, it would have flared.
But it remained inert. Which meant Duke had done all that with nothing but his body.
"You mean, he achieved that barehanded?"
"Just by swinging his fist he unleashed such destructive force? That's… that's martial technique?"
"No one knows."
"Rumor says Ionia has a sword style called the Art of Wind. Masters can swing once and summon a storm."
"Techniques that manipulate the forces of nature… how can such terrifying arts even exist?"
"Wait, wasn't this man with Dylan?"
"Dylan, who is he really?"
"Yeah, tell us!"
All eyes pressed on him. Dylan swallowed dryly and said, "He's Lux's teacher. A craftsman from Piltover."
"If that's what passes for a craftsman, then what does that make us, who've trained in combat since childhood?"
The remark fell into silence like a stone in still water.
Suddenly, hoofbeats thundered from the road. A rider approached in a silver breastplate and cloak, a rune-steel sword hanging at her waist.
"Where's the monster?"
Fiora Laurent dismounted, her sharp eyes scanning the ruined bridge. The intruder who had occupied her family's territory was gone.
"He already left."
"Left?"
She stepped onto the broken bridge. Her face tightened as she surveyed the wreckage, then crouched, finding a deep footprint embedded in the scorched stone.
"What immense strength."
Rising, she asked, "And the challenger? Where did he go?"
"He said he was taking that monster out for drinks!"
"So… they're at a tavern nearby?"
"Shall we look?"
Excitement flickered in the crowd. Dylan moved to speak with Fiora, but she cut him off, voice cold as steel.
"Dylan, I'm sorry. There's no chance between us. I only yield to men stronger than me."
With that, she mounted and rode off, leaving Dylan standing there, face ashen.
"Fiora Laurent…"
A Village Tavern
"Here's your boiled eggs, sir."
The tavern mistress, apron tied at her waist, set the plate down nervously, stole one glance at Jax, then scurried off.
Duke slid the plate to Jax and pulled two bottles of wine from his coat, one for the lamplighter, one for himself.
"Your technique is powerful, clearly forged for war."
Jax's tone carried a note of curiosity, but his gaze was certain. No skill that explosive was born for anything but the battlefield.
"Something like that."
Duke nodded, sipping his drink.
Jax's eyes lingered on Duke's right arm, swaddled in bandages. The sight was grim.
"Your body is too fragile to support such techniques. If you want to overcome that weakness, you'll need relentless training."
"Training is just a pastime for me. I won't waste years tempering my body for the sake of one martial art."
Duke shook his head. The Fist-Gun style had its own methods of strengthening the body, but he had no time to invest in them. For him, there were faster paths: genetic modification, mechanical enhancement.
The problem was, serums were rare and luck-based, he hadn't drawn one since the very beginning.
Mechanical augmentations, however, were always an option. Implanting nanomachines could bolster his physique, give him rapid regeneration, almost bordering on immortality.
"Then that really is a pity."
Jax sighed, chewing slowly on a boiled egg. "I seek warriors strong enough to fight at my side."
"For what purpose?"
Duke asked knowingly, lighting a cigar.
Jax crushed the last bit of eggshell, his voice low. "Do you know of the Void?"
"You mean beneath Icathia, or the deserts of Shurima, or the Howling Abyss of Freljord?"
The answer stopped Jax in his tracks. His eyes widened behind the mask.
"You know of it?"
Duke pulled from his pack the trophies of the mantis he had slain, two jagged limbs, still unnervingly sharp and alive with power.
"I hunted this myself."
As Duke exhaled indigo smoke, Jax pinched the limb between his fingers. His eyes widened again. "No trace of the Void's will? How did you purge it?"
"Erasing the consciousness in Void-spawn flesh isn't hard. To me, it's routine. A dead Void creature, if left unchecked, will poison the land."
Duke smiled faintly. "Back home, I even have a few preserved burrower specimens."
"Duke, are you interested, "
"No."
The scientist cut him off, laying a strange device on the table.
"This is what I use. I call it a Silencer."
"You made this yourself?"
Jax set down his egg, turning the tool over in his hands.
"More or less. I told you, I'm a scientist."
"Science… can go this far?"
The lamplighter shook his head, eyes dark with memory. "Once the Void appears, it cannot easily be undone. The only method is to starve it. Even after death, its remains rot the land."
"But you can neutralize it outright…"
"Enough about that," Duke said. He set another item on the table, a vial, gleaming with a strange light. "Can you appraise this for me? Uroa's potion."
Jax uncorked it with no effort, peering inside. His voice was hushed, reverent. "One drop hardens flesh like stone, impervious to blades. A soul tempered for a thousand years, unyielding, undying. Yes… the potency is still intact."
He recorked the vial and returned it without the faintest greed in his eyes.
"This holds its full strength. Anyone who drinks it will gain a soul that endures a millennium and a body that does not decay."
"You mean…" Duke arched a brow. The potion was more precious than he thought.
"A thousand years of life, within reach."
Jax's voice was low, almost solemn.
"This, too, is one of the paths of ascension in Shurima, an alternative to the Rite of Ascension itself."
End of chapter....
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