"I'm saying, you've already killed one. There's no need to slaughter them all, wipe them out completely, is there?"
Duke's hand clamped down on the Enforcer's staff like an iron vise, his voice carrying a trace of warning.
"And besides, there are children here. Ever thought about what kind of scars that'll leave on their minds?"
The Enforcer stared back without a flicker of emotion, the burnished bronze mask on his face adding a layer of cold menace.
"Out of the way!"
"You can't beat me."
Duke stated the simple fact with calm finality. His gaze shifted to the other Enforcer. Before the man could swing his staff, Duke's thought snapped like a whip—crack! The weapon in his hands shattered into splinters.
Cicada appeared in full view, facing the other Enforcer head-on.
"I'd advise you not to move a muscle. Otherwise, this little one can kill you three thousand times over before you blink."
Duke's warning was cold. The Enforcer sneered back:
"You're obstructing official law enforcement. That makes you an accomplice to a tainted mage—guilty of the same crime!"
"Sorry, but I don't see it that way. All I see are two heartless thugs hunting down an unarmed woman and child."
"They're mages. No mage is innocent!"
The one Cicada threatened spoke with rising impatience. Meanwhile, the other Enforcer released his broken staff, smoothly drawing a dagger and lunging for Duke.
Swish!
A golden flash split the air. The ambusher froze, suddenly aware of a strange light engulfing him. In the next heartbeat, his garments disintegrated into tatters, scattering to the ground. The bronze mask still clung to his face, but the rest of him stood bare.
"I told you, this little one could kill you three thousand times in an instant. What you just got was a warning."
Duke dropped the splintered staff and leveled a cold look at both men.
"Whatever your reasons, preying on women and children is never right."
"You fool, do you know what happens to anyone who openly defies the Enforcers?"
"I'm a craftsman, from Piltover."
Duke shrugged. "And what exactly can you do to me? I just did what I thought was right."
"They're mages!"
The other Enforcer, still clothed, bellowed in fury. "Mages are the problem itself!"
Whssht!
His garments, armor, and even personal effects crumbled into dust. Like his partner, only the bronze mask remained to cover part of his face.
Duke exhaled slowly. "I don't care what you think. I care what I think. So, gentlemen—got anything else to say?"
"Or do you just need a pair of pants more urgently?"
With a mocking spread of his hands, Duke eyed them with ridicule. The two Enforcers flushed red, one hand desperately covering their shame.
"You madman!" one roared. "No matter who you are, you're dead!"
"You're dead!!"
At that moment, the Inspectors of the Mageseekers' Tribunal arrived, patrolmen at their backs. Their immaculate white robes marked their authority, while the swords at their hips spoke to their power.
The lead Inspector immediately ordered his men to strip off their cloaks to cover the two humiliated Enforcers. Then he approached Duke, presenting his badge.
"I am Second-Rank Inspector Grace. By authority of the Tribunal, I am placing you under arrest."
Duke glanced toward Lux. She was busy calming the mother and daughter, but when she noticed his eyes, she gave him a subtle shake of the head.
Not the time to resist.
Duke sighed, raised his hands, and allowed the manacles to close around his wrists. The weight tugged at him—but his brow arched when he sensed the faint energy within. These shackles were inlaid with petricite, the stone that suppresses and absorbs magic.
Fortunately, his own gift was tied to soul-based magic, which petricite barely reacted to. His secret would remain safe.
Before long, Duke, Lux, and the mother and daughter were escorted away. But they hadn't even reached the Tribunal before another squad of Enforcers intercepted them.
"Orders from above. We'll be taking custody."
"This involves tainted mages. They're to be transferred to the Black Cells immediately."
Inspector Grace could only frown and relent. Duke, watching, let out a low whistle and grinned at the two men he had stripped bare earlier.
"Not bad. You managed to find pants faster than I thought."
Their eyes darkened, but with colleagues watching, they swallowed their rage.
Soon after, Duke, Lux, and the two women were thrown into the dreaded Black Cells of Demacia, a prison designed solely for mages.
The air here was thin, nearly devoid of magical essence. The very walls were built from petricite. Of course—how else do you cage sorcerers?
"Where should we put them?"
The humiliated Enforcers exchanged a glance, answering in unison: "The cell next to the deepest one!"
"That's irregular!"
"His crimes are grave enough to hang for!"
Duke clicked his tongue. "Hey, hey, don't mix in your grudges. You claim to be upholding justice, but what I saw were two men ready to cut down a defenseless mother and child."
"You weren't just restraining them. That kind of force, that look—you meant to kill."
"Enough talk!" One shoved him hard, but Duke's stance held firm.
"Don't push. I'll walk myself."
He strode ahead, murmuring to Lux: "Stay close."
Because of her noble status, Lux hadn't been bound, sparing her exposure. The mother and daughter trailed with them into the suffocating dark of the Black Cells.
The door slammed. In the silence, a voice drifted from the next cell.
"Didn't think I'd be getting new neighbors."
"No neighbors," Duke replied. "Just one man doing the right thing."
From his inventory, Duke pulled out soft mats, laying them across the damp stone. The guards stiffened in shock—petricite shackles should've prevented such feats.
He produced a heater, flooding the cold, wet cell with warmth.
"Don't stare. It's science," Duke said. When they tried to speak, he waved them off. "Don't bother asking. You wouldn't understand."
Flustered, the guards muttered and left to report.
"Forgive us, kind sir," the mother whispered, trembling. "We've dragged you into this."
"It's nothing," Duke said lightly. "I just can't stomach their methods. Here—eat something. Looks like you haven't had a proper meal in days."
He handed them canned rations and left Lux to watch over them, while he approached the far wall. His left eye flared, piercing the stone.
A man came into view on the other side—hair tied back in a messy knot, beard rough, eyes burning with bitterness and rage. Both hands were locked in petricite shackles, chains bolted to the floor. Crude runes marred his skin.
Duke knew him at once.
The Unshackled—Sylas.
"Hey, neighbor."
Sylas's voice echoed through the wall. "How'd you end up here?"
"Told you—doing the right thing."
Duke's tone was dry. He had no love for Sylas; the man had suffered oppression, yes, but the way he'd lashed back was anything but clean.
"Doing the right thing?" Sylas laughed bitterly. "Only mages end up in here. Or those who help them. You saved a mage, didn't you?"
"So what if I did?"
The retort silenced Sylas for a beat. Then he said, "You're not Demacian?"
"No. I'm from Piltover."
"Figures. Demacians see us like rabbits before a shadow wolf—only fear and hate. No Demacian would ever stand up for a mage."
His voice dripped with self-mockery. Duke conjured a chair, sat down, and trimmed a cigar with leisurely precision.
"And how did you land here?"
"Me?" Sylas let out a low, humorless chuckle. "I only did what a true Demacian should."
"A true Demacian?" Duke shook his head. Sylas could call himself whatever he liked, but who knew what truly lay in his heart? After all, this same man would later escape and seek aid in Freljord—people who saw Demacians as weak prey to plunder.
Trusting him would be a fool's game.
"How long have you been rotting here?"
"Ten years, maybe more. The food's vile. Hope you can stomach it, stranger."
"Won't be a problem. I won't be here past tonight."
Duke flicked ash from his cigar. A craftsman of his stature had value too great to ignore. With the Buvel, Crownguard, and Duran families on his side, even one night here would be hard to arrange.
"You're confident," Sylas said, voice low. "Seems you're no simple man."
"I'm just a scientist. Came here to do business, compete in the Arena of Glory, and slap a few arrogant faces along the way. Once that's done, I'm gone."
"Heh. Easy words." Sylas's gaze narrowed. "But… you're a mage too, aren't you?"
End of chapter....
IRONBOUND PATRON
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