"Hey there, handsome!"
With a greatsword strapped to her back, Samira crossed her arms as a few Noxian warriors followed behind. Her remaining left eye—sharp and unflinching—swept over Duke, full of appraisal and interest.
At the sudden appearance of Samira, Duke raised an eyebrow. Well, speak of the devil… just when I wanted to ask around about Viktor, the local trouble comes knocking.
His luck, it seemed, wasn't bad at all.
"What can I do for you, ma'am?"
Duke's gaze drifted over her. Long black hair, braided with golden and silver threads and dotted with tiny jewels, cascaded over her shoulder. When sunlight struck it, it shimmered brilliantly.
Her right eye was covered with an eyepatch, and the beauty mark at the corner of her lips only heightened her dangerous charm.
Both arms were inked with tattoos—each one a story, each scar an adventure.
Her upper body was wrapped in tight leather armor that exposed a toned midriff, and her lower half was clad in fitted pants, one leg tucked into a high boot with a bandolier strapped across her thigh.
"I heard," she said, her voice edged with playful menace, "that you fired a weapon in the streets. That sort of thing interests me."
"I see," Duke replied, nodding slightly. He understood at once—his earlier display with the ebony pistol had attracted attention.
And this woman, of all people, was notorious for replacing her firearms after every mission—meaning she was always on the lookout for finely crafted weapons.
Samira hailed from Amacra, a town on the eastern edge of the Great Shuriman Desert. Born to street performers, she'd spent her childhood dazzling crowds with tricks and acrobatics—until one day, when she was fourteen, her town was destroyed by unknown raiders.
Her family fled to Bel'jun, and it was there that she joined Noxus, chasing the thrill of battle and the glory of risk.
A pure adrenaline junkie—reckless, daring, and utterly fearless.
People like her did everything swiftly—never half-heartedly.
"Shall we find somewhere more private to talk?"
Duke spread his hands casually. Since Samira had sought him out, there was no reason to turn her away.
Though not native to Bel'jun, she was well-acquainted with its streets—and more importantly, as a Noxian agent, she had access to a vast network of information.
"I like you already," Samira said bluntly, lips curving into a grin. "Follow me, pretty boy. I hope you can handle the local liquor."
"My pleasure."
Her subordinates cleared a path as Samira led Duke to a shabby tavern on the outskirts of town.
"Calling this a tavern's generous," Duke thought. It was more like a mud-brick hut held up by wooden beams, draped with canvas to block sun and sand.
When they pushed aside the heavy curtain, the bustling room fell briefly silent at Samira's entrance, only to resume its lively chaos moments later.
Samira took a seat at the bar, slapped the scarred table, and beckoned Duke over.
"What'll it be, handsome?"
"I brought my own," Duke replied, pulling out a flask and setting it down. Samira raised a brow, eyeing his outfit curiously as he took a seat.
"You look new around here," she said.
"Just passing through," Duke muttered after a sip, lighting a cigar and tossing her one. "I'm looking for someone."
"Maybe I can help. But…"
"I'm not selling the guns."
Duke cut her off before she could finish. The ebony and ivory pair—his masterpieces—weren't for trade. He intended to keep them, perhaps pass them down someday.
Besides, Samira was the kind who saw weapons as expendable. Once the bullets ran dry, she'd throw the gun away without a second thought.
At his words, Samira's lone eye narrowed dangerously. The tavern quieted at once, all eyes turning toward Duke.
The silence was heavy, suffocating.
"Careful, pretty boy," Samira said, her voice cool as she poured herself a drink. "Shurima's always warm to strangers… but to the ones who don't know their place, that warmth turns to fire."
She pushed a glass toward him. "You get my meaning, don't you? Beneath the sands lie plenty of bones."
Duke snapped his fingers. A low growl echoed as Rage, his ice-blue companion, materialized from the void. Samira's hand instantly went to her sword, eyes sharp.
"A mage?" she asked.
"Scientist," Duke replied dryly, sipping from his flask. "Rage, cool the place down."
"Rrragh!"
In an instant, frost misted over Rage's eyes. A breath of freezing air burst forth, coating the tavern in ice. Walls, floor, furniture—all frozen solid.
Even the air shimmered with cold.
The desert-born patrons, accustomed to heat and thin clothing, shivered violently as their breath turned white.
"Sorry, what were you saying?" Duke asked casually, exhaling a cloud of vapor.
"I… don't quite remember," Samira admitted through chattering teeth, her skin breaking out in goosebumps. Born in the desert, she had never known such cold.
For once, the thrill-seeker was at a loss for words.
"This is Noxian territory—"
"Rage, lower the temperature," Duke interrupted lazily, pulling on a fur coat as the beast's icy breath deepened. Frost crept up Samira's arms until her whole body shimmered with ice.
"Alright, I yield!" she gasped. "What do you want?"
That was better.
Duke tossed her the fur coat, smiling faintly. "Smart woman."
Shivering, she wrapped it tightly around herself. She'd never thought she'd need such a thing in Shurima.
"Now, you came here for weapons, didn't you?"
Duke took another drink, trimming his cigar. Samira nodded quickly. "An informant told me you've got some fine guns."
"Oh, I do. More than just one pair. The real question is—can you afford my price?"
At her signal, a trembling subordinate approached with a heavy sack of coins. Samira dumped them onto the counter.
Duke didn't even glance at it. Instead, he flipped out a gem the size of a fist, tossing it to Rage, who caught it in his jaws.
The entire tavern stared—Samira included. That gem alone was worth generations of luxury.
"You got anything better?" Duke asked calmly.
Samira's breath fogged the air as she shivered. "Tell me what you want."
"I'm looking for someone—a craftsman from Piltover. He passed through here about a month ago."
Duke slid a photo of Viktor across the bar. Samira glanced at it and nodded. "I can find him."
"No rush," Duke said, tossing the gem again. "Since you want weapons, I'll make you an offer."
"I'm a fair man. You help me find him, I'll sell you something worthwhile. And let's call your earlier… rudeness, paid in full."
Samira's lips twitched. She didn't quite grasp what he meant, but "weapons" was all she needed to hear.
"I need something powerful—fast firing," she said.
"No problem."
Duke placed a pair of finely crafted revolvers on the counter. "These are Anacondas. Custom-built, using enchanted liquid ammunition. Each round can pierce thirty centimeters of steel."
He laid out several test-tube-sized cartridges filled with glowing fluid. "Different solutions yield different effects—armor-piercing, incendiary, electric, explosive, cryogenic, scatter…"
Samira's single eye widened, breath catching. She waved to her men, ordering them to fetch the craftsman's trail immediately.
Duke chuckled, shaking his head. "Hah, never seen real craftsmanship before, huh?"
He took another drink, eyes glinting.
"A bunch of hillbillies."
End of chapter....
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