"Say my work is scrap metal one more time, and next time I'll parade you through the streets for all to see!!"
After slapping the Swordmaiden across the face, Duke grabbed her by the arm and hurled her out the door.
Fiora had come in standing tall, but now she was thrown out sideways, sprawling in an undignified heap on the ground. Thanks to the protection of her exoskeleton, she wasn't injured even after rolling across the dirt a few times.
Still, her tailbone burned with a searing ache. With a furious slap of her palm against the ground, she shattered the flagstones beneath her and shot several meters into the air, flustered by the sudden, uncontrollable surge of power.
But her training and skill quickly kicked in. Within moments, Fiora twisted midair, righted herself, and landed firmly on the ground.
The result, however, was a courtyard scattered with broken tiles.
"This… this can't be…"
She stared at the shattered stones in disbelief. Even the soil beneath had been upheaved by her strike.
"How did my strength increase so much?"
Shocked by the sudden surge of her power, Fiora forgot the pain lancing through her tailbone. Looking down at her hands in awe, she slowly clenched her fists. The air itself cracked and popped as she squeezed.
With the augmentation of the exoskeleton, she had crushed the very air in her grip.
"My strength…"
The Swordmaiden trembled as she felt the heightened power coursing through her. Shock and disbelief deepened in her eyes.
"This is impossible… without years of bitter training, just one piece of armor alone can grant me this much strength?"
"That man…"
Her gaze turned toward the door before her, filled with alarm. "Just who is he?"
Creaaak!
The door swung open. Duke, holding Fiora's rune-steel rapier, stepped outside. His brows arched at the ruined courtyard she had caused. Tossing the rapier aside, he rolled up his sleeves and strode toward her.
"You even dare wreck my front yard? You've really got some nerve!"
"Wait, I—"
Before Fiora could explain, Duke had already lifted her into the air with the Force, swinging his palm and smacking her across the face again.
Five minutes later.
"You'll pay for this!!"
Outside the courtyard wall, Fiora clutched her rapier, her face flushed with two fiery red patches.
"I swear I'll make you pay!"
"Fine, fine. I'll be waiting," Duke said casually, wiping his hands with a handkerchief. Ignoring her threat, he turned and went back inside.
At this moment, Fiora Laurent was nothing more than a rebellious young girl. She deserved a lesson.
And truth be told—his hand had rather enjoyed it.
With that, Duke shut the door, leaving Fiora fuming at the empty air. She stamped her foot, huffed in anger, and stormed off—though her steps were far from steady.
Never in her life had anyone treated her this way.
Though she had rejected her family's marriage arrangements, Fiora had always been the treasured jewel of House Laurent. No one had ever dared humiliate her like this.
"You'll see! I'll make you pay!"
Her stride faltered again as the burning pain near her tailbone flared, deepening the blush on her cheeks. Something new, something unfamiliar, flickered in her eyes.
The marketplace bustled.
A figure with arms shackled in mage-binding chains, dragging long iron links behind him, walked down Demacia's main street. His unkempt face was etched with curiosity.
Silas—after more than a decade imprisoned in the dark dungeons—had nearly forgotten what life in the city felt like.
He hadn't seen the sun for years.
And yet, his figure moved through the market as if untouched by reality, like a mirage walking freely among the crowd.
LeBlanc had branded him with the mark of the Black Rose, granting him not only concealment but also a portion of her own secret knowledge.
Among that knowledge was insight into petricite—the anti-magic stone.
Armed with this, Silas finally understood the depths of his gift. He could do more than simply see magic. He could touch it, copy it. The mage-binding shackles that once suppressed him could now serve as conduits, absorbing spells and storing them until he chose to unleash them.
Right now, he was using LeBlanc's magic to cloud the senses of everyone nearby, making them blind to his presence.
His chains might still clink, but the true shackles on his soul were gone. In their place burned a single desire—vengeance.
Hatred for all injustice.
Following LeBlanc's directions, Silas left the city, heading east toward the hidden encampment of outcast mages.
LeBlanc—an ancient witch from the days of Mordekaiser—had lived longer than even she could remember. With knowledge stretching back countless centuries, she had planted the seeds of the Black Rose across all of Runeterra, waiting for them to sprout into chaos.
Now, with Demacia's unrest beginning to smolder, she needed only to sit back and watch.
A performance centuries in the making was about to begin.
Deep within the forest, in the mages' encampment…
"How much longer do we have to wait?"
The impatient roar came from a red-haired dwarf, hopping in frustration. "Are we supposed to hide here until the end of time?"
"Calm yourself, Flarim," a freckle-faced girl said softly, but the dwarf only stomped about more furiously.
"When will this cursed waiting end?!"
He slammed a foot to the ground, and the earth beneath him melted, fusing into crude glass before crystallizing with a hiss.
"Patience, Flarim," said Elder Laoyer, leaning on his oak staff. His voice was steady, carrying wisdom and calm. "The time is not yet right. We must wait."
"Waiting won't win us anything!"
Before Flarim could speak again, another voice cut in. "He's right. Waiting gains us nothing."
Flarim spun around in anger. "Who said that?!"
"Me."
From the edge of the camp, Silas emerged. His once haggard face now gleamed with confidence.
"And who in the blazes are you?" Flarim snapped.
"I am Silas of Dregbourne," he said, striding forward to meet Flarim's glare. "And I've come with a way to set us free."
The camp erupted in whispers.
"Silas? Never heard of him."
"I think I remember that name… wasn't he wanted years ago?"
"Yes, one of the most dangerous mages alive!"
"But wasn't he captured?"
"Then how's he here now?"
"Look at his shackles—petricite cuffs. He must've escaped the mageseekers' prison!"
"Escaping that? Unbelievable…"
As the crowd murmured, Flarim sneered. "And what's this solution you're bragging about? Let's hear it."
Silas only smiled. Laying a hand on Flarim's shoulder, he touched the flow of magic—and copied it.
He stepped forward, and the ground beneath his boots began to melt into molten stone, heat shimmering in the air.
"Simple," he said with a grin. "I'm stronger than you."
The sheer force of his gaze drove Flarim back step by step until his heels hit a wall. With nowhere left to retreat, the dwarf bellowed, "Don't underestimate me!"
His boots melted as heat surged through his body. He leapt forward, feet blazing with searing force, and kicked at Silas.
But Silas, wielding the same power, caught him easily. His burning hand clamped down on Flarim, ignoring the scalding heat, and slammed him to the ground.
Boom!
Flarim hit the earth hard, dazed and spinning.
Silas looked at his glowing hand, a smile curling across his lips.
"Cooled off now?"
Leaving the defeated dwarf groaning, he stepped into the camp's center. By now, everyone knew who he was. They had seen his strength firsthand.
It was time for him to speak.
"Brothers and sisters!" Silas's voice boomed across the camp. "I am Silas of Dregbourne… a Demacian!"
He swept his gaze across them, eyes fierce. "Just like you. True-born Demacians!"
"We should have lived like everyone else—ordinary, happy lives. But because of the nobles' tyranny, our gifts have become our shackles. They turned us into rats in the gutter, living in constant fear!"
"We are branded as plagues. As demons. Cast out and shunned by all!"
"For us, common-born mages, discovery means punishment. Execution on the spot, lifelong imprisonment, or exile without end!"
"But the nobles?" His voice sharpened. "They hide their gifts. They live without fear. They stay aloft, untouched—still nobles, still privileged!"
"And we? We suffer!"
The camp fell silent as his words cut through the air. One by one, eyes met his, filled with fire.
"Enough is enough. It's time we fought back. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth!"
"If they would bind us in chains—then we will shatter those chains! If they make our gifts into curses—then we will make them into weapons!"
"Together, we will topple their rule. Together, we will reclaim Demacia's true path!"
"Together… we will be free!!"
Silas thrust his shackled arm skyward.
"I, Silas of Dregbourne"
"take the name of the Liberator, and bring you the true freedom we all deserve!"
"Let the nobles see… who the real Demacians are!!!"
End of chapter....
IRONBOUND PATRON
🔹 Hexcore Initiate – 15 chapters ahead
🔸 Arc Reactor Elite – 35 chapters + 3 BONUS CHAPTERS + HIDDEN SURPRISES
👉 patreon.com/MrBehringer