Month 8

Being a Medarda carries the immense burden of greatness. Ambessa ensured that every moment of my stay in her estate was spent being a general of Noxus someday. But I get the feeling that there is something more to it than that. Despite her importance as a general and the looming threat of war with Ionian, Ambessa spent her free time mentoring me personally. Along with Julion, Ambessa took personal interest in my education, both physical and mental. There wasn’t much that she could offer to me in terms of academics. Noxus history was the only thing that I was unfamiliar with. After intense studying and restructuring my worldview from their perspective, I understood why Noxus reveres strength. The first tribe to have claimed land was the Laccore. The foundation of aggression and brutal expansion began from the basic need to survive in the dark. Over the course of the assembly of the tribes, where strength was the only draw that kept them together, the nation that would be called Noxus grew through constant conflict. Magic, necromancy in particular, serves as the stepping stone for much of Noxus's greatness. Mordekaiser, the former brutal lord of Noxus, and Sion, the equally brutal general of early Noxus. Both were men of valor who served Noxus from the very beginning. And both are now revenants, undead warriors of terrifying power. Despite this, Ambessa delivered the lesson with a mixture of fondness and disgust. I’m sure she admires them for their brutality, strength, and will, but the use of necromancy soured her reverence. Within the conversation of magic, she has warned me about a particular group of mages known as the Black Rose. Ambessa has forbidden me from making any contact with them. My suspicion is that she not only has an immense disdain for magic, but she also sees it as a weakness for weak people.

“Is that understood?” We walk together along the outside of the estate, where guards run drills, march in formations, and engage in formal lessons of military history. For as much lush greenery as there is, all was fashioned in a way that leaves much room for constant military readiness. “Magic is a tool to dismantle, not to define you as a warrior.”

I had to keep up with her strides as she observes the drills of the soldiers and guards. “Except when it comes to healing.” The daily relief from pain only comes as a reward from learning my lessons. Currently, I’m hurting all over, which was the same as yesterday and every day before that.

Ambessa looks down at me and adjusts my studded leather armor. “Your pain has taught you what?”

By the look on her face, I know now is not the time to be a smartass. “That trading strikes should serve as a means to end the fight in my favor, not to prolong it, because of my earlier errors.”

As she stands up straight, she nods approvingly. “And what was your error?”

“I lacked intimidation.” My hands rise to my left shoulder, still aflame with pain, regardless of the ointment and bandage. “My opponent trusted his skills and knew me to be a jokester, instead of a trickster.”

She gestures for me to accompany her on the walk. “And the difference between the two?”

Admitting this out loud hurts. I like who I am, but in Noxus, people take humor to a level close to grievous insult to their honor. “Joking must be used as a tool for mentally disarming your target. Tricks must lead the way towards absolute victory.”

Looking up at Ambessa, her cheeks flex in the attempt to hide a proud smile. “Very good. You are wise for your age.” She stopped at the edge of the barrier before the practice grounds.

Something that the soldiers in the drill like displeases her. Immediately, whatever error she sensed quickly corrected itself. The soldiers, despite their fatigue, instantly shaped up their form. The drill instructor in charge felt the difference and exploded in anger, as his authority was undermined.

“Grandmother, you’ve avoided speaking of my father directly.” The air hung still. The surrounding soldiers grunted in exhaustion as they endured the heightened demands of the drill instructor.

Ambessa took a deep breath, savoring the calm before the storm of emotional turmoil. “Your father...is away in Ionian.”

That simple statement alone is enough for me to make my own speculations. “My mother made it seem like he had died.”

Ambessa turned slowly to resume her walk, I followed. “Then my informants have performed their duties well. Your mother...we did not agree on matters of household legacy.”

“That’s understandable. Onisegun only cares for survival.” We reached the dragonkin kennel. The hounds socialized with the handlers, but when they smelled our scent, they immediately sped towards us. As we stopped at the hip-high fence, they slid to a stop and sat before us obediently, without being told to.

“Survival is the only thing we can agree on.” Ambessa opened the fence and stepped inside the dragonhound pen. “She and Kino are a perfect match.” Ambessa begins to pet and inspect each hound.

I followed her example. They respect Ambessa more than me, understandably. The only saving grace is that I smell like her. Otherwise, they roughhouse with me, as if I'm a pup. “You don’t like saying her name?”

Ambessa chuckled harshly. “She has done nothing to earn it.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Ah! She once, and only once, confronted me about being banished from Noxus.”

The dragonhound I currently have has developed a nasty habit of licking my hand. “So, it was banishment? Please, tell me more.”

She smirks as she moves to another dragonhound. “Kino is the one who proposed her banishment. Out of respect for his persuasive strength, I permitted his wishes.”

That admission drove me into silence. The only reason that a father would send their pregnant wife away, banishing them from his life, is to avoid the threats that Noxus attracts. It’s an understandable reason and the most plausible. But without confronting Kino myself, I will never know. “He didn’t want me to be a Noxian.”

“Indeed.” Ambessa gave special attention to the alpha of the pack. A dragonhound of massive bulk, but with lean, hulking muscle twitching under its scales. “It’s ironic, his attempts to avoid his son becoming a proud Noxian, and here you are, exceeding all of my expectations.”

I turn to her. “Have I?”

“By the accounts of my informants, you have achieved more in your youth than I have collecting swords from the fallen.” Ambessa releases the hound and leans against the fence. “You’ve taken over Zaun at such a young age, using both cunning, ingenuity, and brutality.”

The dragonhound’s obsession with licking my hand had to be cut short. I pushed the hound along, and it ran off to pounce on another hound. “It had to be done. Zaun had to change or become stagnant. Or worse, destroyed.”

That piqued her interest. “I wasn’t your personal ambition? You did it only to survive?”

I nod while wiping my hand dry of hound saliva. “To survive with my foster family, only at the top, of course.”

“Are you confident that you can do the same for Noxus?” The way Ambessa asked that question was one of genuine curiosity. All this time, she has been sure of her speculations. Now, it seems as if she’s once again calculating my worth to Noxus.

“Only if I know everything about Noxus, and I mean everything.” My confidence grows as I calculate all I have seen so far. “Also, I need to know what motivates the people. Being the new guy, I highly doubt anyone would acknowledge me.”

Ambessa grins eagerly, pushes off the fence, and slaps my shoulder, awakening pain through my body. “You are as sharp as a whip, my boy!”

Despite the pain, there was something else that grabbed my attention. Ambessa has never smiled that hard before. And if there’s anything that can make a Noxian smile, it’s battle and food.

“There are two ways to gather fame and respect: through war and the arena.” She directs me towards a spare training ground directly behind the estate.

This little arena looks special, equipment is perfectly arranged along the side. A hydration station and a hip-high tree with vegetables growing larger than a fist are built next to a large throne.

My sore shoulders dropped. “Don’t tell me...”

“This will be one of your many training grounds.” Ambessa unhooks the fence and walks towards the throne and sits. The roaming soldiers saw us and quickly mobilized towards the arena. Upon reaching the outside fence, they stopped in perfect unison, ready to follow her orders. Ambessa took a vegetable from the tree. “Owen, catch,” and tossed me something that looks green and feels whole as I caught it.

“What is this?” I bite into it, and it tastes as medicine should taste—bitter and disgusting—but the aftertaste is strangely sweet. “I hope it’s something that will help with the pain.”

Ambessa took a bite of a red apple-looking vegetable. “What? No, it’s just a snack for me. But for a boy like you? You need all the strength you can get.”

My shoulder’s slumped, and I look at all the soldiers waiting for me. “Let me guess...”

“They are your opponents.” She looks at me with a glare close to sadism.

All 30 soldiers, looking a few years older than me. “I’m feeling the Medarda love...” I complained as I hung my robes on a wooden spear end. A soldier enters the arena, with the permission of his general. We selected our chosen weapons: his wooden sword and my wrapped fists.

Ambessa raises a brow. “It is not wise to approach a warrior bare-handed.”

Standing across from the soldier, I lowered into a grappler’s stance. “I am a weapon.” Unbeknown to them, my fortification formulas are written into my wraps, hardening them akin to steel.

One by one, I dominated the soldiers. Each unique combat style that was used against me was broken down, like the formulas of my late mentor, Hal. It was not without the agony of learning of just how deadly each style was. Pirates from Bilgewater, ferocious and cunning, made their minds hardwired for exploitation of weaknesses. Despite their rough and mostly unsatiated exterior, they have a wickedly sharp mind. Brilliant in their own right, each turns their own weaknesses into strengths, befitting Noxus’s philosophy. Bigger pirates utilized their central gravity to always keep me facing them, never allowing me to get at their back. The thinner pirates were culled and forced to adapt. Being quick on their feet served them best, as agility is their ultimate strength. Demacians being in the Noxus forces was something that I hadn't expected. Given their relations with Noxus, I would imagine that they would be executed on the spot. But as I absorbed information from each of them, I felt that they were permanently crippled in some aspects. Too prideful to be controlled, but was scorned in some manner enough to leave their motherland and come to Noxus. Tattoos and branding made up the majority of their exposed skin. Exiles and prisoners most likely. Beaten down by whatever punishment they suffered, only to be beaten down in Noxus. Such is the turmoil of our modern world. Damacians and Noxians have a lot in common, martial arts-wise, both love to battle. If only they saw that commonality, then relations between their kingdoms wouldn’t be so complicated. But as another Demacia-born warrior turned Noxian fell, I’m reminded of the hands that had taken and turned me into what I never imagined. A soldier of tribal tattoos, bright auburn hair, and a body hardened by tundra lands. Freljord venerates magic as a part of their culture, but not all admire magic as a source of strength. Noxus has drawn such men from the frostlands, and dropped them in front of me. With hands trembling in pain, body worn from exhaustion, cracks begin to grow in my defense. I felt the raw power of the children of the frost, the will that drove them to seek power. Their bones held firm as I battered them, cutting through the skin that stood against the bite of cold. Each one fell, each cursed in begrudging respect gained from trading blows with me.

“Keep your senses sharp, boy, you’re bleeding all over my armor.” Ambessa chuckles and continues to take patient bites of her disgusting vegetables.

I didn’t mind her finding enjoyment in my suffering, what else can I expect from a warlord? My will is the only thing that forces my hands and feet to move. Plus, I prefer to die in Powder’s arms, not in this gothic hellhole. Ionia warriors have hypnotic and fluid movements. It was difficult to stay awake to learn how they move. One particular palm thrust to my chest sent a sensation of restoration through my body. It was enough to not matter at all, as the soldier has endured their fair share of beatings as well. Looking into their eyes, I saw a warrior of burning pride in their heart. They didn’t want to fight on uneven ground. Commendable, but they just gave me more problems. I either fight with the renewed energy or pretend to still be injured and fatigued from the back-to-back fights. The Ionian soldier nodded before charging forward with their wooden staff, seeking the end of our drawn-out conflict. Ignoring Ambessa’s judgmental glare, I used the freedom of fear to step into their range, flipped them on their back, and beat them unconscious. I didn’t hold anything back. If I am to survive Noxus, I need to do so on my own strength, not accepting help, even to level the odds. It’s reckless, even for me, but I have no choice. At least in Zaun, there was a sense of community. Here, there is the obligation to fight every single day and to never turn down a challenge. The gauntlet continues, and by the last felled Ionia, my back hits the ground. A warrior of Ixtal stood over me, then looked to Ambessa, who gave the nod to continue. A grin spreads across my mouth as she lifts her feet to stomp my head in. Before the moment of impact, I caught it and twisted her foot 180 degrees. A pop and a tear, and she fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Mounting her hips, I silenced her screams with a solid punch. Nothing to learn from her, not the time for it. Ambessa is teaching me the ruthlessness of war—no breaks, no mercy, not even from her. Ixtal style is free and vicious, primal, yet sophisticated. They are confident on their feet as they dismantle me. On the ground, they posed to challenge my unbeaten dominance. But each one lay defeated and spent of their primal pride. Yet I’m in no different shape. While partially healed from that palm strike, my body is screaming to finish what Ambessa started. As I stand, powered by only my burning need to survive, I’m met with a familiar face of entitlement. I know it anywhere. Standing in front of me, as the fallen Ixtal is being hauled away. The only bravery this one feels is due to our circumstances. He thinks he has me, like a cornered rat. Piltover’s citizens have always been entitled. At this point, it must be genetic. No other place on Runeterra has produced such trash like Pilties. Instead of letting this arrogant pig think that he has the upper hand, I let him have it. I took my sweet time with him, his screams rang through my ears with a familiarity that I can hardly place. Then it hit me.

“You’re...one of the Yenir kids!” The swollen and bruised face of the spoiled brat I dominated last year now faces a new year of pain.

He struggled to claw his way from my grip on his neck. “You...got me...disowned...my family...suffers...”

I lifted his head up and slammed him back to the ground. Seeing him shudder in agony filled me with an energy that wanted more pain. “I don’t know if I should thank you or crush your skull.” I land another punch to his already swollen face, loosening teeth from his gums. “All the hell with it.” My punches rain down with merciless fury.

For some reason, seeing one of the Yenir kids here didn’t upset me as much as I thought it would. It was a strange sense of gratitude. Although the assault charge took me away from my family, away from Powder, I’ve discovered more about myself than I thought possible. I met Princess and sent her away. I met Scar and formed a frenemy relationship with him. I now have a new reason to burn Stillwater down to the ground. But more importantly, my grandmother found me, pulled strings to exchange me for a Piltie, and brought me back to my ancestral homeland. So, I repay him by breaking his jaw and beating the rest of the Pilties half to death. It was no secret that I hold a special hatred of Piltover’s citizens, not that I want it to be a fact that I hate them. The Yenir kid will be my personal punching bag, I’ll make sure Ambessa remembers that. The blood lust, the vengeance, the destruction of the human body, and the rush of battle—this is what Noxians feel when they win fights. Invisibility fills me as I stand, feeling better than ever. Still weakened by the accumulative damage, but something is giving me strength that I’ve never felt before. It doesn't matter, as my next and final batch of warriors decided to flood in. One by one, the true scum of Zaun and the sand walkers of Shurima rushed me with everything they’ve got. The surrounding soldiers were beaten, and Ambessa watched in awe as the heat of battle consumed us. This pleasure, this pain—it’s eating me alive, and I love it! At this point, as the fists collide against my bones and the blood flies, I can’t feel anything close to pain. The meaning of pain fails to hold any weight in my world anymore. It sent chills down my spine, when pain ignites across my body, it only makes me fight even harder. My enthusiasm begins to form as a weapon to drive away the soldiers in fear and disgust. That’s one thing I’ve discovered when sailing to Noxus: war is ugly, and only the ugly survives. When it was all over, I was standing numb in the middle of the arena. The remaining soldiers lay either broken on the ground, standing protected behind the fence, or crawling away from who shouldn’t have floored 30 soldiers. Turning to Ambessa, I see her fighting her proud smile, unwilling to fully display her true feelings. All went black, my legs turned to jelly, and the world turned upside down.

Freshly baked bread of some sort of spices woke me. Ambessa reads at the foot of my bed as servants work around me to treat my wounds.

“30 newly chosen soldiers, crippled.” She didn’t sound all too pleased. Her eyes stayed on the book, skimming quickly from paragraph to paragraph.

The maids and nurses worked around us, willingly avoiding her overturned legs. “So they were weak soldiers? Thanks, that makes me feel better.”

Ambessa scoffs and bores her eyes into me. “Tell me, Owen, are you a mage? And speak simply, you are in no shape to deceive me.”

The maids and nurses read the room and retreated to the far end, leaving me alone to face Ambessa in my vulnerable state. Funny, I was having the time of my life just hours ago. Now, I’m in the same position I was in previously in Stillwater, on my back fighting through the healing process. So I told her everything: my meeting of Hal and his failed apprentices, the solving of the formulas, how my mind seems to break down formulas of life itself, and how I’ve managed to use my knowledge of formulas to control the arcane itself.

Ambessa ponders the revelation of news, takes a roll of bandage, and observes it in thought. “This is unlike the magic I’ve witnessed within Noxus and on the battlefield.”

“Your weapons in the walls, the real ones, all have dispel runes written on the shafts and blades.” I shift my eyes to them, as it’s the only muscle that I can move right now.

Ambessa pulls back the covers to reveal my right arm and begins to unwrap the bandages. “You have never used magic akin to a mage?”

She carefully cleans my wounds with a wet rag and applies ointment. “I never used magic like a mage, I use formulas to survive.”

My grandmother begins wrapping my arm in new bandages, as if she has done it a thousand times. “You will have to show me how you use the arcane. As I understand, it gives strength to those who are unfit to be warriors.”

I look at my worn leather armor. “Look under my chestplate, you’ll see the formulas etched in the upper pads and along the back.”

She ties the bandage immediately, swipes the cuirass from the floor, and begins to inspect the areas mentioned carefully. Upon finding the markings, she ran her finger over them, feeling the blade that parted the leather. “You cut these symbols in my armor?”

“Yes, to hold my consciousness together, to keep me standing, to keep fighting no matter what happens.” I watch as Ambessa’s eyes flash with astonishment. She struggles to comprehend her overwhelming pride and the fact that I technically used the arcane, like a mage.

“Still...” She tosses the cuirass to the side, unceremoniously flopping down to the floor. “...you used magic to obtain strength beyond your ability.”

“Against 30 soldiers, who were in better shape than me, yeah, I’m guilty.” I countered, half expecting for her to smash my face in right there. Gauging the true extent of her animosity of magic wasn’t difficult, I just needed to see how far I could take it. If there is a way to convince her to use my formulas for her war efforts, I can secure my place in Noxus, other than being her grandson.

She pulled back the cover to reveal more of my battered body. “You...failed to augment your strength.” She almost sounds disappointed.

“Now that would be cheating. I just needed my consciousness to remain where it is, awake.” I licked my lips, the action of doing so made talking more painful than it already is. Those throat punches really did a number on me. “It was my only trick I pulled, everything else was of my own will.”

Ambessa looked into my eyes for a moment, testing my resolve. “Any other warrior would have been knocked out.” She grabs a cup of water from the tray beside me and brings it to my lips. “But you forced yourself awake, by your formulas, to keep fighting.” She tips the cup to my mouth steadily, allowing me to drink. “You are a foolish child.” Her delivery was one of pragmatic fact, void of disappointment. “From this day forward, you will no longer use your formulas without my permission.” She pulls her hand back slightly, ending the only source of sustenance I’ve had since that mock battle.

“Did I...make you proud?” The effort of asking that question took more out of me than the twenty knees to the chest I absorbed.

Ambessa’s face was gentle and content, a face I’m sure that’s only reserved for a handful of people in her life. “You have done more than make me proud. You are shaping up to be a challenger for the heir.”

I grinned at the thought of inheriting the Medarda throne. “Great, more fighting. At least I get to see Mel again?”

That piqued her interest. “And what is it that you wish to speak to her about?”

Thoughts of using a knife to extract information from her throat. “Oh, Grandmother, you understand by now that she’s the one who set all this up. I just want to thank her for changing my life so drastically.”

She studies my face and sees that I’m changing into an unstable monster, not quite the change she was molding me into. “Although I disagree with her approach concerning family, I would be a hypocrite to interfere.”

That stopped my racing mind plotting for revenge. “You would let me go through with it?”

Her hand rotates the glass of water with meticulous investment. “Your late uncle, Ta'Fik, challenged me for the head of the clan. To summarize...” she returns the glass cup to my mouth for me to continue drinking. “...I did what was necessary to secure my position.” She waits until I finish drinking the entire cup. “I allowed no one to stand in my way, not even my own blood.”

As she pulled the cup back, all I could hear was the clear road to securing my vengeance. “I understand. Thank you, Grandmother.”

Then a smirk curled her lip. “Mel isn’t the only one that you should worry about.” Taking pleasure in my disturbed expression, she eliminated the suspense. “When I banished Mel, I adopted Rell to mold into the perfect Medarda. A proud warrior to carry the clan values into the future.”

“She’ll fail, and you know she will.” Seeing through that setup was a no-brainer, and Ambessa knew it. “If she’s just as you claim her to be, then she failed in the future, because I don’t see her in it.”

“The future, however...” She pats my chest. “…is not yet set,” and she stands to her feet. “You’ve impressed me during your skirmish. You’ll be trained as an officer under me. There is a village that needs to serve as an example for what is to come. You will serve that example.”

She doesn't turn to leave just yet, as she anticipates more questions, and she was right to do so. “What of my father, Kino? When is he coming back?”

Her once proud face shifts to one of resignation. “He’ll return just in time to witness his son as a true Noxus warrior.” She places a hand on my shoulder and presses my back into the pillow. “Rest, Owen, you know you’ll need it.”

With that, she left the room. The maids and nurses resumed their duties. Their efforts are fueled by the desire to avoid the oncoming storm of punishment if I’m not seen to be in full health. The following days were filled with rigorous military training, consisting of drilling the very soldiers I’ve beaten. 30 recruits now follow my every command. As I gained experience through simulated drills, they grew to respect my leadership in mock battles and small tournaments. Although they respect me more after every mock battle, it didn’t come without complications. There were daily challenges that tested my resolve and authority. The Yenir boy proves to be the only one willing to stand against me consistently. And every time he challenges me, I have to make an example out of him. The injuries I’ve sustained from him were life-changing for the both of us. I never knew of the depths of my creativity and depravity until it came time to punish the Yenir boy for having dared to challenge me. After each reprimand, I’ve improved my skills of socially shaming and humiliating a proud warrior. Each corporal punishment in front of my war band serves as another grim reminder of who I’ve become. At this point, as I stand over the Yenir boy, I’ve become no different from the Enforcers within Stillwater. I became a figure of authority who would torture, maul, twist, mutilate, and brutalize anyone who would dare to challenge my power. My depravity had sunk to such a low that I have used the formulas to manipulate flesh into unsightly horrors. Yenir, the object of my wrath, serves as a living deterrent of defiance. Ambessa watched my every move closely. Through her eyes and the eyes of her spies, she observes as I mold my warband into what reflects me as I am now, a man that hates. Standing in front of Ambessa, in her grand hall, she promotes me to the full authority of an officer. Surrounding us are her personal lieutenants and officers under her command.

“Tomorrow before dawn, Officer Owen will lead the charge to the outskirts of Shurima to remind the village of Bel'zhun where their loyalties lie.” Ambessa hands me the documents detailing everything I need to know about the village. “Show them who Noxus is.”

I accepted the documents and saluted as a Noxian. When I turned to leave, I caught the eyes of Rell. Instantly, I can tell she was a mage. Our power clashed with her mind on a magical level that no one could feel, except for the magically sensitive. The plains beyond give me not visions but sensations that she is one of many incarnations of a tortured soul. All roads point to Black Rose’s obsession with controlling any mage they can get their hands on. They haven’t gotten to her yet, but from what I can feel, they have their eyes on her. And in relation, they have their eyes on me as well. Her eyes follow me, predatory and curious. A well-trained hunter and the handler of none other than Ambessa, who crafted her into a true warrior of fierce potential. Upon leaving the grand hall, I march towards my quarters. The moment to prove myself has come, I have a chance to change my fate under Noxus.