Enlistment

Chapter 16

It was the pitch-black early morning of market day, and the October weather was already a bit chilly. An oxcart swayed along the dirt road by the river toward Besilico, its wheels making a monotonous creaking sound as they rolled over the gravel.

Draven sat in the hood of the car, his thin clothes wrapped tightly around him. Behind him, piles of ordinary farm produce obscured Rona's body, which was covered with a tattered sheet.

The oxcart reached a bend in the river, where the current was swift and the rushing water drowned out all other sounds. Draven gently pulled on the reins, and the old ox obediently stopped.

Draven jumped out of the car, swiftly pulled back the old bedsheet, and dragged the heavy body to the shore. Without hesitation, he pushed hard with both arms.

With a muffled "plop," the body sank into the dark river, tumbling a few times before disappearing from sight. Draven stood expressionless on the bank, tossed the sheet in along with the body, and turned back to his car.

A cloud of murky foam rose to the surface of the river, then returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.

Instead of continuing towards Besilico, he turned the oxcart around and drove it into a dense forest by the roadside. He packed the easily convertible hazelnuts, dried fruit, and a sack of grain onto the ox's back, leaving the rest behind, and led the old ox deeper into the forest.

Before long, passersby or wild animals will sort them out.

In December of the same year, Angelo, a wealthy merchant from the inner city known for his loan sharking and shady businesses, was robbed while traveling lightly out of town. For some unknown reason, he had only brought one personal attendant with him. The bodies of the two men were found in a roadside ditch, their throats slit with a sharp blade, and their valuables were missing.

The news didn't reach the relatively isolated riverside village until several days later. Winnie was in the yard sorting dried meat and fruit that were drying in the sun. She was dressed in rough white mourning clothes, her face pale, but her movements were still steady. Hearing the passing village women tell her the gossip about Mr. Angelo's tragic death, she paused for a moment, then continued working, her face expressionless.

She turned and went inside, bringing out a small basket of dried plums. She handed them to Alice and Laurie, who were sitting on small stools by the door, basking in the sun. The two were drowsy from the rare winter sunshine. Alice took the plums, popped one into her mouth, and looked up at Winnie with a sweet smile.

The villagers sighed upon witnessing this scene. What a good woman, yet her life was so tragic. Her daughter, Suva, had tragically drowned three months prior; her husband, the kind-hearted Rona, had been robbed of his oxcart by migrants on a market morning a month earlier, even his strong yellow ox was taken. Several days later, Rona's swollen and mangled body was discovered downstream, the knife wound on his neck a gruesome sight.

Within six months, Winnie lost two close relatives in succession. She was devastated and tried to jump into the river to follow her husband several times, but was stopped by her neighbors. Everyone thought that this frail farm woman, who had suffered one blow after another, would collapse. Unexpectedly, she slowly cheered up and even adopted Laurie from the edge of the village.

Yes, Winnie adopted Laurie, whose mentally ill mother died one early winter morning. Winnie knew that Laurie's tragic fate was also related to that beast, Rona. Laurie and Winnie were the only two people in the village who knew the real cause of Suva's death—suicide.

Even more surprisingly, instead of adopting a boy from among her relatives to inherit the family business as everyone expected, Winnie announced a marriage proposal. The man she was to marry was Alice's childhood sweetheart from Besilico, a young man named Draven.

Draven took Rona's place in the household. He would arrive at Riverside Village the night before each market day, but instead of scaling the wall as before, he would enter the village openly. Around three in the morning, he would help Winnie load the prepared goods onto the oxcart—now pulled by a newly bought, steadfast mule. Once everything was ready, he would go inside, carefully lift the still-sleeping Alice out, wrap her in a thick blanket, and place her in the hay-lined cart. Winnie would then drive, and the three of them would travel together to Besilico in the pre-dawn chill.

Upon arriving at the city market, Draven would take the agreed-upon pound of eggs from Winnie, then carry the groggy Alice back to the shack in the north slums for half a day. Quileta would usually prepare a simple meal, and Darius would stay home if he hadn't gone to the docks. After noon, once Winnie had sold her goods, she would drive to the vicinity of the slums, pick up the contented Alice, and return to Riverside Village.

Winnie had suggested that Draven simply move to Riverside Village, since the house was empty. Draven declined, saying he was still saving money in the city and that he and his brother would definitely come to help with farm work if Aunt Winnie gave him a heads-up.

During the busy farming season, when they were harvesting rice and sowing winter wheat, Darius and Draven came to help and did a great deal of work. Winnie calculated their wages for the day, and the brothers couldn't refuse, so they accepted.

They seemed to have lost a family member, yet also gained one. A delicate and fragile balance was maintained through the tacit understanding between the two families.

This winter was indeed as difficult as expected. Prices rose again, and fights over food or fuel could often be heard in the slums. Some familiar faces disappeared; no one knew if they froze to death, starved to death, or went elsewhere. The neighbors around the house had changed again.

But Draven's shack wasn't as shabby as one might imagine. Sometime during the night, Draven had piled up several bags of oats and potatoes, and even a few pieces of dark, dried smoked beef, in the low-ceilinged storage room on the second floor. Quiretta asked him in surprise where he got them, and Draven just grinned and said, "A gift from nature," he'd found them.

Quileta and Darius exchanged a glance but didn't press the matter further. Since the owner hadn't come looking for the lost item by winter's arrival, they figured the owner had either given up or was no longer alive.

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Summer of Noxus 974

Half a year has passed in the blink of an eye. In Besilico in the summer, the air is hot and humid, carrying a mixed smell of the sea and rotting garbage.

As rumored, the Noxian army finally arrived at the gates of Besilico. Black legion banners stretched across the plains outside the city, resembling a dark cloud. Last year's conscription notice was still fresh in everyone's mind; many from the slums, including Darius, had been briefly stirred by the slogan "For the glory of Besilico." Now, with a powerful enemy at their doorstep, everyone expected the Elders to at least offer a token resistance, staging a tragic and heroic defense of the city.

As a result, the city gates opened slowly and peacefully. There was no fighting, no smoke of gunpowder. The citizens were ordered to stay at home, while the bolder ones peered out through cracks in doors and windows.

Draven, Darius, and Quileta climbed onto the second-floor roof of a house near the city gate, where they could barely see the area around the inner city gate. They assumed they would see the Elders lying in ambush, luring the enemy in before trapping them.

However, what they saw were the inner city elders of Besilico, dressed in their most respectable robes, lined up, bowing and scraping to a Noxian officer on horseback, their posture so humble they almost prostrated themselves on the ground. The Noxian soldiers, in neat ranks, marched heavily into the city without hindrance.

"Damn it!" Draven couldn't help but curse, his face filled with disappointment and disdain. "Bro, Quelletta, why didn't those cowards in the Elder Council resist? They just surrendered like that?"

Quelletta frowned, looking at the humiliating scene in the distance, and whispered, "Resist? Draven, didn't you see that dark army outside the city walls? The elders only have two choices—either fight back and then the city falls and everyone dies; or surrender like this and submit to Noxus."

Darius's voice was as deep as ever: "I've said it before, last year's conscription order was a joke. The elders never intended to fight. Issuing that order was perhaps just for appearances, or perhaps..." He paused, "...to see how many fools in the city were willing to risk their lives for them."

Quelletta added, "It could also be a matter of weighing the options. If there are many people who respond to the call, perhaps we'll try to fight; if not many are willing to die, like we are now, we'll just surrender."

"If I had soldiers and power, I would definitely fight them!" Draven spat, his young face full of defiant arrogance.

Darius and Queleta's attention was still focused on the ongoing "passing of the flag" ceremony in the distance—Besilico's flag was being lowered and replaced with the Noxian legion's banner. Just then, out of the corner of Darius's eye, he caught a glimpse of Draven nimbly sliding down the roof like a monkey.

"Draven! Where are you going?" Darius hissed, a sense of foreboding rising within him. He quickly followed him down the slope, with Quileta frantically trailing behind.

But Draven was faster, disappearing into the shadows after a few turns. He crept to the vicinity of the inner city gate, hiding behind a pile of abandoned barrels, watching the Noxian officer on horseback. The officer had a gruesome scar on his face, running diagonally from the right side of his skull to his left eyebrow, clearly a blow from a heavy weapon.

He drew the short knife he carried with him, seized the opportunity, leaped out from his hiding place, and with all his might threw the short knife toward the officer's chest!

With a "whoosh," the short knife sliced ​​through the air.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, the officer sidestepped, and the short sword grazed his breastplate before embedding itself in the pole in his hand that held the Noxian flag.

"Assassins!" The well-trained Noxian soldiers reacted instantly, and several pounced on Draven like wolves, easily pinning him to the ground before he could even run far after throwing his knife. Darius and Quel'Thar, who had been chasing after them, were also surrounded by the soldiers and brought before their commander.

Darius and Quelleta turned pale with fright and knelt down with a thud. Darius pressed his forehead to the ground, his voice pleading, "My lord! Please have mercy on my brother! He's young and doesn't know any better!"

Quileta quickly kowtowed, pulling on Draven's arm, who was being held down on the ground, trying to make him kneel as well: "My lord, please forgive him! He's just an ignorant child, please forgive him this time!"

Draven was pinned down by the soldiers, but he stubbornly struggled, refusing to bow his head. He yelled at Quiretta, "Quiretta, shut up! I'm not a child! I've killed people before!"

The general looked down at the farce. The scar on his forehead made him look particularly fierce, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. He waved his hand, signaling the soldiers to loosen their grip. He reached down and drew Draven's dagger from the pole, weighing it in his hand.

“I can tell.” Cyrus’s gaze fell on Draven’s young face. “Kid, what’s your name?”

Draven shook off the soldier's grasp, stretched his sore arm, and answered with his head held high, "My name is Draven! He's my brother Darius! She's Quelleta! And who are you?"

“I am Colonel Cyrus.” Cyrus ignored his rudeness and asked, “You say you’ve killed people, so why did you kill them?”

“Because it’s fun! Because it makes money! Sometimes it can even make people fear and respect you! Most importantly, because I have the ability! If I want to kill, I can kill!” Draven’s face revealed a smile that was a mixture of cruelty and naivety: “God abandoned His lamb, and that’s when I realized that I could not be a lamb, nor could I be a sheepdog. I am a wolf.”

Colonel Cyrus stared at Draven for a few seconds, then suddenly grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth that, combined with the scar on his head, made him look particularly terrifying. Another madman, he thought, but perhaps a mad dog that could shine on the battlefield.

“Kid,” Cyrus tossed the dagger back to Draven, “it’s a waste for you to be in a place like this. It’s pathetic to be content with petty theft and street brawls.”

He pointed towards the Noxian military camp outside the city, his voice carrying a seductive power: "Wouldn't it be better to use this madness of yours to slaughter everyone and expand the territory of my Noxian Empire? Your madness can bring you great achievements! How about it, do you want to try fighting for the glory of Noxus?"

Draven caught the knife, paused for a moment, looked up at the imposing, scarred officer on horseback, then at the sharp-eyed, well-equipped Noxian soldiers around him, then back at his kneeling brother and Quileta, finally fixing his gaze on the gleaming dagger in his hand. A surge of ambition and desire coursed through his body.

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