Reunion
The central execution ground of the Immortal Fortress was packed today. The blazing sun beat down on the rough stone floor and the frenzied crowd. The air was thick with the smells of sweat, dust, and a faint, lingering scent of blood—the residue from previous executions.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Loyal citizens of Noxus!" The host's booming voice echoed throughout the hall through amplification magic, "Are you ready for today's main course?!"
He was met with thunderous cheers.
"Today, standing at the center of the arena is a traitor who betrayed the honor of Noxus—former Chapter Master Andros Murphy! He is accused of leaking military intelligence to the Demacians, leading to the ambush of three hundred of our valiant soldiers, none of whom survived!"
Boos and curses immediately erupted.
"And standing opposite him is your favorite, the pride of Noxus, the one who turns death into art—Draven!"
The deafening cheers nearly shook the execution ground. Amidst the roaring crowd, Draven strode in with his signature gait. He wore a sleeveless, scarlet leather armor that revealed his muscular arms, and two meticulously crafted, massive throwing axes spun in his hands like living things, reflecting the blinding sunlight. He raised his chin, flashing his trademark smile—a mixture of contempt and glee—and waved to the surrounding audience.
On the other side of the arena, a tall man with tattoos on his chest was freed from his shackles. Andros, once a formidable warrior, still burned with the ferocity of a trapped beast even in his tattered clothes. He stretched his wrists, which had been bound by shackles for so long, and picked up a broadsword that the executioner had tossed him from the ground—this was Draven's "entertainment" rule, giving the desperate a glimmer of hope, making the slaughter more like a "performance."
"Andros!" Draven's voice echoed with a mocking laugh. "I heard you used to have a nickname in the army: 'The Butcher'? What a coincidence, I also have a nickname: 'The Executioner.' Let's see if the Butcher's brute strength prevails, or the Executioner's skill is superior?"
Andros didn't reply. He simply let out a low growl, gripped his broadsword tightly with both hands, and charged forward like an enraged bull! His steps were heavy, carrying the ruthlessness unique to veterans of the battlefield. His broadsword whistled through the air as it slashed straight at Draven's head! This strike was devoid of any fancy moves; it was purely a killing technique designed to cleave a person in two.
A gasp rippled through the audience.
Draven, however, moved as if performing an elegant dance. He didn't even step back, but merely turned slightly to the side, and the heavy broadsword narrowly missed his nose, striking the ground where he had just stood, sending sparks and pebbles flying.
"Wow!" Draven patted his chest dramatically, winking at the audience. "That was close! Looks like our former leader isn't so old he can't wield his sword after all!"
Laughter and cheers erupted.
Andros missed his first attack, immediately changing tactics, sweeping his broadsword horizontally towards Draven's waist. This strike had a huge range and was extremely fast, almost completely blocking any escape routes.
Draven's contempt deepened. Instead of parrying, at the last second, he executed a swift backflip, perfectly dodging the sweeping sword and completing a magnificent spin in mid-air, his twin axes tracing two gleaming silver arcs. When he landed safely, his back was to Andros. He didn't even turn around, merely shrugging at the frenzied crowd before him, eliciting an even more frenzied scream.
"Is that all you've got, Andros?" Draven turned around, pointing an axe blade at the other man. "If those soldiers who died because of you knew their commander was so...weak, wouldn't they be so angry they'd crawl out of their graves?"
These words completely enraged Andros. He let out a beast-like roar, abandoned all defense, raised his broadsword high with both hands, and with all his might, unleashed a series of frenzied slashes at Draven! The wind howled through the air, and the attack was like a storm, seemingly fraught with danger.
Draven weaved through the dense barrage of sword strikes. He would sometimes duck, sometimes sidestep, sometimes evade deadly attacks with an almost dance-like spin. His movements appeared effortless, as if he were not engaged in a life-or-death struggle, but rather performing a meticulously choreographed show. Each daring dodge elicited a gasp from the audience, followed by even louder cheers.
"Too slow!"
"Left! I'm over here!"
Can't you come up with something new?
Draven dodged while relentlessly taunting his opponent, all the while blowing kisses to the audience, repeatedly pushing the atmosphere to a fever pitch. Andros's stamina was rapidly depleting under the frenzied attacks; his movements began to falter, and his breathing became like a broken bellows.
Finally, Draven seemed to have gotten tired of it.
After Andros's desperate slash, a cold glint flashed in Draven's eyes.
"Performance time is over, traitor."
His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly throughout the suddenly quiet execution ground.
Andros, panting, charged again, sword raised. But this time, Draven did not dodge.
The flying axe that had been spinning rapidly in his right hand suddenly flew out! Like a streak of blood-red lightning, accompanied by a piercing buzzing sound, it struck Andros's wrist, which was holding the sword, with pinpoint accuracy!
"Pfft!"
The sound of bones cracking and the dull thud of a blade slicing through flesh filled the air. Andros's right hand was severed at the wrist, the severed hand gripping the broadsword flying through the air, blood gushing out like a fountain from the broken wrist!
Andros let out a piercing scream, the excruciating pain causing him to collapse to his knees.
The audience erupted in enthusiastic cheers!
Draven gracefully caught the bouncing axe, then strolled over to Andros, who was kneeling on the ground, and looked down at him.
"Noxus, not to be betrayed."
Before he finished speaking, the throwing axe in his left hand had already been swung out!
Andros's screams abruptly stopped.
His head severed from his neck, tracing an arc in the air, his face frozen in a look of pain and disbelief. The headless corpse stood frozen for a moment before collapsing heavily forward, blood gushing from the severed neck, quickly spreading into a dark red, viscous patch on the dry ground.
The head rolled right to Draven's feet.
Draven lifted his foot and casually stepped on the head, as if it were just a ball. He spread his arms, looked up at the roaring crowd, and basked in the deafening cheers and screams.
"Draven! Draven! Draven!"
His name resounds throughout the heavens.
He laughed, stepping through the sticky blood, and began to walk around the arena. He held aloft his still-dripping axes, accepting the worship of the crowd. The sunlight shone on him, making the blood droplets on the axes sparkle like rubies, and also clearly outlining the satisfied yet cruel smile on his face.
This is his stage, his glory. The most dazzling applause, watered with death and blood.
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The deafening cheers, like tangible waves, crashed against every inch of the arena walls. Draven stood in the center, basking in his coronation. He raised his arms, like a plant drawing nourishment, each scream from the audience a nectar to him.
Just then, a silver-white figure, riding her mount, leaped down from the VIP stands, disrupting the script of the performance.
Kree was enjoying a slice of chilled watermelon when he suddenly saw a figure in front of him vanish in a flash.
“You stupid girl! Skaarl!!! Come back!!!” He threw down the watermelon and jumped up from the soft leather sofa, shouting.
Kree's furious roar was instantly drowned out. Under the influence of "Earth Affinity," Skal completely ignored Kree's orders and was driven towards the person in the execution ground.
The audience was initially taken aback, but then erupted in even more enthusiastic cheers—they thought it was a meticulously planned new show!
Draven, his back to the commotion, a smirk playing on his lips. He had already discerned what was happening behind him from the spectators' eyes and the sudden surge of noise. Calculating the moment perfectly, he spun around abruptly, a throwing axe flying from his hand, striking Skaarl precisely an inch from his feet with a resounding clang!
"Gurgle... Whoosh—!" Startled, Skaar stopped abruptly, and Alice on his back cried out as she was thrown off by the immense inertia.
"Ah!! Little De!! Help me!!"
Time seemed to freeze in Draven's ears. The name, like a rusty key, pierced the deepest recesses of his memory.
He almost instinctively opened his arms, and the next instant, a weight that was both incredibly familiar and strange collided with him.
The softness and warmth of jade are unparalleled.
As an adult, Alice possessed a breathtakingly curvaceous body. Her ample G-cup breasts heaved violently with excitement, her slender waist was so small it could be encircled with one hand, and her plump hips and legs pressed against his arms. She sank heavily into his embrace, like a ripe, juicy peach, or like the perfect erotic dream he had conjured up countless times in his decadent fantasies.
But what struck him even more than the touch of the genitals were those eyes—exactly the same as in his memory, pure red eyes that reflected the whole world, now filled with nothing but his image.
Nineteen years of searching, waiting, disappointment, and even despair transformed into a massive torrent, washing away every hardened corner of his heart. The ecstasy was so intense that, in the initial moment, his mind went blank, leaving only shock and disorientation.
It really is her.
It's not an illusion, not yet another disappointing fake.
The audience instantly understood what was happening – this wasn't an attack, it was the most fervent and passionate female fan offering herself to her idol in the most unrestrained way! Cheers, whistles, and envious screams swept in like a tsunami!
"Dr. Levine! Dr. Levine!"
All the searching and all the waiting have been rewarded in this moment!
A smile, more flamboyant, arrogant, and smug than ever before, bloomed on his face! Without hesitation, he suddenly lifted his arm, his large hand unceremoniously supporting Alice's incredibly elastic hip. With his extraordinary arm strength, he easily lifted this hot beauty and placed her steadily on his broad left shoulder!
To steady her, his left hand naturally and firmly gripped her full, round thigh, and his palm could even feel the plump flesh of her buttocks through the thin fabric.
"Wow—!" Alice was startled at first and instinctively hugged his head, then laughed happily because she was at his height.
"That's what makes me, Draven, so charismatic!"
He laughed heartily, raised his right hand high, and waved it vigorously at the ecstatic audience in all directions, while his left hand steadily held the "trophy" on his shoulder, and began to circle the arena.
Alice sat on his shoulders, her long silver hair fluttering in the wind. Her red eyes looked curiously down at the crowd cheering for her and Draven, and she smiled happily, waving her little hands at the audience like Draven.
At this moment, Draven was like a gambler who had simultaneously won the jackpot of power and emotion. He stood center stage on his meticulously crafted stage, his left hand grasping the glory admired by millions, his right hand embracing the love he had lost and regained. An immense sense of satisfaction washed over every nerve in his body. He felt invincible, chosen by fate, and under the watchful eyes of millions, he had reclaimed his only faith.
The whole world is crowning him.
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