Legends of Runeterra

A prisoner with his head held high, his ankles chained to a wooden stake, his hands tied together with thick hemp rope. Blood dripped down his cheeks onto his black Noxian short robe, leaving small red puddles next to his toes. The sky above his head painted gray patches on the blue background, and it was hard to tell what the real color was.

The prisoner was surrounded by a fence of high, jagged wooden stakes. Nearby soldiers moved back and forth between tents. Their hurried footsteps stirred up dust, and the dirt on their boots would definitely need to be cleaned before they could see the commander. The prisoner knew this because he had been watching their disciplined movements for the past few days. He had never seen anything like it.

Around the camp, bright sea-blue flags fluttered in the wind, painted with a pair of outstretched wings and a sharp sword - this was the symbol of Demacia.

Not long ago, the black and red flags of Noxus flew here. The prisoner remembered his duty: to take Karsted for the glory of the Empire.

He failed.

He knew what was going to happen. War did not forgive failure. He had been prepared to accept that. Now he was waiting for his fate. He had lost his home when he was captured the first time. This time, he would lose more.

He closed his eyes, and more memories came flooding back. He remembered that there were two people at that time. One was his master - he had kidnapped a lost boy from his homeland and turned him into a fighter who was adept at fighting in the Reckoner Arena. The other was a stranger who claimed to represent the highest interests of the Empire. They shook hands, and he was transported westward, to the foot of the Silver Mountains, to Karlsted.

No goodbyes, no blessings. He was not alone, though. Others like him went by a common name, the "Soldiers of Doom" - they were all conscripted by the Noxian army. Lowly warriors were sent to the front lines to complete insignificant tasks. Many had no say in the matter, their masters more than willing to sell their fighting power to the military for the right price.

"You don't look like a Noxian." A voice interrupted the prisoner's self-reflection.

He opened his eyes and saw a Demacian standing outside the fence. He was dressed in navy and tan, with mail over it, and a short sword hung at his waist. He wore the insignia of an officer, but the prisoner concluded that he was of low rank.

"What's your name?" the soldier asked.

The prisoner thought about it. Would his answer determine his fate?

“Zhao Xin,” he answered in a hoarse, dry voice.

"what?"

"Zhao. Xin."

"The name doesn't sound like a Noxian," the soldier asked puzzledly. "Noxian names are very rough, such as... Brown Darkwill." He shuddered when he said the name.

Zhao Xin said nothing. He doubted the meaning of saying these words to a dying man.

"Let's go, Shieldmaster." Another Demacian said. The young officer gave her subordinates a stern look. She was wearing silver armor, with gold-rimmed shoulder guards and a blue cape hanging behind her.

“It’s a waste of energy to talk to the Noxians,” she said. “They are not our people.”

The shield captain bowed his head and said, "As you command, Crown Guard Sword Captain. But I have a question, I wonder..."

Captain Jian nodded.

"Why is he being held in solitary confinement?"

She glanced at the prisoner, her blue eyes filled with deep contempt.

“He killed the most people.”

Zhao Xin was awakened by the sound of the horn. He sat in the mud and knocked the wet earth with his numb feet. He leaned his back against the pillar and slid to his feet. He saw the sergeant from yesterday walking towards him, followed by four people dressed similarly. They opened the gate of the fence, and the sergeant walked in first, holding a bowl of hot soup on a tray in his hand.

"Morning. I'm Ober, and this is my sentry team," the sergeant said. "Here's your breakfast, Shao Jing."

Zhao Xin saw him put the tray on the ground. How could he pronounce these two simple words wrongly?

A Demacian guard cut the ropes binding Xin Zhao's wrists with a deft move. The sergeant and several others stood still, all with their hands on their swords.

"Well, eat," said Ober.

Zhao Xin picked up the bowl. "They sent five of you."

"We follow the orders of the lieutenant," Ober said. "She is a Crownguard, after all. They protect the king himself."

The guards nodded and exchanged approving glances.

"Yes, her father rescued the previous generation of Jarvan at Storm Peak." said a guard.

"Which Jarvan is that?" asked another guard.

"The second generation. Now it's the third generation."

"Note, it's King Jarvan III," Ober corrected. "Your king is also my king. You should show respect, after all, he is leading the army in person this time."

Xin Zhao noticed that they had a genuine reverence for their king. As the soldiers continued to talk and laugh, he sipped his hot soup and listened to their conversation. They talked about how foolish it was for Noxus to have pushed so far west, how easy it was for them to come and relieve Karsted, and how they had won the victory in the name of justice.

We were sent to die, Zhao Xin realized. He accidentally clenched the empty bowl in his hand, and the wooden bowl broke in two in his hand.

Several Demacia soldiers looked over. Ober stared at Xin Zhao and said, "Hold out your hands."

Xin Zhao held out his hands, palms facing up.

"You're really tough." Ober tied another rope around Zhao Xin's wrists. The guards came closer. All they saw were scars, crisscrossing his skin like rivers. He had fought many people, but he was willing to remember only a few.

"These are not fresh scars," a guard realized.

"You're right," Xin Zhao said. His voice was loud and clear, alerting them. For a moment, they stood still, looking at him as more than a prisoner.

“What do you do in Noxus?” Ober asked.

“I’m fighting in the arena,” Xin Zhao replied.

"Liquidators!" one of the guards exclaimed. "I've heard of barbarians like you. Risking your lives in front of thousands of people."

"I've never heard of a liquidator named Shao Jing." Another guard murmured.

"Maybe he's not very capable? Maybe that's why he's here, beaten and tied to a post."

"Wait a minute," Ober suddenly said, "you liquidators all use other names in the arena, right?"

Zhao Xin almost smiled.