Chapter 4: Shadows of Noxus

The fires in Bel'zhun had been extinguished, but the smell of ash and blood still lingered in the air. The western district lay in ruins, its narrow streets littered with debris. Soldiers patrolled the area with grim faces, their boots crunching on charred wood and shattered tiles.

At the heart of the destruction, Su'Rhaal stood with his arms crossed, his twin blades strapped to his back. His crimson eyes scanned the wreckage with a cold, calculating gaze, taking in every detail—the collapsed walls, the bodies of Noxian patrols, the crude rebel symbols painted in blood on the remaining walls.

"They're testing us," he said quietly.

Zanaiya, standing at his side, rested her trident against her shoulder. "And they're getting better at it. This wasn't some desperate raid—it was coordinated."

"They wanted us to chase them into the tunnels," Su said. "They knew we'd lose soldiers there. They're trying to bleed us."

"And they're succeeding," Zanaiya replied, her tone edged with frustration.

Behind them, the Desert Raiders regrouped. Sargeant Titus was barking orders, his voice carrying over the clatter of weapons and armor. "Form up! If you're breathing, you're fighting! Double patrols on every gate!"

Nearby, Thelassan stood guard, his spear gripped tightly in both hands. The young soldier's sharp green eyes darted nervously across the wreckage, searching for any signs of lingering threats.

"This is worse than I thought," Thelassan muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"Focus, Thelassan," Titus growled as he walked past. "You can panic when you're dead."

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The door to the war room opened, and General Dorrik entered, his presence filling the chamber like a storm cloud. His black-and-gold armor gleamed in the torchlight, a polished facade for the man who wore it.

"Captain Su'Rhaal," he said sharply. "Report."

Su turned to face him, his posture rigid but composed. "The rebels are testing our defenses, General. We're taking measures to prevent another attack."

"Testing our defenses?" Dorrik repeated, his tone laced with disdain. "They set fire to half the western district, killed dozens of our men, and left our reputation in ruins. That's not a test, Captain. That's a failure."

Zanaiya bristled but held her tongue, her sharp gaze fixed on the general. Su, however, remained unfazed. "We've identified their methods," he said calmly. "Their movements are predictable. We'll cut off their access to the tunnels and force them into the open."

Dorrik snorted. "You make it sound so simple. But nothing in this gods-forsaken city is simple." He stepped closer, his voice lowering. "Do you know what happens to a man who loses the confidence of the Grand General, Captain? He disappears. And I don't intend to disappear."

Su's expression didn't waver. "Then you'd better hope we succeed."

Dorrik's glare lingered for a moment before he turned to Zanaiya. "Lieutenant, a word of advice: keep your captain focused. If he falters, you'll both pay the price."

Zanaiya's lips thinned, but she offered a curt nod.

As Dorrik left the room, she exhaled sharply. "He's scared," she said.

"He should be," Su replied.

Later that evening, as the city settled into an uneasy calm, Su and Zanaiya stood on the garrison's balcony, overlooking the streets below. The fires had been extinguished, but the scars of the attack were still visible—charred walls, shattered windows, and the nervous movements of civilians trying to rebuild what little they had.

"He's desperate," Zanaiya said, breaking the silence. "Dorrik knows he's just another pawn in Swain's game. If he can't deliver results, he'll be replaced. Probably by someone worse."

"After the fall of Darkwill, everyone's fighting for a piece of the empire," Su replied. "The Great houses, the generals, even the soldiers. Swain doesn't care how loyal they claim to be. He only cares what they can give him."

Zanaiya studied him for a moment. "And you? What do you care about?"

Su turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "I care about doing my job. Nothing more."

"Liar," she said with a faint smile.

Su didn't respond. Instead, he looked back at the city, his thoughts turning to the captured rebel in the garrison below.

Far beneath the city, the air was cool and damp, the faint sound of dripping water echoing through the tunnels. Torches lined the walls, their flickering light casting jagged shadows on the stone.

In a hidden chamber, a group of rebels gathered around a table covered in maps and stolen Noxian plans. At the head of the table stood Kahlira Zahr, her presence commanding. The lioness of Bel'zhun wore a tattered cloak over light Shuriman armor, her dark hair tied back to reveal piercing amber eyes.

"Their garrison is stretched thin," Kahlira said, her voice calm but laced with authority. "We've proven that they're vulnerable. Now, we push harder."

One of the rebels, a wiry man with a scar across his cheek, frowned. "Another ambush? They'll be ready for it this time."

Kahlira's lips curved into a faint smile. "Let them prepare. Every soldier they send into the streets is another they pull away from the gates, from the caravans, from the people they claim to protect. We'll strike where they're weakest."

She turned to another rebel, a young woman with sharp features. "What's the status of the weapons?"

"They're hidden," the woman replied.

Kahlira nodded. " Those weapons will be the edge we need to turn this into more than just a rebellion."

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The interrogation chamber was dimly lit, the air cold and damp. The rebel sat slumped in his chair, his wrists bound tightly with iron shackles. His face was bruised and swollen, but his eyes burned with the same defiance as before.

Su stood over him, silent and imposing, while Zanaiya leaned casually against the wall.

"You've already lost," Su said finally, his voice low and measured. "Every strike you make only tightens the noose around your neck. Tell us where the weapons are, and you might live to see another day."

The rebel laughed weakly, blood flecking his lips. "Live? You call this living? Serving an empire that grinds its own people into the dirt? You're as much a prisoner as I am, Demon."

Zanaiya stepped forward, her expression hard. "Enough with the speeches. Where are the weapons?"

The rebel's gaze shifted to her, a faint smirk curling his lips. "You think you scare us?" he asked, nodding toward Su. "He's nothing but a blade. And when he's too dull to cut, they'll throw him away. Just like they'll throw all of you away."

Su remained unmoved, his gaze cold and unrelenting. "Keep talking," he said. "It won't change what happens next."

The rebel's smirk faltered, but he said nothing more.

"Take him back to the cells," Su ordered, stepping away.

As the rebel was dragged away, Su and Zanaiya lingered in the interrogation chamber, the silence between them heavy.

"You ever think about what he said?" Zanaiya asked quietly.

"No," Su replied.

"Maybe you should."

Su turned to face her, his expression hard. "I know what I am, Zanaiya. I'm a weapon. That is my purpose."

Zanaiya frowned, her sharp gaze searching his face. "That might be true for now. But you'll care one day. And when that day comes, you'll need to decide whether Noxus is worth it."

Su said nothing, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Later that night, Su stood alone on the balcony, the cold wind brushing against his skin. The lights of Bel'zhun stretched out before him, flickering faintly like dying stars. Somewhere in the shadows, the rebels were regrouping, plotting their next move.

And Su would be ready for them.