The banquet continued late into the evening. Except for the targeted Clan Ferros, everyone managed to get a piece, more or less, of the giant cake Swain had brought. The banquet hall gradually emptied as the evening wore on. Empty wine glasses and scattered business cards marked the spots where Piltover's elite had unknowingly traded their autonomy for profit margins.
Under the temptation of wealth, Piltover's various power holders unknowingly let down their guard. They no longer had any objections to Quiletta maintaining order between Piltover and Zaun.
The merchant lords of Piltover had traded their independence for prosperity without even realizing it.
Fortunately, the commander was Swain, and the one maintaining order in Piltover was Quiletta. If it had been any other Noxian, Piltover would soon experience the iron fist of military rule. A typical Noxian warlord's boot was no joke, they preferred conquest through blood rather than bribes, occupation through fear rather than finance.
The merchant houses would have accepted even that arrangement, as long as the gold kept flowing. If the people had to suffer under military rule, the conglomerates wouldn't care whether the common folk lived or died, profit was all that mattered to them.
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After the banquet, Swain didn't mind the late hour and asked Cipher, Silco, Lester, and Quiletta to accompany him on a tour of Zaun, like a commanding officer inspecting the troops, no one objected. They obediently followed, understanding that this wasn't really a request.
Swain didn't bring any bodyguards and even specifically asked everyone to change into ragged clothing and disguise themselves as refugees.
Cipher, Silco, and Lester even altered their facial features to avoid being recognized, using various methods to obscure their distinctive characteristics.
Silco, in particular, used a magical item to cover his mechanical eye, highlighting how seriously Swain took this inspection.
Somehow, the word had spread that "everyone in Zaun can get enough to eat." A number of desperate people from other regions had begun trickling in, hoping to make a living in Zaun.
This detail was something Swain noticed inadvertently, Cipher himself hadn't even realized it yet.
So this time, they disguised themselves as refugees fleeing war, another group among many seeking sanctuary in the transformed Undercity.
To make it convincing, he refused to take the costly, shrieking elevators. Instead, he led the group across most of Piltover on foot to reach the Bridge of Progress.
"Stop right there! What are you doing?" As soon as they neared the bridge, an enforcer came up to interrogate them.
Here we go. Swain's about to demonstrate something that will either be brilliant or disturbing.
"There's war in our hometown. We had no choice but to flee, we're hoping to make a living in Zaun."
At that moment, Swain looked exactly like a refugee fleeing hardship. His face was full of a flattering smile, his eyes deeply fearful. He struggled to pull out a few copper coins and discreetly offered them to the enforcer.
He vividly portrayed the caution and embarrassment of a downtrodden refugee.
"Hurry up and go be sewer rats over there. Don't be an eyesore."
The enforcer showed clear disdain on his face and waved them off like shooing flies, his contempt genuine and cutting. He didn't take the copper coins, such a small amount wasn't even worth giving to beggars. Taking it would've been beneath him, an insult to his position.
"Thank you, officer! Thank you!" Swain bowed repeatedly as he walked, the fawning smile on his face so genuine you couldn't tell it was fake.
The others following behind glanced at each other in silent agreement, all amazed by Swain's acting.
The transformation is so complete it's unsettling. His face shows fear, hope, desperation, all perfectly calibrated... How does someone like him understand this so perfectly? Cipher thought.
It was hard to believe that someone so high up, who held the power of life and death over nations, could portray a refugee so realistically. It didn't even feel like acting! The mannerisms, the speech patterns, the body language... all of it rang true.
Without revealing his identity, no one would guess that this weathered, desperate-looking man leading a small group of refugees... was actually
Compared to Swain, the others' performances were too stiff, lacking soul. They looked like actors playing roles rather than people living them, well, except for Cipher and Silco.
They passed the checkpoint set up by the Piltovan enforcers and arrived at the other side of the Bridge of Progress, where Zaun's sheriffs and customs officials had jointly established a checkpoint.
It hadn't been urgent to set one up originally, to avoid provoking Piltover into a violent confrontation. But after the surprise attack by Camille, it no longer mattered whether Piltover was provoked or not. The gloves were off, and precautions were necessary.
"Please wait a moment. We need to do a quick registration." A sheriff approached with a small notebook. Seeing the group looking pale and underfed, he called to a colleague behind him. "Bring some bread and water, they haven't eaten in days."
The sight of their hollow cheeks and tired eyes had triggered an immediate response of compassion.
Swain shook his head and hastily declined, "We're not hungry. Really, it's fine." His voice carried the wariness of someone who'd learned that nothing came free, especially from authority figures.
In most of Runeterra, armed personnel maintaining order weren't exactly known for their kindness. They often exploited locals and showed even less mercy to desperate refugees. It was entirely possible that accepting a single meal would result in being forcibly loaded onto a ship and sold to a plantation to pick cotton. So most refugees believed that generosity from uniforms usually came with hidden costs.
If you disobeyed, you'd get beaten bloody, leaving your skin torn open and blood spraying.
Resistance was met with violence, always.
Swain, playing the role of a refugee, acted with realism. It was clear he had a deep understanding of how the lower classes lived, perhaps more than he should have.
"Zaun isn't like other places. Now that you're here, you can eat your fill. No one's going to hit you. You brought your people all the way here, leaving your home behind, surely it was just for a full meal, wasn't it?" The sheriff smiled wide, revealing a set of clean white teeth. He looked very sincere. Having dealt with many refugees lately, he understood just how much these people lacked a sense of security. He had his own methods for earning trust.
He forced the bread and water into Swain's group's hands but didn't rush them to eat, instead jumping straight into questions.
"Where are you from?" He pulled out a pen and notebook as he spoke, his tone businesslike but not unkind.
"Noxus." Swain answered with the pre-prepared story. As for why he chose to say Noxus, he knew enough about the place to convincingly fake it. If he picked another region, there was a risk of slipping up on details that might expose their charade.
"What can you do?"
The sheriff didn't ask why they came to Zaun. People forced to flee their homes were almost always victims of tragedy, no explanation needed. The reasons were usually too painful to discuss anyway.
"..."
"Farming." After a brief silence, Swain managed to squeeze out that skill.
"A farmer, huh." The sheriff nodded, completed the registration, and didn't press further. That was enough information for now, details could come later when they'd settled in.
"Zaun's environment isn't really suited for agriculture, so there aren't any farm-related jobs. But you should be able to adapt to life here. Working in Zaun is much easier than toiling in fields for some noble lord. Since you currently don't have any way to make a living, I recommend enrolling in a vocational class at Zaun University. It's completely free, and they provide food and lodging while you learn. If you'd like, I can sign you up. We can send you over tonight, and you can start classes tomorrow." The sheriff closed his notebook and smiled as he introduced the vocational programs offered by Zaun University with genuine enthusiasm.
Zaun's industrial development was happening so fast that the demand for skilled workers had already outpaced supply. Every pair of hands that could be trained was valuable.
The sheriffs were actively responding to city government initiatives, promoting these fast-track vocational programs wherever they could find willing students.
A few months of training could turn a total novice into a qualified industrial worker. Such a transformation benefited everyone involved, making it a win-win situation.
But to outsiders, this all seemed suspicious, like shady captains luring people onto black-market ships.
Generosity from authority figures was rarely what it appeared to be. What kind of kindhearted merchant taught you a trade for free, gave you food and shelter too?
Must be a scam.
Swain portrayed the terrified look of someone afraid of being sold off to forced labor, repeatedly rejecting the sheriff's generous offer. It was almost heartbreaking to watch.
The sheriff wasn't offended, he'd seen this reaction many times and understood it came from a lack of trust and security. Years of abuse by those in power had conditioned people to expect the worst.
"No worries. You can also find work on your own in Zaun. If you run into any trouble, come find us. We'll help you. If you don't have a place to stay tonight, you can spend the night at the Police and Military Bureau. Go ahead. Welcome to Zaun!"
The sheriff smiled as he spoke, stepping aside to let them pass into their new home.
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