"In the past."
Ryan's voice was calm, but his eyes shimmered with old memories.
The Noxian Arena is a place no true Noxian could avoid.
"In old Noxus, there were three paths to recognition: slaying enemies, contributing to the empire, and the arena," he said.
Each of the three represented a form of absolute strength.
You could rise by killing enemies, earning glory, and promotions.
If you were strong enough, you could challenge and replace the leader — it was all about results.
Contribution took many forms: funding troops, recruiting warbands, unearthing secrets, or helping the empire recover from devastating losses.
If your contribution reached the right level, the empire might back your efforts to form a new army like his old commander, Swain.
Then there was the arena. Victors gained fame, influence, and the right to form a new legion.
The Empire didn't care how you rose as long as it served Noxus.
"Did the teacher rise through the arena?" Seraphine asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
She imagined her teacher's entrance into the arena would've made more noise than even General Xin Zhao, though technically, he wasn't Noxian.
Ryan shook his head, and Seraphine blinked in surprise.
"Killing enemies, then?"
Given his power, it wouldn't have been difficult.
So… did he fight in the arena for fun?
But Ryan smiled and shook his head again.
"Contribution? That can't be…" she muttered.
Had her teacher pulled off some legendary deed when he first arrived? It made her start to doubt herself.
In her mind, "contribution" was just a shortcut — a route for wealthy heirs or political upstarts.
"I did all three," Ryan said quietly.
"All three!? Of course you did!" Seraphine gasped.
The words of praise spilled out before she could stop them.
Beside them, the arena's overseer chuckled and chimed in.
"Lady Seraphine, you probably don't know — when the Head first arrived in Noxus, it caused a huge stir."
"Uncle Fokker, tell us!" Seraphine said, brightening up.
The man — Fokker — was a plump, middle-aged fellow with a smooth speaking style.
She liked him. He had a daughter with pink hair, and he treated his family like treasure.
Before Fokker could speak, a gruff voice cut in.
"Am I late?"
Draven strode in, broad-shouldered and confident as ever, with Ezreal casually following behind.
"Ah!? The Head himself!?" Draven exclaimed, stopping short as he recognized Ryan.
He had just been getting comfortable when he saw who was already seated.
He quickly bowed in respect.
Two of the most dangerous people in the empire sat before him, not ones to be offended lightly.
His axe was newly forged. He didn't want to need another one.
"Oh, the Lord Ryan here too?" Ezreal said, strolling forward like he belonged.
"I thought I heard something interesting going on."
Only two seats were on the platform; he'd assumed they were for Draven.
But seeing Ryan and the silver-haired woman beside him — Syndra — he quickly rethought that.
This was above his station.
He decided he'd stand. Maybe Draven needed a witness.
"We were just listening to Uncle Fokker's story about our teacher's past. Don't interrupt," Seraphine said sharply.
She didn't hate Ezreal or Draven, but she knew if she didn't cut them off now, someone else would — probably with force.
She'd seen Syndra lightly rubbing the dark-blue ring on her finger.
Word was, Ryan had given it to her, and when Syndra touched that ring, she was usually a second away from casting a spell.
"President's story?" Ezreal's eyes lit up.
"Now that I've got to hear. Even the Draven brothers barely know that stuff."
Draven didn't object. He hadn't crossed paths with Ryan before; what he knew was mostly rumor and hearsay.
All eyes turned to Fokker. He glanced at Ryan, who didn't object, so he cleared his throat and continued, his tone nostalgic.
"It's been more than ten years," Fokker began.
"Back then, people only knew him as a powerful mage, a traveler from beyond. When a major incident struck the empire, he was in Noxus."
"What kind of incident?" Ezreal asked, curiosity piqued.
"Betrayal," Fokker said gravely.
"The Black Rose," he added, lowering his voice.
"They infiltrated high ranks. Their agents conspired against the empire, and many noble houses were caught in the crossfire. One of them… was the Swain family."
Ezreal blinked. "Wait — the Grand General's family?"
He vaguely remembered reading something about that in an old history text.
More than a decade ago, Noxus had nearly torn itself apart.
But it seemed those had buried the truth in power.
There were few detailed records left.
"It was the Grand General's own family," Fokker confirmed, his face tinged with respect and unease.
"He exposed their betrayal himself — the news caused an uproar."
After that, the rebellion was forced to begin prematurely, plunging the Immortal Bastion into chaos.
Fokker let out a long sigh, eyes clouded with memories.
"A lot of people died back then. When the rebellion ended, the Grand General personally sent every family member involved in the treason to the guillotine — even his parents."
"He only serves the Empire," Draven muttered with a grin.
It was precisely why he respected Swain — he was willing to sacrifice anything for Noxus.
That kind of loyalty was worth backing, far more reliable than his brother.
"Now that's a real monster of a man..."
The thought of a commander coldly executing his blood sent a shiver down Ezreal's spine.
Men like that belonged in legends — stoic knights in old stories, not real life.
He'd never believed anyone could truly live like that until now.
People often said Swain was utterly selfless — almost inhuman in his lack of emotion.
Ezreal had never understood it. Now, he did.
But another question soon formed in his mind:
"Still... wasn't that his story? What does any of this have to do with the President?"
Fokker gave a warm, knowing smile and nodded eagerly.
"Ah, Teacher Ezreal, the two events are closely connected. That was the first time His Excellency became known to the Empire."
"He was just passing through Noxus back then," Fokker explained.
"But due to the respect he commanded as a mage, he was one of the rare outsiders permitted to enter the Immortal Bastion."
Ezreal's mind immediately latched onto the keywords magic, respect, and outsider.
Immortal Bastion...
His face lit up with realization.
'Isn't that like me?'
He paused, brain stuck in a loop of exaggerated self-comparisons.
Seraphine gave him a long, unimpressed look.
She looked ready to smack him.
Didn't this guy remember anything?
Back in Va'Zuan, he had loudly proclaimed that he'd joined Noxus from that day forward...
Fokker continued his story:
"During the rebellion, His Excellency acted on his own to suppress the chaos. At least five noble houses were eliminated by his hand. Their estates were taken down almost effortlessly."
"If His Excellency hadn't intervened, the death toll would've easily doubled."
His voice took on a softer, more grateful tone.
Fokker's expression, too, was filled with quiet emotion.
He and his wife had been inside the Bastion when it all happened.
If Ryan hadn't stepped in…
Well, maybe there'd be no kind wife waiting at home.
Maybe there wouldn't be a cheerful daughter with pink hair.
Maybe there'd be no "Uncle Fokker".
"Was the President that powerful back then?" Ezreal asked, brows rising.
Fokker nodded solemnly.
Ezreal had only seen glimpses of Ryan's strength — once in Va'Zuan, and faintly from the floating Castle again.
But now, he had a clearer idea.
More than ten years ago, he had the power to crush five noble families single-handedly.
And yet, he walked among them so quietly.
As far as Ezreal was concerned, those noble families were still the elite of the Empire — they had to be at least on par with Medarda or the House of Ferros in Piltover.
And just thinking about that comparison… he suddenly felt the oppressive weight of the Speaker's presence.
Five major families, wiped out.
The entire city of Piltover combined might not have matched that level of power.
"As expected of the President," Ezreal said sincerely, his tone carrying genuine awe.
Seraphine opened her mouth, but quickly closed it again.
Ezreal had stolen her line. Again.
Fokker, however, didn't notice. His voice had become increasingly reverent.
"His Excellency could have easily claimed the title of Lieutenant with that contribution alone. But he didn't. Instead, he exchanged that credit for the libraries and private collections of those five families, mostly filled with ancient tomes and historical records. Things most would call... useless."
His expression was filled with admiration — and it wasn't just him.
Everyone else looked at Ryan with deep respect, believing him to be a humble man who sought knowledge over power.
Only Syndra frowned slightly at their reactions.
She didn't speak up but quietly agreed with Ryan's decision.
Mortals have no idea what knowledge they discard as "useless."
"What happened after that?" Ezreal asked eagerly.
"I heard the President used to be Swain's deputy?"
"Yes! And I want to hear about the teacher fighting in the arena again!" Seraphine chimed in.
She'd already heard the story from Fokker's soul-song but never got tired of it.
Today, her only goal was to keep her teacher smiling.
Fokker looked toward Ryan, a bit hesitant.
"I believe His Excellency joined the 'Glory Deathmatch' around that time… after becoming part of the Empire?"
Ryan nodded calmly.
"I did. I had some unpleasant history with Demacia, but it was settled during that battle."
"Glory Deathmatch... I think I've heard of that..." Ezreal muttered, running a hand through his tousled blond hair.
He'd been cramming Noxian history lately to impress Elise, but his memory always failed him at the worst times.
"It was a formal duel between Noxus and Demacia," Seraphine said, sitting upright, her voice full of academic confidence.
"They used it to decide who would claim the territory of the Duchy of Palahi. Neither side wanted a full-scale war, so they agreed to settle it in the arena."
Ezreal gawked as the information finally clicked.
"That's right! It started centuries ago. Noxus and Demacia used it as a ritual to settle disputes. Both sides would pick elite fighters to battle through challenges: chaos fights, arena matches, gauntlets... The one who survived would claim the victory."
"That's... brutal."
Even Ezreal couldn't hide the chill in his voice. The Glory Deathmatch was nothing short of sanctioned slaughter.
This wasn't like the staged duels below them in the arena — fighters might be injured, but rarely killed.
The Glory Deathmatch was different. One side walked out. The other didn't.
Since the rise of the Trifarian Council, Noxus had mainly moved away from such bloodshed, especially for elite soldiers.
Most believed that strong warriors shouldn't be wasted in arenas.
Death row inmates? Maybe. But not Noxus' finest.
Yet this duel had been something else — an international, no-holds-barred deathmatch.
It was meant to keep war at bay, but its cost was staggering.
Because of that cost, Ryan's battle became the last Glory Deathmatch in recorded history.
Ryan's face grew distant, his voice carrying a rare weight.
"The glory of Noxus... the pride of Demacia... That battle embodied them both. There were 200 participants. I was the only one who walked away."
"One survivor?"
Ryan's answer was calm — almost too quiet.
But the silence that followed was heavy.
Ezreal and the others could feel the weight behind those words.
The Glory Deathmatch had not been a clash between foot soldiers.
It had been a showdown between the best of both nations.
Elite warriors, powerful mages... even potential champions.
And Ryan had stood alone when it was over.
Even hearing about it left their chests tight.
No wonder the President commanded such quiet authority.