[Confidential Memorandum]
Filed by: Captain Aldren Valecourt, Demacian Diplomatic Corps
Subject: The So-called Emissary of the Clover Kingdom
Classification: Level IV - Internal Circulation Only
"In accordance with Royal Edict 29-B concerning the treatment of foreign representatives, the individual identifying himself as Asta shall, until further notice, be treated under the rights of an Emissary. His arrival on Demacian soil, though uninvited and unverified, is to be considered accidental rather than hostile."
•••Extract from the Royal Chancellor's order, dated 4th of the Brightmoon.
Summary
The foreigner Asta, claiming diplomatic status from an unnamed nation beyond the eastern seas, appeared within Wrenwall Province without prior sanction. Despite his lack of magical emanations typical of a spellcaster, his physical strength and combat ability are beyond recorded Demacian measure. His conduct has thus far remained orderly, though unconventional.
Accommodations and Stipend
A manor has been requisitioned from the vacant Hales estate on the city's southern edge.
A symbolic allowance equal to that of a junior attaché has been approved to avoid claims of neglect or mistreatment.
The subject covers all additional expenses personally; method of income remains unverified. (Unofficial reports suggest mercenary work and the training of one "Darryl," a local afflicted with minor magical traces.)
Political Context
While the Crown recognizes no official envoy from any "Clover Kingdom," the risk of diplomatic incident, combined with the subject's formidable capabilities, necessitates restraint.
MageSeeker involvement has been explicitly forbidden without authorization from the High Council.
Behavioral Notes
Asta maintains rigorous physical routines bordering on the absurd. Witnesses describe hours of exercise and weapon drills performed without fatigue. His demeanor is polite but guarded; he declines invitations from noble houses and expresses little interest in Demacian politics.
Recommendation
Continue surveillance under the pretext of security.
Avoid confrontation.
Observe his relationship with local mages, particularly the boy Darryl, for signs of ideological influence.
---
Tianna Crownguard studied the young man seated across from her, her hands folded neatly on the polished oak table of the council chamber. The faint light filtering through the stained-glass windows painted her silver armor in muted hues of gold and blue, a regal contrast to the man before her.
Asta sat with a relaxed posture, one leg crossed over the other, his ashen hair slightly disheveled and his ever-present grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was a smile that seemed designed to draw a sigh from even the most composed of nobles.
The chamber was empty save for the two of them, no advisors, no attendants. Just the High Marshal of Demacia and the foreign "Emissary" who had been causing ripples ever since his arrival.
Tianna broke the silence first, her tone calm but direct. "You requested a private audience," she said, eyes steady on him. "To what end, might I ask?"
Asta gave a light shrug, his grin never faltering. "I figured it best to come to you first. After all, you're the High Marshal, right? That makes you the highest authority over Demacia's military and security affairs."
Tianna's expression remained unreadable as her gaze swept over him, searching for motive behind his easy words. "Yes," she replied evenly. "That is correct. I oversee all of Demacia's military operations and defenses."
"Perfect," Asta said, leaning back in his chair as if confirming something to himself. "Then that makes you the equivalent of a Wizard King, second only to the throne."
One of Tianna's brows arched slightly, though her composure didn't waver. "I suppose, in a sense, yes," she conceded. "But I fail to see where this comparison is leading."
"Good," Asta said simply, then let out a deep sigh, the confidence in his demeanor giving way to something far more human. "Honestly, this has been… pretty rough on me. Can't believe I messed up so badly I ended up stranded here of all places."
Tianna blinked as the foreigner suddenly dropped his head onto the table with a dull thunk, his sigh muffled against the polished wood. The display of raw frustration caught her off guard, it was disarming, even endearing in its sincerity.
"A year away from my promotion to Wizard King too," Asta muttered into the table before lifting his head again with a rueful grin. "It really sucks, you know?"
For a fleeting moment, Tianna found herself at a loss for words. She had expected arrogance or demand, not… this informality.
Still, she composed herself, regarding him with a faint, thoughtful smile. "You're remarkably casual for someone requesting the High Marshal's time," she said, her tone carrying the faintest edge of amusement.
Asta only chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Bah! I've never been good with formality. No matter what name I bear now, or my position, I still remember where I come from."
Tianna allowed herself a quiet sigh, though the faint amusement remained in her eyes. "Then let us skip the formalities, Asta," she said, her voice carrying its usual calm authority. "Why did you ask to see me?"
Asta's grin returned, though this time it was more measured. "Right. Straight to it then." He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "I came to ask if there's any work I can take on while I'm here."
Tianna's brows knit faintly. "Work?"
"Yeah." Asta nodded earnestly. "I appreciate the place to stay and the food, really, but it doesn't feel right living off Demacia's coin when I'm not doing anything to earn it. I'd rather pay my own way."
The simplicity of his statement made Tianna pause. He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like the idea of accepting royal hospitality without contribution was shameful to him. Most foreign envoys would have taken advantage of such generosity without hesitation.
Her tone softened slightly. "You are aware that, as an emissary, you're not expected to work," she said. "Your expenses are covered for the duration of your stay. It's standard protocol."
"I know," Asta said quickly, "but between you and me. Wizard King to High Marshal, that's not who I am. Back home, i earned everything we have through effort, hard work, determination, and a little stubbornness." He gave a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Besides, if I sit around doing nothing, I'll go insane."
Tianna tilted her head, watching him carefully. "And what kind of work did you have in mind?"
"Anything that lets me help people," Asta replied without hesitation. "I might not have magic the way you understand it here, but I can still fight, build, train, and protect. I just need to do something useful."
He continued, leaning forward slightly. "That's why I came to you. You're the one who oversees all the knights, soldiers, and military operations. So if anyone knows of a way I could be useful, and earn my keep, it'd be you. Others might not be as receptive, considering Demacia's outlook on mages."
Tianna exhaled slowly, then stood, her silver cloak flowing behind her as she stepped toward the large map table at the center of the room. "There are few in Demacia who would offer a mage, or anyone like one, a place to serve," she said. "But… you may be an exception."
Asta tilted his head. "Is that a yes?"
"It's a consideration," Tianna corrected, though there was a faint warmth in her tone now. "You've claimed to be powerful enough to become the Wizard King of the Clover nation. Garen Crownguard and the others have also vouched for your strength. However..."
She looked at him carefully, hoping he would understand where she was going with this. From the glint in his eyes, she knew he did.
"Makes sense," Asta said, leaning back with an easy grin. "You want to know the danger of the foreign mage trying to set up shop in your country." His laugh was light, but it carried a truth Tianna didn't deny.
Tianna smiled, a small, practiced smile that never quite reached her eyes. "Not that I'm calling you a danger…"
"Please," Asta interrupted, raising a hand. "I thought we were past the formalities."
Tianna exhaled through her nose, suppressing a chuckle. "And I thought your promotion to Wizard King wasn't for another year."
Asta laughed harder at that, the sound echoing lightly off the chamber walls. "You're right, though. You have no idea how dangerous I am, and it's good that you want to find out. It's a Wizard King's job to ensure the safety of his kingdom. Or, in your case, the High Marshal's."
Tianna's composure softened, the faintest trace of amusement breaking through her usual reserve. "Very well," she said at last, resting her gauntleted hands on the table. "I suppose you wouldn't be opposed to a demonstration, then, something to prove that the Wizard King title isn't just words."
Asta's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with quiet excitement. "Now that," he said, standing from his seat, "i can do."
---
The Demacian Military Training Grounds were vast, a fortress within the capital itself. Marble archways framed the open arena, and banners of blue and gold snapped proudly in the highland wind. Rows upon rows of armored knights trained in perfect rhythm, their movements sharp and unified like clockwork.
When Tianna stepped onto the field, silence fell almost instantly. Every soldier straightened at the sight of the High Marshal, but curiosity rippled through the ranks when they noticed the man beside her, the foreigner with no armor, strange insignia, and an easy grin.
"Marshal Crownguard." A commander approached, saluting sharply. "We were not informed of a demonstration today."
"You are now," Tianna replied evenly. "Summon Captain Garen and the Dauntless Vanguard. The foreign Emissary has requested a… practical evaluation."
A low murmur swept through the grounds. Some soldiers exchanged skeptical glances; others whispered in disbelief. An Emissary challenging Demacia's most elite unit?
Asta only stood at the center of the arena, hands on his hips, taking in the sheer size of the place. "Man, this is way bigger than the Magic Knight's field back home," he said with an impressed whistle. "You people don't play around."
Tianna shot him a faint look.
---
The Dauntless Vanguard arrived in formation, one hundred and twenty eight of Demacia's finest, clad in polished steel and bearing the blue lion insignia. At their head stood Garen Crownguard, his greatsword resting across his back. His presence alone commanded the respect of everyone on the field.
He glanced between Tianna and Asta, his expression a mix of curiosity and restrained amusement. " Ihave answered your request High Marshal. I brought with me the first Company. You're serious about this?" he asked his aunt.
Tianna nodded once. "I am. I wish to know if his reputation has any substance."
Garen turned to Asta. "Asta. It appears that we'll have our second duel. Be warned though. The Dauntless Vanguard do not hold back, even in training."
Asta grinned, stepping forward onto the packed earth of the sparring circle. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
A few of the knights chuckled quietly, the sound low and confident. A foreigner without armor, bare-handed, facing the Vanguard? It was madness.
Tianna raised a hand. "This is a sanctioned trial. No killing blows. The objective is simple, demonstrate capability without lethal intent. Begin when ready."
---
Prince Jarvan IV strode through the marble corridors of the royal compound, his golden armor glinting in the morning light. The rhythmic clank of his boots echoed against the stone, accompanied closely by the measured steps of Shyvana, who followed a pace behind.
"Prince Jarvan," she called out, her deep voice carrying a note of curiosity. "Where exactly are we going?"
Without slowing, Jarvan glanced back at her with a faint, knowing smile. "It seems the foreign mage has decided to give us a demonstration of his strength," he said, his tone casual but laced with intrigue.
Shyvana raised an eyebrow, her violet eyes narrowing slightly. "A demonstration? Why would he do that?"
Jarvan gave a light shrug, his crimson cloak swaying behind him. "Who knows? But this is an opportunity we can't ignore. If he's offering to show his power, we'd be fools not to observe. Besides…" He cast a sidelong glance at her. "After what you told me about his power, I want to see this for myself."
Shyvana's expression hardened. "I don't understand what's going on," she admitted. "And I won't claim to be the brightest mind in the keep, but a mage showing his hand so openly..." She paused mid-step, her gaze turning distant as the thought took shape. "Either Asta is incredibly naïve…"
Jarvan stopped and turned to face her. "Or what, Shyvana?" he asked, studying her expression. "What did you realize?"
Shyvana's eyes narrowed slightly. "Or it doesn't matter if we know," she said softly. "He believes he's strong enough that it won't make a difference." A faint shiver ran through her, the kind that came not from fear, but from instinct.
Jarvan's lips curved into a small, confident smile. "Overconfidence is a man's greatest enemy, Shyvana. It's what brought down countless warriors greater than him." He stepped closer, resting a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. "Even your mother, Yvva, the mightiest of dragons, fell when she underestimated us. Trust in us, Shyvana. Trust in Demacia."
Her gaze flicked to his hand, then up to his face. "A Demacia that barely accepts me," she murmured, her tone low and bitter.
Jarvan sighed, his grip tightening slightly, not in reprimand but in reassurance. "We've been over this. As long as you remain by my side, no one will harm you. They'd have to go through me first. You're nothing like those rebels, Shyvana."
For a moment, silence lingered between them. Then Shyvana nodded, though her eyes held a distant sadness. 'You really don't get it, do you, Jarvan?' she thought quietly. 'You'll never understand what it's like to be hated for what you are.'
Before she could dwell on the thought, Jarvan gestured ahead, his confident stride resuming. "Come," he said. "Looks like we're here."
As they stepped out into the training grounds, the sound of clashing steel filled the air.
Clang!
The sharp ring of metal on metal echoed off the stone walls, marking the rhythm of combat. The two of them stopped at the edge of the courtyard, eyes drawn to the source of the noise.
The training grounds were a battlefield of groans and clattering steel. Dozens of armored soldiers from the First Company of the Dauntless Vanguard lay strewn across the stone floor, some clutching broken weapons, others too dazed to even rise. Dust hung in the air, thick with the scent of sweat and crushed earth.
At the center of it all, the cause of the devastation moved like a storm.
Asta was a blur, too fast for the untrained eye to follow, too fierce for the human mind to process. One moment he was gone, the next, he appeared above a soldier, planting his boot squarely on the man's chestplate. The impact sent a thunderous crack echoing through the courtyard as both soldier and attacker crashed into a cluster of comrades. Eight more were launched through the air, their armor clanging against stone before they crumpled into motionless heaps.
But Asta was already gone again, moving faster than the dust could settle. He reappeared on the far side of the courtyard, intercepting a soldier's downward sword strike with his bare hand. The steel met his palm with a screech, but stopped dead, as though striking an iron wall.
The soldier's eyes widened in terror.
Asta grinned. "Nice swing."
Then he brought his massive greatsword around in a single, sweeping arc. The air cracked under the weight of it as the soldier was flung backward, crashing into a cluster of her comrades with enough force to carve a shallow crater into the dirt.
When the dust finally began to clear, only a handful remained.
Of the one hundred and twenty-eight elite members of the Dauntless Vanguard who had accepted Asta's challenge, just seventeen were still standing, Garen Crownguard among them, his armor scratched but his resolve unbroken.
He adjusted his stance, tightening his grip on his broadsword as he watched the ashen-haired stranger rest his weapon across his shoulder, smiling as though he hadn't even broken a sweat.
Garen's expression hardened. "Vanguard, form ten! Shields up!"
At his command, the remaining vanguard stepped forward, surrounding Asta in a tightening circle.
Asta stood at the center, his smile fading into quiet focus. "Now this feels like home."
He moved.
To the soldiers watching, it was like watching a storm. His body blurred between armored forms, his strikes swift, heavy, and devastatingly strong. Shields deformed with every punch. Boots slid when the vanguard tried to resist before they were flung into the walls. Helmets rang like bells.
By the end of it, fifteen of the Vanguard were either on their knees or flat on the ground. Only Garen and a two others remained standing.
Asta stopped, exhaling lightly as if he'd merely gone for a jog.
The courtyard was still again, all eyes fixed on the grinning foreigner standing amidst Demacia's best.
Tianna's expression was unreadable, but there was a faint glint of satisfaction in her eyes. "Well," she said, her tone calm but carrying. "I believe that will suffice."
"That's... Impossible," Jarvan breathed, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and disbelief. Below, the courtyard lay in ruin, shattered practice dummies, splintered spears, and dozens of armored soldiers groaning on the ground. At the center of it all stood Asta, calm and composed, his chest barely rising despite the chaos surrounding him.
"He defeated an entire company by himself," Jarvan continued, his tone hushed but filled with astonishment. "And he doesn't even look winded. It must be some kind of reinforcement magic, something that boosts his strength and speed. He's as strong as a minotaur and as fast as a silverwing."
"No!"
The word tore from Shyvana's throat before she even realized she'd shouted. Her voice cracked through the air like a whip, silencing the murmurs of soldiers and the clang of falling weapons. Every head turned toward her, guards, knights, and even Asta himself.
Jarvan blinked, startled, glancing back at her. "Shyvana..?"
Before he could speak further, a new voice cut through the silence.
"Prince Jarvan."
Tianna Crownguard stepped forward from the shade of the terrace, her golden armor gleaming under the sun. Her expression was poised but curious as her eyes moved from the prince to the dragon-blooded woman beside him. "I assume you came for the demonstration."
Jarvan straightened, forcing a diplomatic smile even as he tried to recover from the awkward tension hanging in the air. "Indeed, High Marshal," he said smoothly. "And I can't say I was disappointed." He turned toward Asta, still trying to piece together what Shyvana had meant. "Asta, that was..."
"He didn't show you anything!" Shyvana's voice rang out again, more controlled this time but no less intense. She took a step forward, her crimson eyes locked on Tianna, then Asta. "He didn't use any magic even once. All of this..." she gestured to the battered soldiers strewn across the training field, "...is just his natural strength. As insane as that sounds."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then the whispers began.
"…No magic?"
"Impossible…"
"Then how did he..?"
Murmurs rippled through the gathered soldiers, disbelief mixing with awe. Even the knights of the Dauntless Vanguard exchanged uneasy glances, their rigid discipline faltering under the weight of what they had just witnessed.
Asta, standing at the center of the courtyard, merely scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Heh. Guess I'm still warming up."
"Warming up?" Jarvan's voice broke the tense silence, equal parts disbelief and awe. He even let out a small, incredulous gasp as he surveyed the field of battered soldiers.
Asta raised one hand in mock surrender, his expression sheepish. "In my defense, I was hoping you'd have someone stronger I could go all out against. I thought these guys were just the warm-up. Are they not?"
"Clearly not," Jarvan muttered, his gaze following the groaning soldiers of the Dauntless Vanguard as they tried to pick themselves up. One unfortunate soul had to be pried out of the wall he'd left an imprint in. The fact that he was still breathing, if only barely, said a lot about how much Asta had been holding back.
Asta scratched the back of his head. "Well, do you have someone stronger?"
Tianna Crownguard, ever composed, found herself momentarily at a loss for words. Her mind ran through every name in Demacia's ranks, but none came close. There wasn't a single human alive, who wasn't a mage, capable of duplicating what Asta had just done.
Before she could answer, a deep, steady voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd.
"You still owe me a rematch from last time."
Shyvana stepped forward, her crimson eyes gleaming faintly.
Asta blinked, then his face lit up with recognition. "Oh, right... you! Sorry about that. I should've gone easier on you back then."
A low growl rumbled from Shyvana's throat. "On the contrary. This time, I won't hold back. So I expect you to do the same. If you don't take this seriously…" her lips curled into a toothy smirk, "...you'll die."
Her words carried weight, not as a threat, but as a promise.
'Maybe this way,' Shyvana thought, 'the prince and the others will finally understand what we're dealing with… and maybe I can stop feeling this dread every time I see him.'
Asta's grin widened. "Alright then. You've got guts, I'll give you that. You'd fit right in with the Black Bulls."
Tianna exhaled softly, signaling the others to clear the area. "Everyone, back away!" she commanded, and the soldiers obeyed immediately.
They were barely at a safe distance when the air around Shyvana ignited. A wave of heat rolled across the training grounds as her form burst into roaring, red-hot flames. Massive wings of molten fire spread from her back, their shadows stretching across the courtyard like the arms of a god.
Asta's eyes gleamed with excitement. He shifted his stance, both hands tightening around the hilt of his sword.
Then, something changed.
Tianna felt it before she saw it, a sudden, unnatural pressure in the air. The rusty blade in Asta's grip darkened, its surface turning sleek and black, like liquid night. Wisps of black mist curled from its edge, swallowing the light around it.
It no longer looked like the dull, worn greatsword he'd carried, it looked hungry.
Then, with a sound like tearing fabric, a single black wing burst from Asta's right shoulder, unfurling in jagged, lightning streaked arcs.
Asta's grin deepened.
In the next instant, a dragon roared, and the world seemed to hold its breath.