Swain took note of the excitement of his subordinate generals upon hearing the news, though he wasn't too surprised. The primary reason was that Ionia was simply too naive regarding the "scent of war."
But being naive didn't mean Ionia was weak.
Thinking this, Swain cleared his throat. Though the sound wasn't loud, in the next instant, everyone fell silent and turned their gaze toward their Master.
As the leader of the Legion of Far-Sightedness, the generals here might question Swain's personal martial power, but they would never question his strategy. In Noxus, where all forms of power are worshiped, the ability Swain demonstrated was enough to earn the deep, heartfelt respect of every one of them.
"The Ionians are weak, but Ionia is powerful." Swain looked at the crowd, his gaze falling on the map of Ionia on the table. In truth, the map was still incomplete. Beyond the Placidium, in the regions where Ionian humans rarely tread, little exploration had been done—that was the domain of the Vastaya and wild nature.
However, for now, Swain wasn't paying much attention to those other realms. He knew very well that once the humans of Ionia were ruled and made part of the Noxian Empire, the Ionians would naturally venture into those unknown secret realms for the sake of the Empire. This progressive power, this collective power, this ability to aggregate all individual capabilities into a single force, was the greatness of Noxus.
Whether they were Ionians, Shurimans, Vastaya, bandits, or pirates—they could all become part of Noxus.
"The temples of Ionia record many ancient legends. While many of these are distorted, the verifiable portions confirm that Ionians do not fear war; they have simply forgotten it."
Looking at everyone, Swain said coldly, "With the arrival of war, the Ionians will gradually recall why their weapons and sword styles were originally created. Once they realize this and remember those ancient things, regardless of what happens between them, they will become a serious obstacle to the Empire's expansion. For Noxus, we must treat them with caution."
Hearing Swain's cold words, the surrounding commanders looked at each other and nodded, sitting up straight to listen.
Swain's reputation within the Empire was excellent—practically flawless. Emperor Darkwill was satisfied because Swain always completed his assigned tasks swiftly. The traditional nobles were satisfied because Swain always ensured that newly expanded territories produced rich returns through good administration shortly after victory. And the rising nobles, or the warriors of the legions, were satisfied because following Swain meant reaping massive merit and honor.
However, serving under Swain meant that absolute obedience was the most fundamental requirement. While this sounded tyrannical, Swain actually welcomed the doubts and suggestions of others. But once a plan was finalized, all unnecessary noise had to be silenced, and execution had to be single-minded.
If anyone practiced "compliance in public but opposition in private," Swain wouldn't use violence to prove his authority. In his eyes, every citizen was a vital asset of the Empire and should never be wasted. Therefore, even a disobedient madman needed to be used in a way that extracted their maximum value for the Empire before their death. Afterward, Swain didn't mind having them buried with the honors of a hero.
After all, he truly had made them give everything for the Empire.
"The Imperial Navy will prioritize the capture of the western Ionian island of Fae'lor, establishing a military fortress as a springboard to cut off Ionia's maritime supply lines while using the island's position to project power across the entire west coast," Swain said with a clear mind, pointing at various markings on the map. "The main body of the land legions will begin a frontal assault on the Navori province once the west coast landing is complete. We aim to seize as much land as possible and establish outposts to pressure their spiritual core, the Placidium, before the Temple of the Long-Standing can react."
"The Northern Flank Fleet will land in the Galrin province to completely blockade the western coast. We will drive a wedge between the Vastaya and the Ionians, making promises where necessary—the Kiilash tribe is a good target. Many such Vastaya who worship savagery do not identify with Ionian harmony. Give them a chance to climb upward, and they will make their choice."
"In necessary moments, a scorched-earth policy can be implemented—but it must be done with caution." At the end, a cold light appeared in Swain's eyes. Scorched-earth meant killing everything, looting everything, and burning everything. While this could greatly enhance the combat enthusiasm of the legionaries, in Swain's view, it was no different from increasing the future costs of colonization and spiritual indoctrination. More importantly, Ionia was home to many magical lifeforms tied to human emotions; unless necessary, Swain didn't want to stir up unnecessary trouble.
"Every implementation of the scorched-earth policy will undergo three reviews to determine its necessity. These are my current thoughts; anyone with other ideas is free to speak."
Hearing this, the commanders nodded and began taking turns to share their opinions.
While the Noxians were in the midst of their tense preparations, on the other side—
"Phew. I have to say, in terms of environment, Ionia is the best place to nourish a person."
Standing at the prow of a ship, dressed in traditional Ionian short-garb, Faen stood with his hands on his hips, lazily watching the approaching coastline.
Though they were still some distance away, Ionia's unique landscape was already entering the sight of Faen and Riven.
Knowing that her current Master hailed from Ionia, Riven—who was accompanying him this time—looked out with some curiosity. Gazing at the poetic beauty that could be clearly felt even from afar, that simple and pure splendor dissolved between the mountains and waters, Riven felt a wave of confusion.
How did such a beautiful place ever give birth to a lust-demon like Faen?