Arcane: Twin Cities Mechanic

Dawnkeep.

As the night deepened, each noble who had attended the evening banquet offered Jarvan IV their final blessing, signaling the close of the festivities.

Most of the tipsy guests were escorted out of the grand hall by their servants, heading back to their homes. Jarvan IV took charge of seeing off the guests himself—an excellent opportunity to hone his interpersonal skills.

Only a few members of the steadfast Council and loyal supporters of the Lightshield royal family remained, lingering to chat with the king.

"To think, the young prince I remember has grown taller and stronger than me in the blink of an eye."

"Indeed! With Steward Zhao personally training him, the prince has even mastered the Drakebane spear techniques that were thought lost!"

"Not to mention his triumphant rout of those brutish Noxians!"

"Ha! You mean utter defeat—didn't their general even get captured?"

"Hahaha… You're right. My mistake."

"Speaking of the Drakebane, it was forged by Demacia's founder, King Orlon. It's said to have once vanquished the frost dragon, Haze Maw, along with its brood."

"Just like our honorary admiral Poppy—she also wields a weapon of King Orlon's!"

Poppy's name caught the attention of Jarvan III, who, slightly inebriated, shifted his gaze toward the noble who had brought her up. "Right… Poppy… where… where has she gone recently? She didn't even attend… my son's victory celebration?"

"I believe she headed to the frontier village of Earldale, still searching for her 'great hero,' Your Majesty," answered Elderred, his face slightly flushed, yet smiling gently as he leaned close to the king.

"Oh, that's right… Poppy, always following Orlon's final directive…" Jarvan III shook his head, sighing. "When will she realize that the so-called 'great hero' Orlon spoke of is actually herself?"

As the king, who had abstained from drink the entire evening, faltered with his empty goblet, Tiana stepped forward just in time to catch it before it fell.

"Tiana… come, pour me another glass of wine!"

"Your Majesty, you've had enough."

Her face showing mild exasperation, Tiana glanced at Xin Zhao, who was the only other person at the banquet dressed in full armor and armed with a spear, as sober as she was.

"Steward Zhao, it's time to help His Majesty retire for the night."

Xin Zhao nodded, positioning his three-pronged spear by his side before he and a royal servant supported the king.

"Mmm… feeling a bit dazed; time for rest," Jarvan III muttered, waving the remaining nobles away. "Go on, everyone, you're dismissed."

One last thing seemed to come to his mind, though, as he scanned the room. "Oh, by the way… has Li Lin… returned yet?"

The nobles exchanged glances, each wearing a different expression.

Raising an eyebrow subtly, Tiana scanned their faces, eventually noticing her husband Eldred's stiff smile, which instantly stirred a feeling of distaste within her.

Just as she pondered, Eldred stepped forward. "Li Lin, along with that girl, Zoe, hasn't returned, Your Majesty."

He paused, adding, "And neither has our winged protector, Morgana. She left without so much as a word."

His tone was clipped, almost grating.

The once jovial atmosphere in the hall faded into a tense silence.

Several members of the steadfast Council exchanged knowing glances, recognizing the insinuation in Eldred's words, given his position.

Magic is dangerous and uncontrollable; exceptions cannot be made for anyone.

Jarvan III's brow furrowed. "Eldred…"

"Your Majesty, I believe Lord Eldred has had too much to drink," Walis, the minister overseeing the nobility, interjected, casting a warning look at Eldred.

"Haha… just drunken rambling, Your Majesty. My apologies for any offense," Eldred laughed, adding, "I've been so swamped with work lately, I can hardly tell personal matters from official ones."

"If you wish, I could grant you a leave of absence."

"Thank you for the offer, Your Majesty, but I feel I should uphold my duties—for Demacia."

A flash of something hard glinted in Jarvan III's deep-set eyes. "I hope you remain as true to your words."

With the atmosphere spoiled, the remaining guests quickly bid their farewells and departed Dawnkeep, heading to the awaiting carriages outside.

Outside the Crownguard carriage, Eldred and his attendants were just stepping inside, ready to signal the driver when Tiana rushed over, halting the coachman.

"Lady Tiana, will you be accompanying us?"

"No, I need to speak with Eldred."

"I'll step aside then…"

"No need."

She fixed the coachman with a frigid look devoid of warmth, enough to make him flinch and lower his gaze respectfully.

"Oh, my dearest Tiana!" Eldred greeted, opening the side door of the carriage. "My love, what brings you here?"

"Stop…"

Tiana's expression shifted as she prepared to say something. However, seeing his smug expression and the mocking wag of his raised index finger, she clenched her fist, swallowing her words.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, she locked eyes with the man before her and spoke with icy detachment, "I came to deliver a message."

Tiyana took a deep breath, her expression strained with a mix of decorum and disdain before finally letting out a cold snort. "Hmph, today you've overstepped your bounds twice, showing disrespect towards His Majesty. I don't want you dragging the Crownguard family down with you."

He was briefly taken aback but soon smiled even wider. "Oh, my dear wife, rest assured, the Mageseekers' Society operates independently of politics and military matters. Though I am now part of the Crownguard family, my actions represent only myself. Besides…" 

Eldred gave her an appraising look. "Doesn't the king still have you by his side?"

"…"

Tiyana fell silent, a dangerous glint flashing in her eyes, but Eldred appeared utterly unfazed.

"Will you come home with me?"

"Hmph."

With one final, dismissive snort, Tiyana turned on her heel and headed back toward the palace. Eldred, unfazed by her coldness, simply returned to his seat, his smile fading into a look of steely resolve, showing no sign of inebriation.

"My lord, where shall we go next?" came the voice of the coachman. "Return straightaway?"

Eldred was silent for a moment, looking out at the silver crescent moon through the window. "The usual place."

…

…

In the stillness of the night, a lone carriage traveled slowly along a dark and isolated path.

"Stop here. Wait for me; I'll be back shortly."

Eldred, now clad in a dark robe, stepped down from a carriage that clearly did not belong to the Crownguard family. He handed the coachman a bronze medallion, circular with three raised points around the edge.

"If the patrol guards stop you, say nothing, just show them this medallion."

The coachman, dressed in equally nondescript clothing, nodded. "Understood, sir, understood…"

The servant who should have accompanied him was conspicuously absent. Eldred gave the coachman a nod, patted his arm, and tossed a coin pouch into his hands. "I'm pleased with your work."

"Thank you, my lord, thank you!"

"Shh…" Eldred placed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. "Keep at it, and I'll be sure to promote you."

With that, he pulled up his hood and disappeared into the dark, nearly lightless alley.

The sound of his footsteps echoed softly down the dim alley. Eldred counted his steps, then stopped at a specific spot, turned left, took two steps along the wall, and knocked rhythmically on a wooden window.

After a brief wait, the creaking sound of an old door opening shattered the stillness, and a faint candlelight seeped into the dark alley.

Eldred swiftly made his way forward, stepping down into a steep stone staircase.

The room was a cramped basement, cluttered and reeking faintly of dampness and rot.

His greeter was an elderly, stooped man with wispy white hair. His tattered clothing and gnarled hands, as cracked and lined as old bark, gave him a look as withered as a dead tree.

Poverty was not uncommon in the grand capital, but such elderly men, though rare, were occasionally found in Demacia, where living standards and technology were no higher than the Middle Ages. Such an appearance also made for an effective disguise…

"No one followed you, right?" 

The old man's voice was as frail as his appearance, rough and wheezing, as though something were lodged in his throat.

"No one," Eldred replied coolly. "Are they all here?"

"They've been waiting for you."

The old man reached under an oil-stained table and extended his arm until he located a raised spot on a marble wall. With a press, a hidden door in the small basement opened like a gate, revealing a narrow, dark passage beyond.

Eldred did not hesitate, striding purposefully through.

After a long trek down the passage, the path opened up before him.

Simultaneously, a familiar, frosty female voice broke the silence, "You're late, Eldred."

(End of Chapter)

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