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墨書 Inktalez
Boyev's heart raced, each beat echoing the whispers of death in his ears. He felt an indescribable fear, as if an endless abyss was reaching out to him, leaving him helpless and desperate.
His gaze swept around, but apart from the shattered buildings and drifting smoke, he saw no glimmer of hope. Suddenly, a flock of crows swooped down from the sky, their cries sending a chill down Boyev's spine. A question arose in his mind: were these black birds an ominous sign, messengers of dark forces?
Just as he was about to turn and flee, an invisible force surged from the ground, and a massive black claw appeared at his feet. The claw was as hard as iron, gripping his legs tightly, rendering him immobile. Boyev struggled desperately, but the strength of the claw filled him with despair, as if the entire world was pressing down on him, suffocating him.
He strained to look back, hoping to find someone who could help him, but all he saw were desolate ruins and indifferent smoke. Fear and despair intertwined on his face; he felt trapped by this incomprehensible dark power, unable to escape. The scene before him felt like a merciless nightmare, each painful moment ruthlessly tugging at his soul.
Boyev trembled all over, every nerve wailing the melody of fear. Sweat dripped onto the ground, mingling with blood and mud, turning his once smooth skin into a dull gray. His wild and terrified eyes fixated on the circling crows, as if he were ensnared in an inescapable nightmare.
The crows seemed indifferent to his terror, merely circling coldly above him. Their eyes pierced through every inch of Boyev's inner depths, making him feel exposed under a chilling judgment. Each rotation felt like a nail driven deep into his psyche, imprisoning him in a cage of fear and helplessness.
Boyev's struggles grew more frantic; he screamed hoarsely, but his voice echoed lonely in the ruins, as if he were the only one trapped in this desolate place. His cries sounded like unheard sobs, more like desperate shouts against his own hopelessness.
He realized he had fallen into an inescapable trap; these crows were merely Swen's eyes and ears sent to monitor him. His pride and arrogance had now become shackles that firmly bound him in this wasteland.
Boyev's heartbeat quickened even more; each thump seemed to tell him he was heading toward the abyss of death. His voice trembled as he almost spoke to himself, "How could I be so foolish to challenge the Summoners of Noxus? I thought I could handle everything easily... Now it seems I'm nothing but a ridiculously deluded fool!"
His roar was filled with despair and helplessness; he felt his fighting spirit and pride completely collapse at that moment, leaving only deep fear for the future and immense regret for his foolish actions.
As Swen's cold voice echoed in the darkness, the entire scene seemed frozen in an atmosphere of extreme tension. Boyev's eyes widened as he fell into a state of near despair; he looked around at the circling crows whose eyes were like merciless judges watching his every move, seemingly waiting for his next action.
Swen's voice was icy and threatening, revealing a ruthless cruelty. "Ha! Boyev, our game is not over yet. Why are you so eager to run away? Where do you think you're going?"
Boyev felt helpless; some powerful and dark force gripped his legs tightly. No matter how hard he struggled, he could not escape its fierce hold. Before Swen finished speaking, that dark claw suddenly tightened its grip; sharp claws dug deep into his flesh, blood gushing from the wound as Boyev couldn't help but cry out in pain.
"I... I'm not trying to run away... I just... just want to..." Boyev's voice trembled as he tried to explain, but pain shattered his words into fragments.
The crows surrounding Swen seemed to take pleasure in his pain and fear, their circling movements growing tighter, each flap of their wings mocking Boyev's helplessness. In that moment, Boyev realized he had completely fallen into the trap set by Swen, and all he could do was helplessly endure it all.
Swen's voice came through the taunting crows, echoing around Boyev, making him feel the pressure and threat from every corner. With a clear tone of mockery, Swen said, "Boyev, you fool, you don't need to worry. I will still play fair. I'll let you watch the process of the duel. How does that sound? Not bad for you, right?"
Boyev felt an unprecedented fear; his body trembled uncontrollably. The crows seemed to sense his terror and began to circle above his head, each crow's eyes watching him, waiting for his final moment.
Boyev's fear reached its peak; he felt as if he could hardly breathe, his heart pounding like thunder in his chest. As he sensed his dignity and courage slowly dissipating under this oppressive feeling, he ultimately lost the last shred of control and helplessly wet himself on the ground.
This scene was coldly witnessed by the crows, their cries seemingly laced with a cruel amusement, mercilessly mocking Boyev's plight. Swen's voice once again sounded particularly cold amidst the crows' laughter, filling Boyev with despair as he realized he had completely fallen into the abyss of this dark game.
Chapter One Hundred Eighty-Eight:
As Boyev's humiliation was conveyed through the dense flock of crows to Swen, Swen's laughter echoed in the safe refuge, mingling with a taste of mockery and victory. His laughter was like a unique melody resonating in the enclosed space. Beside him, Darius frowned; he was accustomed to Swen's occasional schemes and pranks, but this situation seemed more severe.
Darius peered through the small gaps in the refuge's railing upwards; he could vaguely see Boyev surrounded by crows. The eyes of those crows were cold and merciless, like sentinels in the darkness, all tools manipulated by Swen.
A worried expression crossed Darius's face; he knew Swen’s cunning methods were always ruthless, but this manipulation seemed more brutal than usual. He glanced back at Swen, who was still laughing to himself, seemingly intoxicated by the chaos he had created.
"Swen, don’t you think you've gone too far this time?" Darius finally spoke up, his voice tinged with clear dissatisfaction and warning. Swen’s smile gradually faded as he turned to Darius with an inscrutable grin.
"Darius, sometimes extreme measures are necessary to ensure things go in the direction we desire. Don't worry; everything is under control." Swen's voice was calm and confident, as if all the chaos and cruelty were merely necessary steps to achieve their goals.
Darius had to admit that Swen’s strategies were always effective, but every time he witnessed this ruthless side of him, he questioned: Was this path they were taking truly right?
Swen still wore that disdainful smile as if relishing Boyev’s predicament. He shook his head lightly and casually remarked, "Besides, Boyev has been so arrogant for so long; seeing him like this is quite satisfying, isn’t it?" His voice was filled with schadenfreude at Boyev's downfall.
Darius looked up at the fence, where Boyev's fearful and tragic expression was laid bare before him. Boyev's face was twisted, his once cunning eyes now filled with helplessness and despair. Sweat and tears mingled on his face, continuously dripping down and soaking his dirty collar. His lips trembled as he tried to say something, but his voice was suppressed by fear into a feeble whimper.
As Darius observed Boyev's breakdown, he felt a complex sense of satisfaction. It was not merely mockery or schadenfreude; it was a relief to see a long-time rival finally tasting defeat. Under Boyev's cunning schemes and arrogant bravado, Darius had often felt oppressed and dissatisfied. Now, witnessing Boyev in such a pitiful state, it seemed as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his heart. However, this feeling was not purely one of joy; it was more an anticipation of justice—an expectation that even in this chaotic and dark world, justice would eventually prevail, placing the self-righteous villains beneath the dust. Although Darius's expression remained calm, a glimmer of disdain and relief flashed in his eyes. He knew that the war was far from over, but at least today, he saw a glimmer of hope.
Standing before Boyev, Darius clenched his thick fingers tightly, as if in this simple action he could release the pent-up anger within him. Suddenly, a memory surfaced in his mind: two years ago, when preparations for a large-scale expedition were underway, the Natanja Family's armory had audaciously demanded exorbitant prices at a critical moment, insisting on doubling the original compensation. At that time, Boyev stood before him with an arrogant smile on his face and said something that still echoed in Darius's memory: "Hehe! BINGO! I’m just being lazy!"
That flippant remark was not only a contemptuous jab at Darius but also a provocation to the entire Noxian army. Darius had been furious then, but due to the urgency of military operations and the Natanja Family's unique position in military supplies, he had to suppress his anger and swallow this bitter pill. Now, seeing this once arrogant man so utterly defeated before him, a cold thrill of pleasure arose within Darius.
A complex light flickered in his eyes—not just satisfaction from revenge but also an ironic acknowledgment of the necessity of such figures in Noxian political games. In the past, Boyev’s actions had been nothing short of outrageous; he had not only challenged Noxus’s authority politically but also bullied others in business transactions, placing his family's interests above all else—even opposing Noxus’s leaders.
All of this made Darius despise him; yet he could not deny that such individuals still held irreplaceable roles on the political stage. Their arrogance might be displeasing, but it was part of Noxus’s regime and one of the crucial factors maintaining its hegemonic status.
Swen witnessed Darius's small gesture and couldn't help but tease him, "Oh dear! General, I see you’re acting quite childish." Darius's expression stiffened as he coldly replied, "That guy’s life is worth less than a dog’s; I’ve been fed up with him for ages."
Swen chuckled as he patted Darius on the shoulder and said, "Don’t worry! This farce will soon come to an end!" His gaze then shifted to Wei Dong, who was still locked in combat, a glint of scheming triumph flashing in his eyes.
A deep smile spread across Swen's face; it seemed to him that this battle was merely another game of chess where he held the winning move. He contemplated how this new power would be utilized and how to turn the outcome of this battle into his greatest advantage.
In Swen's eyes, Wei Dong was not just an excellent Summoner; he was malleable material—a tool to achieve his political goals. His gaze revealed both admiration and calculation; he recognized Wei Dong’s potential clearly while also knowing how to cleverly exploit it.
Swen understood that once Wei Dong became one of his subordinates, it would greatly bolster his political ambitions while also becoming a trump card in his hand. In his plans, Wei Dong would become his right-hand man, helping him realize even greater political aspirations.
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