Arcane: Mage from Noxus

Read up to 15 chapters ahead on Patreon - patreon.com/Light_lord

-----

At about the same time, Piltover South Town Open Plaza.

"We in Piltover have prospered for 200 years, weathering countless crises—but we have overcome them, time and time again. And..."

On a high podium, Jayce, dressed in a sharp suit, spoke with eloquence, his voice carrying through the plaza.

"To that end, we need everyone's help. I hope each of you can contribute to our shared future."

Half an hour later, the crowd that had filled the square began to disperse.

Mel, calm and composed, approached Jayce with her usual grace. She held out a glass of water and smiled.

"How does it feel to serve the public?"

Jayce took the glass, downing a gulp of water, his expression laced with annoyance.

"I really miss the old days. I'd rather spend all day in the lab. By the way, how effective have these speeches been?"

"Don't be impatient. It will take time for the people to step out of their comfort zones," Mel replied, handing the empty glass to her butler. She began walking alongside Jayce through the square.

"Time..." Jayce muttered, his face heavy with worry.

"That's the one thing we don't have. The weight of this responsibility—it's crushing."

Every day, Jayce walked the coastline, gazing across the bay toward Zaun. He could see changes happening rapidly.

The haze that once hung over the polluted city was beginning to lift.

Robots patrolled the shores, abandoned buildings were being demolished, and in their place, charming new structures rose.

Zaun was transforming—from a neglected wasteland into a city reborn.

Meanwhile, Piltover?

Nothing.

In the past half-month, the progress in Piltover was stagnant. Without Zaun's factories, even monetizing their advanced technologies would have been a struggle.

They had invested heavily in rebuilding factories, but the people were unwilling to work. Piltover could not promise the bright future Zaun offered.

Unlike Noxus, they couldn't drive forced labor—they had no prisoners of war, and certainly no slaves.

And now, the council refused to allocate funds to increase workers' pay, citing financial constraints. For Jayce, as a counilor, the challenges felt insurmountable.

"Mel..."

Jayce hesitated, wanting to ask her to fund improvements for the workers. But he stopped himself, guilt welling up inside.

The Midarda family had already provided most of the funding for the factory.

"Jayce," Mel said softly, her expression turning serious. She reached out, adjusting his tie.

"Piltover isn't a city for you to carry alone. You need to learn how to build consensus with others."

"Consensus? Like at the Grand Theater that night?"

Jayce's thoughts drifted to the evening Victor had severed ties with Piltover.

That night, Mel had guided him, showing him how to navigate the social circles of Piltover's elite.

If he wanted to be an effective member of the council, he needed allies—sometimes, that meant tolerating setbacks to achieve greater goals.

At that moment, Jayce's mind raced. He recalled Victor's departure, Camille's withdrawal into the shadows of the Law Enforcement Bureau, and Caitlyn's struggles.

Though she remained steadfast in her commitment to justice, her role as a councilor seemed to weigh her down more each day.

Was Piltover truly better off?

His gaze wandered across the city. Bathed in golden sunlight, Piltover's intricate architecture gleamed as though wrapped in gold.

This was his home—the city where he had grown up. It was a place of opportunistic councilors, passionate professors, skilled craftsman, devoted law enforcers, and starry-eyed apprentices.

His eyes drifted to the airship overhead, bearing his portrait. He couldn't remember when he had changed from an ambitious apprentice to a burdened councilor.

But one thing had never wavered—his ambition. Piltover had nurtured him, and he would protect it at any cost.

Yet, he realized something.

He had rarely considered what others wanted.

Did they seek profit? Knowledge? Wealth? Happiness? Simply a better life?

Understanding their desires was the key to uniting the people of Piltover and securing its future.

Jayce took a deep breath and placed his hands on Mel's shoulders, his expression resolute.

"I understand. Even if I can't fathom why some prioritize their interests over Piltover's safety, I will figure out what they want. For Piltover, I'll do whatever it takes."

Mel's lips curled into a faint smile as her eyes met Jayce's earnest gaze. She spoke almost casually, though her words carried weight.

"If you truly want to understand, you must first grasp Piltover's structure. Tell me, Jayce—how many social classes do you think exist here?"

Jayce frowned, thinking carefully before offering an uncertain guess:

"Two? The council members and the general public?"

Mel shook her head, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

"No, there are four: the great nobles, the minor nobles, the middle class, and the common people."

Jayce furrowed his brow, instinctively following her reasoning. He murmured as if to himself:

"The great nobles—House Ferros, the Medarda family... and perhaps Professor Heimerdinger. The minor nobles—Kiramman or maybe the Talis family, whom I represent. Most council members fall into this category. Below them are the middle-class citizens. Marcus? Does he represent that tier?"

Mel nodded. "He does, as do many others who manage key city affairs. These individuals have no noble lineage but have risen to prominence through knowledge and skill. And finally, at the bottom are the common people—the ones we need to mobilize most."

Mel's tone grew contemplative.

"The middle class and commoners of Piltover have lived in peace for so long that they lack a true sense of crisis—especially regarding Zaun..."

She trailed off, leaving Jayce to piece it together. A sharp realization dawned on him.

"Piltover has suppressed Zaun for centuries. Most of our citizens probably can't imagine Zaun posing a genuine threat. Crises have come and gone but never truly touched them."

He paused, his expression troubled. "But... this time, a council member died, and Kiramman's estate was destroyed."

Jayce's confusion was evident. This wasn't just a minor disturbance—it was unprecedented.

Mel responded with a knowing smile. "That's what you saw. It's not necessarily what the people heard."

Jayce blinked, caught off guard.

"What do you mean?"

The answer felt tantalizingly close, like a truth obscured by a thin veil. Mel turned suddenly, stopping a middle-aged man in a slightly worn suit as he passed by.

The man, leaning on a cane, appeared frail but still carried himself with dignity.

Upon being addressed by Mel, he straightened his clothes meticulously before bowing respectfully.

"Good afternoon, Councilor Medarda. How may I be of service?"

Jayce's eyes widened in recognition.

"Master Colin? Is your health holding up?"

Colin nodded weakly, his smile strained but genuine.

"Talis, it's been a while. When you were an apprentice at my workshop, I always thought you'd go far."

Jayce smiled warmly, though worry flickered in his eyes. Colin Levick was a renowned inventor from Piltover's South District, famed for his prosthetic designs.

Nearly every noble in Piltover used prosthetics crafted in his workshop. Jayce had once worked there as an apprentice, learning under Colin's guidance.

Colin's devotion to his daughter Orianna was legendary. She was an exceptional dollmaker, though her peculiar demeanor and fragile frame often drew whispers.

Jayce recalled the workshop fondly but noted how years of accidents and overwork had left Colin frail, plagued by chronic chest pain.

"Mr. Colin," Mel interjected, her voice warm yet probing.

"You know Councilor Talis has been working tirelessly to recruit workers lately. May I ask your opinion on this matter?"

Colin hesitated, coughing lightly. Mel, noticing his discomfort, gestured to her butler to assist him to a nearby stone bench.

"Opinion?" Colin repeated, his tone cautious.

"I think Councilor Talis's intentions are admirable. Piltover does need fresh energy... but..."

He trailed off, an embarrassed look crossing his face.

"Please, Mr. Colin," Jayce urged, leaning forward.

"If there's an issue, I want to hear it. Back when I was your apprentice, you and Orianna never hesitated to point out my mistakes. I'm still the same—if I'm doing something wrong, I need to know."

Colin sighed, the weight of unspoken concerns clear in his demeanor.

"A lot has changed in Piltover recently. First, Zaun's independence hit us hard. Ordinary folks might not feel it yet, but Workshop Street has suffered. Most of our suppliers came from Zaun, after all."

Jayce's brows furrowed. "That's understandable, but surely—"

"And then," Colin interrupted, his voice heavier, "we hear that a council member was killed. The authorities claim it was a terrorist attack by Zaun, but..."

He hesitated again before lowering his voice.

"We don't really believe it."

Jayce froze, stunned. "Why? It was Zaun. That attack came from them!"

Colin's pained smile deepened.

"That's what you say, Councilor. But for us? The narrative doesn't quite add up."

Jayce's expression darkened. For the first time, he felt the gap between the council's perception and the beliefs of Piltover's people.