Read up to chapter 179 free on Patreon: patreon.com/Light_lord
---------------------
"Kyle, fifteen years ago, you judged a Demacian family for collaborating with Noxus and abandoning their comrades."
Swain spoke in his usual low, calculating tone, conjuring a flock of crows to shield himself from the oncoming strike.
His crimson eyes gleamed as he recalled Kyle's actions with precise clarity.
"The man from that family was Will—a soldier of the Second Shield, Dauntless Vanguard."
"Will…"
Garen, just arriving on the battlefield, froze at the name.
Will had served in the Second Shield during the time his aunt, Tianna Crownguard, led the Dauntless Vanguard.
Garen hadn't enlisted yet, but he'd often heard the veterans speak of Will.
Never with honor—always with bitterness and scorn.
"To abandon one's duty is a crime punishable by death," Kayle said coldly, her voice devoid of emotion.
"But all he did was return with vital, top-secret intelligence from Noxus," Swain countered, each word sharp and deliberate.
"To get it, his comrades gave everything—their blood, their lives. They carved him a path to Silvermere."
Hovering above the battlefield, Swain glanced downward.
He spotted Garen in full armor, standing resolute among the Dauntless Vanguard, jaw clenched tight.
Garen's fists balled. The truth behind Will's so-called "information" had long haunted Demacia.
It had been a lie—cleverly planted by Noxus. Because of it, nearly an entire legion was lost.
Demacia paid dearly.
Will had been arrested, brought before the Judicator Order, and executed. The ruling was declared divine.
The charge? Treason.
"Will was a good soldier. If he lived, he'd probably be a commander by now," LeBlanc said with a faint, knowing smile.
"He made a grave mistake," Jarvan IV replied solemnly, the weight of his title laced in his voice.
"Even if the Judicator Order hadn't acted, justice would have found him."
"No," LeBlanc replied, shaking her head.
"Only the Judicator Order could erase him so thoroughly. Your father was ready to pardon him. Tianna even offered to take his punishment in his place."
Jarvan's brow furrowed. The insinuation in LeBlanc's tone unsettled him.
How could Noxus know so much about Demacia's internal affairs?
"In Demacia, only the Judicator Order and the Winged Protector stand above reproach," she continued, her voice laced with mockery.
"No decision can be questioned. That's why we leaked news of Will's 'betrayal' before he even reached Silverere."
"That's a lie!" Jarvan snapped.
"If we hadn't walked into your trap, he'd still be alive!"
LeBlanc chuckled, quiet and humorless.
"It wasn't about the grain depot," she said.
"It was the perfect stage for a massacre. We had thousands waiting. You don't understand the policies of the Darkwill era. Trading thousands of nameless soldiers to eliminate a single, promising hero? Noxus made that trade every time."
Demacia had doubted the messenger, even knowing the message could be a trap.
"No…" Jarvan muttered.
"You were so sure we wouldn't forgive him?"
"Of course. After the battle, the Judicator Order would summon him to the Hall of Judgment," LeBlanc said.
"The Winged Protector's magic would probe his beliefs, his loyalty."
She paused, voice low and deliberate.
"And Will, wracked with guilt over abandoning his comrades, would've believed himself a traitor. In Kayle's eyes, that made him one."
Her tone grew strange—almost amused.
"What we didn't predict was the Judicator Order condemning his entire family."
Jarvan looked away, lost in thought. He hadn't been part of those events.
He had only been a child, vaguely aware of the turmoil.
"Eight years ago," Swain added, cutting through the moment, "a Mageseeker named Forlan spared a young mage out of compassion. Demacia sentenced him to a year in prison. The Judicator Order gave him worse."
Swain's words echoed across the field.
A young mage in red and black Noxian robes stiffened in the city.
His grip on his staff tightened, and volatile magic swirled around him, pulsing with raw power.
Where Kayle and Swain clashed, only blinding flashes and the shrieking caws of crows remained.
Beyond the battlefield, the world had descended into chaos, shrouded in darkness and relentless rain.
The air crackled with raw magical energy, growing more unstable by the second.
"Four years ago…"
Swain gritted his teeth, barely withstanding the fury of Kayle's relentless assault.
Her strikes came like a storm of divine wrath, but even under the barrage, his voice remained steady, echoing across the field.
He spoke of justice—her justice.
Absolute. Unforgiving. Unyielding.
Neither Kayle nor the Judicator Order under her command tolerated deviation from her rigid sense of righteousness.
To them, even a minor breach of justice warranted a single, final sentence: death.
His words landed heavily. Jarvan IV, Garen, and the soldiers of the Dauntless Vanguard stood silent, their expressions grim. The revelations clawed at their convictions.
As front-line soldiers, many had witnessed the gray areas of war.
Kayle's version of justice—uncompromising and merciless—was challenging to accept.
Justice, without compassion, was a blade too sharp.
It didn't just cut down the guilty—it scarred the soul of the nation.
Demacia was not Noxus. Even in disagreement, it honored the pursuit of justice.
But what Swain revealed touched more than policy.
It pierced the legacy of their people, their families. It made them question what they'd once believed was sacred.
"Was the story about my uncle… true?" Jarvan murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
"If you believe it, then it is. If not, it isn't," LeBlanc said wryly.
"But you already know the answer, don't you?"
Swain had told of a Lightshield—Jarvan's uncle—who had shown compassion by saving a wounded civilian.
No one knew the man was a fugitive, marked for death by the Judicator Order.
In the end, the uncle was judged. Executed.
The charge? Accomplice to treason.
"I always thought… he had conspired with Noxus," Jarvan said bitterly, forcing a hollow smile.
"Do you think Noxus wants a royal who is kind but powerless?" LeBlanc's voice dripped with irony.
The Lightshields had always prided themselves on mercy, on protecting the weak.
But as Swain and LeBlanc implied, in Demacia, those who clung to idealism were often crushed by it.
It was a tragedy dressed as tradition.
LeBlanc looked skyward. A faint, mocking smile touched her lips.
Then—
"Are you finished?"
Kayle's voice sliced through the storm like a blade of light. Cold. Final.
Her golden wings flared open behind her, glowing with divine fury.
She stared down at Swain, her eyes unblinking.
"You were granted the mercy of final words. Now… you will stand trial."
Kayle didn't flinch. Centuries of judgment had shaped her.
She believed no mortal understood justice as she did.
And to her, compromise was heresy.
She raised her sword high. A radiant glow pulsed along its edge, spreading like wildfire through the clouds.
Then her back erupted in brilliant light.
Two pairs of ethereal wings unfolded—majestic, terrifying. The sky lit with divine brilliance, scattering the storm for a moment.
"Blade in hand. Sanction all. Judgment."
Her voice echoed through the heavens, an unrelenting decree.
High above, golden swords manifested—monumental constructs of celestial power.
The smallest were ten meters long. The largest dwarfed fortresses.
Their presence cast an overwhelming light across the land, stretching to the distant Noxian city-state.
"By the gods… His Highness is still in the city!"
General Laurent cried out, voice shaking as he stared at the apocalyptic vision overhead.
"One life to strike down the enemy… This is—"
"Justice."
Kayle's voice was as cold and final as the sentence itself.
Tens of thousands of swords descended.
Their holy wrath indiscriminate and absolute.
Laurent and Garen shouted in desperation, but their voices were swallowed by the thunderous storm of judgment.
The blades rained down without pause, divine light swallowing all in its path.