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Mark slowly opened his eyes, feeling a terrible headache. He noticed the damp, cold environment around him filled with moans and screams echoing everywhere.
With some effort, he opened his eyes fully and scanned his surroundings. He was in a prison cell with three other prisoners, each huddled in a different corner.
"What's going on?" Mark thought internally but didn't dare make any sound prematurely. First, he checked his physique and clothes.
His current body, although not muscular, displayed clear signs of genetic superiority. He was taller (about 1.95m), with broader shoulders and hips. Looking at his reflection in a puddle of water, he also noticed he was more handsome than in his previous life, featuring a mix of European and Asian traits with straight black hair.
"I could have been a model with this body in my past life," Mark thought and chuckled internally. At the moment, he was wearing simple brown cloth garments, offering no clues as to where he was.
"Where could I be?" Mark wondered again and decided to check if he could use his abilities at that moment. A sudden wave of memories coursed through his mind, explaining how to use the Dance of the Fire God, but all his other abilities seemed sealed; he couldn't access them.
"Well, that was expected," Mark muttered softly, catching the attention of an elderly man in the corner, who looked at him briefly before lowering his head again, seemingly resigned to his fate, likely driven by the distressing cries in the dungeon.
Mark noticed this and, seeing that the man was elderly with many wrinkles, approached him to start a conversation. "Hey, friend, where are we?" Mark asked curiously and was surprised to hear a different language than his own flow smoothly when he spoke.
The old man looked at him in shock before answering, "You don't know? We're in the Noxian coliseum, waiting to be called for battle. It's been four hours since we got here, and you stood still in the corner without even breathing. We thought you were dead." The old man began speaking rapidly, as if it was his last chance to converse in life.
Mark continued the conversation while cursing internally, "Damn, why Noxus?! And in the coliseum, no less. I'll have to fight for my life right after reincarnating!" Mark cursed in his mind but kept conversing with the old man to gather as much information as possible.
The elderly man's name was Soon, an Ionian fisherman captured by a patrol boat along with his daughter and sold as a slave. He was brought to the coliseum, and his daughter was sold to some noble family he didn't know. Now, all he had left was despair.
Mark also managed to learn other details from the conversation. Apparently, the Noxian invasion of Ionia had not yet begun but was probably not far off. Jarvan III was still alive, and his son, Jarvan IV, was reaching adulthood. Piltover and Zaun had yet to create Hextech, but it was unclear when that might happen due to the lack of information.
In any case, he found himself in Runeterra before the chaos erupted—before the formation of the three tribes of Freljord, before Azir's return, before Demacia's invasion of the Shadow Isles.
In a way, he now had a significant advantage in terms of information, but that also posed a problem. "At this point, the Black Rose must have full control of Noxus. LeBlanc probably won't let me escape if she finds out about my abilities or if I oppose her organization."
Mark and the old Soon talked for about 30 minutes, ending with the old man crying as he spoke of his worries for his daughter. "Please, Mr. Mark, save my daughter. Her name is Soo Mi, after her mother. You can marry her if you save her." Mark gave a weak smile to the old man crying in his arms and decided to promise to comfort him, knowing it would be challenging to survive the arena, let alone fulfill that promise.
A few minutes later, a Noxian soldier with a spear appeared at the cell door and opened it. He scanned the surroundings for a moment before pointing at them. "You, you, and you—follow me." He selected Mark, the old Soon, and another Ionian man in the cell.
However, Mark noticed that Soon and the other man didn't understand what the soldier said, so he quickly relayed the message. "He's telling us to follow him." Mark spoke, and the two quickly stood and followed the soldier.
At that moment, the soldier looked at Mark and directly asked him, "You there, slave, do you speak Noxian?" Mark froze for a moment but soon replied fluently in Noxian.
"Yes, sir, I do." The guard looked surprised for a moment, then assessed him from head to toe. "You don't seem bad. Prove your worth in battle, and I might put you in an administrative position," the guard said offhandedly before starting to walk.
Mark was surprised for a moment but remembered he was in Noxus, where strength and utility were everything. Noxians didn't care about your past or origins, only what you could do for Noxus.
"Well, that makes things easier," Mark thought as he followed the guard, the other two behind him. They walked in silence past the cells, where Mark saw numerous individuals of different races, their eyes devoid of life as they awaited death.
However, in some, there was a spark of life that set them apart from their cellmates. Soon, they left the small cells and entered a large corridor bustling with active forges, where weapons and armor were crafted for the gladiators.
At one point, they reached a fork leading to three different places, and for some reason, Mark felt a chill when he glanced at the door on the right. The guard noticed this and said, "Beyond that door is where we keep the captured beasts and monsters. Ten to twenty people die every day trying to feed them." The guard smiled sinisterly before leading them to the left room, which was a large armory.
The glint of steel blinded Mark momentarily before he adjusted. Before him lay a massive arsenal with hundreds, if not thousands, of weapons.
"We store weapons forged here and those taken from prisoners and deceased gladiators in this arsenal. Choose one weapon each, but only one," the soldier instructed, glancing at Mark, who quickly translated for the other two men. The three stepped into the arsenal to select a weapon.
The two men were clearly not warriors, nervously eyeing the walls of weapons. The old Soon chose a fishing spear, likely because it was what he was most familiar with.
The other man, shaking with anxiety, grabbed a random sword and, after a deep breath, charged at the Noxian soldier, yelling.
Mark was startled by the man's sudden action but was even more shocked by what happened next. The Noxian soldier didn't move, simply extending his hand in a quick motion and grabbing the man's neck. The man dropped the sword and tried to pry the soldier's hand from his throat.
Crack.
A snapping sound was heard, and the man fell lifeless to the ground as the soldier calmly lowered his hand as if what he had done was entirely ordinary. Mark swallowed hard, reminded once again of where he was.
Noxus!
They hadn't sent just any guard to escort the prisoners out of arrogance but rather because none of the prisoners stood a chance against him.
Mark took a deep breath and ventured deeper into the arsenal, searching for a suitable weapon. Soon, he found an Ionian sword in a barrel alongside many others.
However, this one was different. Despite its simple hilt and seemingly ordinary blade, Mark noticed a wind pattern on the sword, reminding him of a certain school known for using wind techniques.
"If it's from that school, its quality should be superior to the others," Mark thought and picked up the blade, walking back to the door calmly.
Old Soon, still shaken by the man's death, followed Mark as he approached the soldier. The soldier then led them to the arena.