Jax sat cross-legged in the middle of the bridge, his long-handled weapon resting on his knees. Demacia hasn't changed much since he last traveled this road, but it's nothing to fuss about.

The people fanatically defended their territory, and as a result, they became very decent warriors. Well, at least some decent, he thought to himself, while wiping a few drops of blood from the top of the glowing lamppost.

Drops of blood were dusted over railings and into the river below. He reached into his cloak and took out the third hard-boiled egg of the day. He tapped the egg on the cobblestone a few times, then peeled the shell unhurriedly, just in time to hear the warriors at the bridgehead deciding who to send as his next opponent.

Jax lifted the corner of his mask and took a bite of the egg. He took a deep breath and savored the sun-drenched crops fluttering in the wind, and the freshly turned soil stretching out from the vast farmland to the horizon in every direction.

Jax sighed; The peaceful scene in front of him made him feel homesick for a country that no longer existed. He shook off the coldness of his memories, knowing that missing Acacia would only distract him.

His cloak was heavy, but the sun couldn't warm the mottled skin beneath his cloak. Not a single piece of his skin was exposed. That's fine. He wasn't even quite sure what his skin looked like.

A cold wind blows across the snow-capped mountains to the north, and distant storms pour rain down unfamiliar fields and dwellings.

Jax's hometown is barely cloudy, let alone raining. Maybe the storm will go all the way south, carrying the rain and wetting the cobblestones on the bridge. In that case, it might make this fight even more precise.

Storms can also put opponents at a greater disadvantage. Maybe that's not bad either. After all, a warrior who is qualified to fight alongside him against monsters from the other side of the world still needs at least the ability to adapt. He heard the clatter of armor and the whisper of a sharp blade slicing through the air.

"Stand up and face me," a powerful voice commanded.

Jax held up a finger and finished the boiled egg to himself. He licked his lips, then put on his mask, then looked up at the warrior standing in front of him.

The man was a burly man, with broad shoulders and thick arms, covered from head to toe in glittering polished iron armor. He was holding a double-edged one-and-a-half sword.

And, it looks like he knows how to make a sword. Jax secretly admired.

"Looks like you could cut down an iron birch all day and then have the energy to go to the tavern for a fight." Jax said.

"I'm not going to waste a word with you, monster." The warrior said, striking the same fighting stance that everyone else had used. Jax sighed in disappointment, it seemed that the failures of the fifteen men in front of them had not taught them anything.

"Monster," he said, and with a slight stretch of his body he stood up. "I can show you the monster, but I'm afraid you won't live long enough to tell the others what the monster really looks like."

He swung the lamppost a few times and relaxed the muscles in his shoulders. He didn't need to, but he'd been fighting one fight after another for the past four hours, and that might make the guy facing him feel like he had at least a chance to win the showdown.

"Long live Demacia," the swordsman shouted and attacked. This man was agile and strong enough to wield a sword with one hand, but his moves, like the others, were unremarkable and tiresome.

Jax dodged the first blow sideways, crouched to avoid the second, and then blocked the third, then turned and cut into the swordsman's space, elbowing the side of the fencer's helmet. The metal helmet was knocked out of a pit, and the man snorted and fell to one knee. Jax gave him some time to calm the reverberations in his head. The man ripped off his helmet and threw it on the bridge.

Blood smeared the side of his face, but what impressed Jax was that he kept his anger under control. The Demacians were disciplined, so he was glad to see that the tradition remained the same.

The man took a steady breath and attacked again. A series of lightning bolts of sword light came from everywhere, mixed with sweeping slashes, lightning-fast stabs, and high-flying slashes, all of which were parried by Jax.

His lamppost turned, grabbing the Demacian blade and striking back sharply or bluntly into the arms and legs.

Jax flicked to the left and hooked the lamppost to his opponent's legs, flattening him to the ground. He stabbed the man in the lower abdomen with a pillar, causing him to curl up and gasp for air in pain.

"Is that enough now?" asked Jax. "I can change hands if I want to finish faster."

"The people of Demacia would rather die than accept the mercy of their enemies," said the warrior, and staggered to his feet. His unyielding exterior was peeling away from Jax's taunts, and when he attacked again, his stance was akin to that of a reckless man with no discipline or skill.

Jax crouched, conceded a fatal decapitation, and instead gripped the lamppost with one hand. He probed the lamppost under the man's sword, and with a flick of his wrist, the sword of the warrior of Demacia was snatched and thrown into the air. Jax caught the sword with his other empty hand.

"This little knife is not bad," he said, dancing his sword in a dazzled manner, like a grandmaster's style. "Lighter than it seems."

The Demacians drew their daggers and rushed at him. Jax shook his head at his stupidity. He threw his sword off the bridge, then slid sideways, dodging a barrage of lightning spurs. He crouched down again, flashed a sweep, and opened his palm for a thunderous right hook. He nodded towards the river.

"Hope you can water." With that, he twisted his wrist and lifted the heavily armed warrior off the ground and over the guardrail of the bridge. The man fell into the river, and Jax set the lamppost on the cobblestone.

"Who else"

"And me," said one woman. She was at the head of the bridge, getting off the gelding. The mount was covered in sweat, and her cloak was covered in dust, and it seemed that she had been riding a hard road. She wore a pair of silver and steel breastplates, and a long-bladed thin sword tucked into the scabbard of her hip.

She strode over to him as the men crossed the bridge. Her movements are light and effortless, with absolute balance and extreme confidence. She was thin and extravagant, with a few strands of scarlet in her dark hair. Her eyes are cold and unforgiving, and all you can see in them is death.

"Who are you?" Jax was curious.

"I'm Fiona of House Laurent," she said, drawing her weapon, a dueling saber, the perfect blade glittering with cold light. "And, this is my bridge."

Jax grinned toothy behind the mask.

Finally, the man who could fight the first war came