"We can be stronger...... Just join forces ......"

"All souls don't do it." She said. "You're wrong."

He came to the village and waited patiently for his chance to get his hands dirty. But he was clumsy on his hands and feet, and he was stumbling. Irelia could easily dance around him.

He had made up his mind to take her life, but unfortunately, he wasn't the first to do so. Irelia's blades were hovering over her shoulders, fluttering as her gracefully rounded hands fluttered. With just one gesture, it's all over.

He spat out a mouthful of blood, his eyes burning with resentment: "If you don't want to lead Navoli, then let the Brotherhood come." ”

He weakly raised his dagger and pointed it at her. There is no way this man will survive.

"I believed you." He said it again. "We all believed it."

She sighed. "I've never asked you to do that. I'm sorry. ”

Irelia's arms danced softly like waves. She turned to the side, and the blades came out in unison, drawing an arc of death, slicing lightly and crisply through his body, as if in self-defense, ending his pain.

A simple turn, a step of extreme grace, and all the blades were back to her. The blade was stained with blood, and the man's body fell weakly forward.

"May all souls give you rest." Irelia said.

She returned to the camp with a heavy heart. When she finally walked into her tent, she finally let out a long breath and sat down on the reed mat.

She closed her eyes.

"Father." She whispered. "Once again, I bleed the honor of my family. Forgive me. ”

Irelia lined up the blades in front of her. Like Ionia, these blades, once a greater thing, have come to a terrible end. She poured water into a wooden bowl and dipped it in a rag. The process of cleaning the blade has become a ritual. After every fight, she felt indispensable.

As she moved, the water slowly turned red. But in addition to the blood, the metal blades were stained with darker colors, stains from older ages that seemed to never be removed.

It was the blood of her compatriots, the blood of Navoli herself.

In a trance, she gathered the blades together and slowly put them together into the shape of her family crest. In front of her are three fragmented motifs, representing the Zan's family, her hometown, and the rest of the Newborn Land, harmoniously connected together. Her ancestors had lived according to Karma's teachings: no matter what the circumstances, do no harm to anyone.

And now, the seals and insignia they left behind have been turned into weapons, taking countless lives.

She could feel her brothers watching her. Even though they had slept with the spirits of Ionia, she was still afraid that she would disappoint and resent. She also thought of her dear grandmother, looking at everyone's death, and her heart was like a knife sobbing.

Countless times, the thought of this image made Irelia's tears no longer hold back.

The blade is never clean anymore. She knew it in her heart, but she wouldn't give up on getting justice.

On the way to the cemetery, she met many of her own followers. Although they all regarded her as the leader, and there were more of them than before, she didn't recognize a few familiar faces. As each winter passed, there were more unfamiliar faces, and the old rebels had all been replaced by fanatical new fighters. They had come from faraway provinces and towns where she had never even heard of them.

Even so, she would often stop to respond to their salutes and bows, but refused to allow anyone to help her carry the corpses of the Assassins wrapped in the cloth.

Under a large tree whose flowers had lowered its branches, Irelia found a clearing. She carefully placed him on the ground, turned around, and mourned with a group of widowers, widows, and orphans and widows.

"I know it's not going to be easy." She said, placing one hand on a man's shoulder as a gesture of comfort. He was kneeling in front of a new pair of graves. "But every life, every death, belongs—"

He slapped her hand away and stared at her until she backed away.

"I had to," she murmured, as she prepared to start digging. However, she couldn't convince herself herself. "It's all a last resort. The Brotherhood will rule the land with an iron fist, no better than Noxus......"

She casually saw an old woman, sitting on a simple wooden stool under the roots of a large tree, humming a soft elegy. Her face was dappled with tears, she was dressed plainly, and one hand was resting on the tombstone beside her. Offerings to the deceased are placed in front of the grave.

The woman stopped humming, much to Irelia's surprise.

"The daughter of the Zan family, you brought someone here again, didn't you?" She shouted. "There's not much left here. But your friends are our friends. ”

"I don't know this person, but thank you anyway. He deserved better. Irelia hesitantly stepped closer. You're singing those old songs. ”

"It keeps me from thinking nonsense." The old woman pressed the floating soil on the grave. "This is my nephew."

"I ...... I'm sorry. ”

"I'm sure you've done your best. Plus, everything is arranged by all souls, you know? ”

Her kindness made Irelia completely relaxed. "Sometimes I don't know." She admitted.

The old woman sat up straight with anticipation. Irelia finally spoke out the doubts that had plagued her for so long.

"The time ...... Sometimes I wonder if I'm killing peace with my own hands. ”

"Strangling the peace?"

"When Noxus invaded, maybe our counterattack destroyed something, and we couldn't get it back."

The woman stood up and tried to break a large nut, but was unsuccessful. "Child, I remember the years of peace very well." She held out a thin, knuckle-thick finger and pointed at Irelia. "It was a good day! No one misses that peaceful time more than I do. ”

She pulled a knife from her belt and began to pry the nuts.

"But the world has changed. This is no longer the case. There's no need to hold on any longer. ”

Finally, the husk was pried open. She placed the crumbled kernels in a small bowl in front of the grave.

"See? I used to be able to break it with my hands, but now I have to use a knife. When I was younger, I would have been very upset because I would crumble the nuts. But what does it matter, I don't have to live here and now when I'm young. The old woman nodded kindly and continued to sing.

For the first time in a long time, Irelia smiled. In her rucksack, wrapped in cloth, was a sharp weapon turned from a broken family crest. She knew that these blades would never be flawless, and that they would return to one.

But they've been poised to go, and that's enough.