A prisoner with his head held high, his ankles tied to a stake with iron chains, and his hands tied together with thick hemp rope. Blood dripped down his cheeks onto his black Noxian robes, leaving small red puddles next to his toes. I don't know what the real color is.

The prisoners were surrounded by a fence of uneven high wooden stakes. Nearby soldiers shuttled back and forth between the tents. Their hurried footsteps stirred up dust, and the dirt from their boots definitely needed to be cleaned up before they could meet the commander. The prisoner knows this because he has been observing their disciplined actions for the past few days. He had never seen anything like it.

Around the camp, bright sea-blue flags fluttered in the wind, painted with a pair of outstretched wings lined with a sharp sword, the mark of Demacia.

Not so long ago, the black and red Noxian flags were flying here. The prisoner remembered his duty: to take Karlsted for the glory of the Empire.

He failed.

He knew what was going to happen. War does not forgive defeat. He was ready to accept this fact. Now, he is waiting for his fate. At the time of his first capture, he lost his home. This time, he will lose even more.

He closed his eyes, and more memories flooded back his mind. He remembered that it was two people at that time. One is his master, who has kidnapped a lost teenager from his homeland and turned him into a thriving fighter in the Arena of the Reckoners. The other is a stranger who claims to represent the highest interests of the empire. They shook hands, and he was transported west, to the foot of the Shining Silver Mountains, to Karlstead.

No goodbyes, no blessings. He's not alone, though. The others like him have a common name, "Soldiers of Doom", and they are all recruited by the Noxian army. Lowly fighters were sent to the front to complete some insignificant tasks. Many have no say in this, and their masters are more than willing to sell their combat power to the military at a decent price.

"You don't look like a Noxian." A voice interrupted the prisoner's thoughts.

He opened his eyes and saw a Demacian standing outside the fence. He was dressed in sea blue and tan, covered with chain mail, and had a short sword hanging from his waist. He wore the insignia of a chief, but the prisoners concluded that he was not of high rank.

"What's your name?" the soldier asked.

The prisoner thought for a moment. Whether his answer will determine his fate

"Zhao Xin." His voice was hoarse and dry.

"What"

"Zhao. Letter. ”

"It doesn't sound like a Noxian," the soldier wondered, "Noxians have rough names, like Brondackwell." He shuddered as he said the name.

Zhao Xin was silent. He wondered what he meant by saying these words as a dying man.

"Let's go, Chief Shield." Another Demacian said. The young commander ordered his subordinates with a stern look. She wore silver armor with gold-trimmed shoulder pads and a turquoise cloak hanging from her.

"It's a waste of effort to talk to Noxians," she said, "and they're not the same people as us." ”

The shield chief bowed his head and said. "Yes, Captain of the Crowned Sword. But the subordinates have a question, I don't know"

The Sword Captain nodded.

"Why should he be held in solitary confinement?"

She glanced at the prisoner, blue eyes with deep disdain.

"He killed the most people."

Zhao Xin was awakened by the sound of a horn. He sat down in the mud and knocked the damp dirt with his numb feet. He leaned his back against the pillar and slid to his feet, seeing yesterday's sergeant approaching him, flanked by four similarly dressed men. They opened the door to the fence, and the sergeant entered first, holding a bowl of hot soup on a plate.

"Early. I'm Ober, and this is my sentry squad," said the sergeant, "and this is your breakfast, Shao Jing. ”

Zhao Xin saw him put the tray on the ground. How could two simple words be mispronounced like this

A Demacian guard used skillful movements to cut the rope that bound Zhao Xin's wrist. The sergeant and a few others stood still, all with their hands on the hilts of their swords.

"Alright, let's eat." Ober said.

Zhao Xin picked up the bowl. "They sent five of you."

"We follow the orders of the lieutenant," said Ober, "after all, she is a member of the Crownguard." They protected the king himself. ”

The guards nodded their heads and exchanged approving glances.

"Yes, her father is in the storm.

"Which Gavin is that?" asked the other guard.

"II. Now it's the third generation. ”

"Attention, it is King Gavin III," Ober corrected, "your king and my king." You have to show respect, after all, he is a royal soldier this time. ”

Zhao Xin noticed that they had a heartfelt reverence for the king. As the soldiers continued to talk and laugh, he took small sips of hot soup while listening to their conversation. They talked about how stupid it was for Noxus to go so far to the West, how easy it was for them to get rid of Karlstead, and how they won in the name of justice.

We were sent to die, Zhao Xin realized. He inadvertently clenched the empty bowl in his hand, and the wooden bowl split in half in his hand.

Several Demacian soldiers looked over. Ober stared at Zhao Xin and said, "Hand out." ”

Zhao Xin handed out his hands, palms up.

"You're really durable." Ober tied Zhao Xin's wrist with another rope. The guards came in. All they saw were scars, crisscrossing his skin like rivers. There were so many people who had fought against him, and very few of them he was willing to remember.

"These aren't new scars." One of the guards realized.

"You're right." Zhao Xin said. His voice was clear and loud, alerting them. For a moment, they stood still, looking at him no longer like a prisoner.

"What are you doing in Noxus?" Ober asked.

"I'm fighting in the arena." Zhao Xin replied.

"Liquidator," exclaimed one of the guards, "I've heard of barbarians like you. Fight for your life under the noses of thousands of people. ”

"I've never heard of a liquidator called Shao Jing." Another guard muttered.

"Maybe he doesn't have any skills, maybe that's why he's here, bruised and strapped to a pillar."

"Wait," said Ober suddenly, "you reckoners have a different name in the arena."

Zhao Xin almost smiled. This Demacian is smarter than he seems. Even outside the Empire, it was known that the Liquidators would put a name for themselves in an ingenious way.

Some are for the sake of showing off their might. Others are incognito. For Zhao Xin, it was to make himself remember the life he had been taken away.