Arcane: The Gods Want Me to Pick a Route-Chapter 146: You’d Better Not Do That

Thousands of miles east of Zaun, out on the Guardian’s Sea, there was an island chain surrounded by water—the Blue Flame Isles. (TN: Also known as Serpent Isles)

Among them, the most famous island was Bilgewater, a one-of-a-kind port city—

Here, you could see sea monster hunters, dock gangs, bounty hunters, vicious pirates, and devout Buhru faithful. Traveling merchants from all over the world mingled with the local natives, and Bilgewater grew into a culture all its own.

In chaotic Bilgewater, you could find chemtech hauled in from Zaun, and hextech smuggled out of Piltover—stolen and resold. As long as you had money, the Bilgewater locals would do their damnedest to get you whatever you wanted. Anything. Everything.

But the thriving gang culture and smuggling trade also turned "law" into a joke. Any alley could take your life. Pirates and desperadoes came here just to survive, and violence seeped into every street and back lane of Bilgewater.

Still—just like Zaun could grow strange, unexpected flowers, Bilgewater could too.

This place had rules of its own. For example... no fighting in taverns. No brawling in the upper quarter where the big shots lived. A head on the bounty board was worthless unless someone actually claimed the bounty. And a whole mess of other small rules and big ones.

Because without rules, nothing holds. Bilgewater’s rules were set by the few biggest bosses who lived in the upper quarter—and among them, the Pirate King Gangplank was the most eye-catching of them all.

But ever since that bastard stole a warship out from under Noxus, he’d barely come back to Bilgewater. He spent most of his time drifting on the water, keeping his head down and dodging Noxians.

And after he vanished from Bilgewater, the city got a brief stretch of peace.

Today just happened to be Bilgewater’s Cookout Festival. Starting at dusk, taverns all across the upper quarter threw open their doors, inviting guests inside to gorge on sizzling grilled meat and fish, along with booze hauled in from all over the world.

Bilgewater didn’t have proper factories. Goods came in through smugglers and traders—bartered at the docks, then flipped at obscene prices to the locals. And for most Bilgewater folk, the way they stayed alive was simple: go out to sea.

If you got lucky, one massive sea beast was enough to feed a sea monster-hunting crew for a year. Living by the sea, packed with that reckless appetite for risk, Bilgewater people didn’t pin their hopes on tomorrow.

They only wanted to live today—to make it through right now.

That was why the Cookout Festival filled Bilgewater’s upper quarter with people blowing every last coin just to have a good time. And inside a tavern called Black Firestone, the lights blazed bright and the noise was deafening.

"Come on, drink! Don’t act like a goddamn pussy!"

"Hah. So what—you look down on women?"

"Two more shots of rum over here! Quit dragging your ass! I’ve got money to burn!"

"Hey! Over here—two more platters of raw fish!"

The place roared with voices. In the lively tavern, off in one corner—something like a little private booth—a group of people sat together.

Among them was a woman in a tight, strapless corset that pushed her full, pale cleavage up and out. She drank with a faint smile on her face. She had long, light-brown hair in soft, seductive curls that clung to her cheeks. Her face was small and delicate, her features pretty and refined, and on her fair left cheek was a scar about the size of a fingertip.

Taking a barrel-mug of rum from a server, Celia tasted it, then slid her crimson tongue out to lick her lips as she watched a black-haired young man at the bar.

She’d been watching him for a while now. He looked like he’d arrived at Black Firestone before she did—clearly someone who’d just gotten to Bilgewater today. From his clothes and the way he carried himself... Celia figured he was some rich kid from a big family.

Not surprising. Celia knew plenty of noble brats got crushed under their families’ thumbs for years, and the moment they finally got a chance to breathe, they came to Bilgewater looking for thrills.

And Bilgewater locals were always very welcoming to people like that—because those idiots were walking piles of money.

Though... "walking pile of money" only applied when you needed them. If you didn’t, they were just a fat hostage waiting to be harvested.

Bilgewater was a sea city-state. It wasn’t connected to the mainland, and with its unique gang culture, nobody here gave a damn what country you were from. I mean—Gangplank had the guts to hit a Noxian warship and take it. Who the hell was your family name supposed to scare?

So in Bilgewater, noble status was basically dogshit. Your background could be as powerful as you liked—but if you came here without enough muscle at your back, you were nothing but meat on a cutting board.

Celia watched the black-haired young man a while longer. Then the tavern’s old jukebox happened to switch to some slow, soothing music. Listening to it, staring at his clean, handsome face, she finally couldn’t hold back anymore. Her thighs rubbed together, heat pooling low, and she laughed softly to her companions.

"You guys keep talking. I’m going over there."

Her companions followed her gaze and saw the black-haired young man’s profile at the bar. Immediately, they all broke into sleazy grins.

"Yep. Celia’s going hunting again. Wonder how many rounds that kid can survive—he looks skinny as hell."

"Don’t joke. Those legs of hers are like whips. Last time she clamped my waist, I thought she was gonna snap me in half." A man in a black shirt snickered, then added, "Wonder where the kid’s from—and whether he brought a girl with him. If he did... Celia’ll be even more into it."

"You mean like last time, when she forced that little Shuriman merchant and made his wife watch while she played with him?"

"Yeah. That one. I heard those guys who travel Shurima all the time talking about it. Merchant went home and divorced his wife afterward."

"Tch. How’s her appetite worse than ours?" someone clicked their tongue, then glanced back at the young man. "Still... the kid really does look good. Great vibe."

The group kept yapping about the young man at the bar, saying nothing but filthy, crude shit.

And with the slow music humming in the air, Celia finally reached him.

She came up behind him, leaned in close, and lifted her cup to clink his drink. Ding.

The young man turned his head.

Celia’s smile widened—warm and thick with intention. In her beautiful eyes, a misty shine glimmered like she was already half-drunk on him.

"Hi. I’ve been watching you for a while. Did you come to Bilgewater alone?"

The young man blinked, clearly not expecting a woman to hit on him. But he quickly shook his head.

"No. I came with my fiancée."

"Fiancée?" Celia repeated, a sharp little spark lighting in her eyes. "You look so young. You’re already engaged?"

"We grew up together," he answered. "We came out here for a honeymoon before the wedding."

Hearing that, Celia felt moisture gather between her thighs. She licked her lips, forcing herself to stay calm even as excitement surged through her.

Listen to that.

Fiancée. Childhood sweethearts. A honeymoon before the wedding.

All those buffs stacked together made Celia’s mind race. She couldn’t help imagining it—doing it right in front of his fiancée, taking her man apart while she watched.

What would that look like on her face?

But not yet.

Celia wanted him to like her first. To think he’d made a friend in Bilgewater—and then, suddenly, she’d strike.

Best case? The fiancée fell asleep first... then woke up to see Celia playing a little game with her fiancé. And then—Celia’s companions joining in, dragging the fiancée into their own "games," right there in front of Celia and the man.

The images flashed in her head. The expressions she might get out of them.

Celia took a slow breath, the thrill squeezing out through her eyes until they looked almost hypnotic.

But then she met the young man’s gaze—and for a split second, she lost focus. His eyes were gentle as he looked at her, clean and steady in a way that made something twist in her chest. A flicker of shame surfaced—

Only to be crushed under her hunger an instant later.

"Then... how about a drink?" Celia raised her cup toward him. "Welcome to Bilgewater."

"Better not," the young man said with a smile. "My fiancée’s pretty petty, and she gets jealous fast. She doesn’t like me talking to other women—especially strangers."

Celia paused. She was confident in her looks, so she chuckled.

"That’s fine. Tell me who she is. I’ll go talk to her."

The young man jerked his chin in a direction. Celia followed it—and in the middle of the tavern’s dance floor, a blue-haired girl was quietly staring over.

Celia lifted an eyebrow, surprised.

That girl was even prettier than Celia—no, prettier than the gorgeous, busty bounty hunter with wine-red hair Celia had met before. Especially that strange, hard-to-describe aura around her. Pure "womanly charm," though... maybe the other one still beat her.

Celia had targeted the black-haired young man because his vibe pulled her in.

And this girl had a vibe too.

She wore a black short-sleeve shirt with a big blue smiley face on it, plus a stiff denim jacket thrown over her shoulders. Her legs—long enough to make Celia jealous—were wrapped in torn black fashion pants. Her black boots were big, but somehow didn’t look clunky at all.

Her blue eyes were like gemstones—clear and striking. Her skin was so pale it looked like it could glow. Beneath a small, delicate nose were thin lips set in a cold line as she stared at Celia.

She looked young. Cute, baby-faced—so innocent on the surface that Celia almost thought of a little white bunny.

No. A little blue bunny.

A bunny... coming to Bilgewater?

Heh. She was going to have a wonderful night. A night she’d remember for the rest of her life.

Celia loved shattering the pretty dreams of noble brats and sheltered rich girls—teaching them one simple truth:

The outside world was dangerous.

"So that’s her?" Celia said.

"Yeah." The young man’s expression turned serious as he emphasized it. "She’s really pretty, right? But you’d better not go over there. I already told you—my fiancée’s petty, and she already doesn’t like you."

Celia laughed, completely unfazed. "What’s the big deal? The upper-quarter taverns don’t allow fighting. Relax. I’m just going to make friends with your fiancée, have a couple drinks, chat a little. I’ll handle it."

With that, she shot the young man a flirtatious wink, swayed her hips, and carried her cup toward the blue-haired girl watching from the dance floor.

Behind her, the black-haired young man shrugged, looking helpless.

Celia, on the other hand, wore a bright smile as she stepped into the dance floor and faced the girl.

She opened her mouth. "Hey, you—"

She didn’t even finish the sentence.

The blue-haired girl snapped her hand up, snatched a bottle off a nearby table, and whipped it straight into Celia’s face.

Crack!

Glass exploded. Then a long leg shot up—one heavy boot driving into Celia’s stomach.

That sweet, innocent-looking blue-haired girl screamed as she hit her, "Fuck you! You bitch—I’ve been sick of you for a long time! You still dare come over here looking for trouble?"

The sudden violence stunned the Bilgewater locals around them. People just froze, staring.

Celia’s companions froze too.

When outsiders first arrived in Bilgewater, the guide—or the ship’s captain—always warned them of one thing first:

Don’t start shit in the upper quarter.

But this girl... she was crazy?!

And the blue-haired girl didn’t stop. Her hands moved with skill that didn’t match her looks at all. She grabbed Celia by the hair, hauled her up, and drove a knee into Celia’s face.

"Ugh—!"

A strangled scream burst out. That knee hit even harder than the bottle. Celia’s nose burned, her eyes squeezed shut on instinct, tears spilling from the corners as she fought through the pain and dizziness. She looked up at the girl’s raised fist and yelled, "Wait—wait, I just came to—"

"To what?" the girl barked. "Befriend my ass!"

Zaunite profanity flew out of her mouth like second nature, and her fist slammed down into Celia’s face, twisting Celia’s once-pretty nose crooked.

Celia’s companions finally reacted, surging to their feet to help her.

But the second two of them stood, a hand landed on each of their shoulders.

"Sit down," a calm voice said.

They turned their heads—and saw the black-haired young man.

W-Wait.

When the hell did he get here from the bar?

They tried to resist. The hands on their shoulders tightened—pressure spiking until pain ripped through them. One of them screamed and hurriedly nodded.

"O-Okay! I’ll sit! I’ll sit! Just let go—let go!"

"I told you not to provoke her." Logan sighed, watching Jinx go to work, equal parts helpless and amused. "How do you people never listen?"

Helpless, because these Bilgewater types just didn’t understand words.

Amused, because Jinx didn’t even try to hide her jealousy.

Though... she really was hitting hard. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Jinx was good in a fight. Before she ever met Logan, she’d worked for Silco, and she’d taken out plenty of Firelights in the shadows. If you thought she was harmless, you were dead wrong—when she threw hands, she wasn’t that far behind Vi.

But Logan didn’t mind.

In Bilgewater, you could throw a rock into a crowd and hit ten people—and somehow all eleven of them would be bad people.

How could this place have good people?

Celia had come after him because he looked like an outsider—fresh face, well-dressed. To her, he probably looked like meat.

So... fine. Let it happen.

What Logan didn’t know was that if Jinx ever found out what Celia had been fantasizing about, this wouldn’t be a beating.

It would be a killing.

Don’t talk to Jinx about morals or rules. She was a lunatic. Why would she care about morals—or rules?

"You’re done for!"

"You actually dared to start a fight in Bilgewater’s upper quarter!"

One of the guys pinned under Logan’s hand shouted. Logan just pressed down a little harder.

"Aaaah—!"

He controlled the force so the guy only felt pain.

Whether it felt like the kind of pain that came with broken bones?

Well. That wasn’t Logan’s problem.

He told her not to go. She went anyway. Got her ass beat.

He told them to shut up. They kept talking. Now something’s broken.

That’s what happens when you don’t listen.

Logan held them down, watching Jinx fight, and suddenly... he understood Silco a little better.

Yeah.

My Jinx is amazing. Even when she’s beating someone’s face in, she looks cool as hell.

Logan smiled as he watched.

Until a furious roar tore through the tavern.

"Who’s causing trouble?!"

A group of burly men with anchor tattoos on their arms suddenly appeared.

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