Arcane: The Gods Want Me to Pick a Route-Chapter 155: The Navori Resistance and the Brotherhood

Chapter 155: Chapter 155: The Navori Resistance and the Brotherhood

Over the next few days, Logan kept up his routine—heading into the village every day to teach two classes.

If you really thought about it, he wouldn’t be staying in Bondweave Village for long. Once Jinx got bored of this place, or once Ahri sent word, he’d take Jinx and leave—heading deeper into Ionia.

So Logan never planned to truly teach these kids anything profound. These days, all he did was teach them the common tongue and talk about the world beyond Ionia—stories from Zaun and Piltover, little bits of fun and wonder. He was opening a door for them, letting them see what the outside world looked like.

You couldn’t turn kids into scholars in a month or two. What Logan wanted was to plant a seed in their hearts—a seed of curiosity. A seed that yearned for the wider world, that wanted to step outside, to see, to explore.

Jinx stopped coming to the schoolhouse after the third day.

Her interest always arrived fast and vanished faster. Sitting obediently in a classroom listening to Logan explain things she already knew—once it lasted too long and happened too often—of course she got impatient.

So starting on day three, she mostly stayed curled up inside the workshop.

Logan, on the other hand, genuinely enjoyed teaching. He savored that hard-won sense of ordinary life.

Time flowed lightly in those relaxed days, and it felt... peaceful.

—

Northern Ionia—Navori.

As Ionia’s largest province, Navori had once been one of the places most heavily scorched by the Noxus-Ionia war. But extreme oppression often bred resistance, and that was exactly how Navori’s resistance fighters were born.

At the Placidium, Ionian civilians who had been brutalized by Noxians organized into a resistance force and joined the local militia groups in Navori.

They became the first line of defense against Noxus—and for the first time, Ionians officially struck back hard enough to punch through Noxian forces. The resistance became the heroic organization that helped drive the invaders out.

Because of that, many Ionians who carried rage in their hearts—who wanted revenge—traveled to Navori, hoping to join the resistance.

But as the Noxian army withdrew, as Navori’s flames died down and life began to normalize, people’s visions of the future split.

Some wanted to return to quiet farm life, lay down their weapons, forget hatred, and start over.

Some clung to hatred so tightly it blinded them, gripping weapons and trying to unify Navori through force, dreaming of revenge on Noxus.

And others tried to profit from the chaos.

In that climate, an organization called the Brotherhood was born in Navori.

In truth, it had appeared as early as the war itself—back when the battle at the Placidium first erupted, this group already existed, though at the time it was absorbed into the resistance.

When the war ended and factions began to argue, the name "Navori Brotherhood" finally rose into the open.

They broke away from the resistance and began operating openly under their own banner, traveling through Navori and recruiting Ionians who had come from other provinces to defend their homeland—growing stronger by the day.

By now, the Brotherhood had become a force in Navori that couldn’t be ignored.

—

A few dozen miles southwest of the Placidium lay the resistance camp.

In the afternoon light here, you couldn’t see Ionia’s usual lush green. War had ravaged the land, and Ionia’s nature spirits had been wounded by it.

Because of that, the local plants no longer favored humans—some even attacked them. Food became difficult to obtain. So people were forced to venture deeper into other regions, searching for supplies in places the war had never touched.

Past a wooden palisade stained with old blood, rows of makeshift buildings stood in a crowded sprawl.

Inside one hut—a hut with an emblem hanging from its eaves—a girl in red armor, wearing a silver crown-like ornament, stood over a water basin and scrubbed her hands viciously.

Her hands were already clean.

Yet she kept rubbing, harder and harder, until her skin turned pale and wrinkled from the water. Only then did she finally lift her hands out.

"Leader," a voice spoke behind her, "we caught two more people outside the camp."

She turned.

The man facing her wore hardship on his face. He was tall, a spear strapped to his back, a fur cap on his head. He looked at her and let out a tired sigh.

"Another assassination attempt?" the girl asked calmly.

"Yes," the man said. "We spotted them the moment they showed up at the market."

He sounded resigned. As a militia man, he’d developed an entire set of counter-surveillance instincts now.

All thanks to the Brotherhood.

His name was Wen—an oddly blunt name.

"Let them go," she said softly.

Wen fell silent.

After a moment, he finally spoke in a low voice. "Irelia, this can’t keep going. You have to make a statement they can understand, or they’ll only push further."

"This is the fourteenth attempt this month. You executed the one who came right up to you—but every other assassin, you let them walk."

"And the damage they’ve caused, the impact on the camp—"

"I... truly don’t know what to do," Irelia said, looking at Wen. She raised a hand to cover part of her face and spoke quietly. "A lot of them know me. I know them. We fought together once. They saw me as their leader."

"I... I can’t bring myself to kill them."

Wen sighed. "I understand."

He nodded. "I’ll have them released. But you need to change, Irelia."

"We’re all waiting for you."

"I know..." Irelia lowered her hand. Her pale face showed fully now, and her green eyes were filled with grief as she looked at Wen, pleading for him not to press her further.

Wen saw it and couldn’t bear to say more.

After all—she was only fifteen, yet she carried the hopes of countless people. Everyone was stacking the future on this girl’s shoulders, praying she could lead Navori upward, lead the resistance upward.

And everyone seemed to forget one simple fact:

She was fifteen.

At that age, she should have been carefree—playing, studying, growing up healthy.

Instead, she was a hero leading tens of thousands.

And the split that birthed the Brotherhood had hit her like a blade.

Wen hesitated... and still forced himself to continue.

"There’s one more thing, Irelia."

"Go ahead."

"The Brotherhood has sent people south. It looks like they plan to purge the Noxians there."

"But after the war, a lot of Noxians have already blended into Ionia. Some villages even have Noxians living in them."

Wen’s voice hardened. "We have to stop the Brotherhood."

"Uncle Wen," Irelia asked quietly, "don’t you hate the Noxians?"

"Hate?" Wen gave a bitter laugh. "Of course I hate them. If not for them, I’d still be farming in Qaelin."

"But Irelia... they were mostly ordinary soldiers. Any Noxian who could be accepted by the locals after the war probably isn’t rotten at heart."

"And they’ve paid a price too—no home to return to, abandoned by their country."

"Besides," Wen said, voice twisting into something tired, "if the locals can accept them... what right do I have to reject them?"

Not every Noxian was bloodthirsty.

Any Noxians who managed to live among the locals after the war might have killed Ionians during the fighting—war made monsters of everyone—but they likely hadn’t tortured civilians. Some of them might have been support staff who never even stepped onto the front lines.

Otherwise, the villagers would never have taken them in.

Irelia listened and nodded.

"Then send a unit south," she said coolly. "Track the Brotherhood’s movements. Stop their plan."

Wen nodded. "Yes."

He left the hut, leaving Irelia alone.

Her gaze drifted to the wall, where blade-shaped emblems hung in a row—her family’s mark, the last thing the clan had left her.

But now, like her hands, that crest was stained by blood.

She let out a long, aching sigh.

And once again, the girl sank into uncertainty.

What would Ionia become?

Sometimes, she even wondered if her reckless choice back then had been a mistake.

If her resistance had been what brought Ionia to this.

If her leadership had truly been what shattered Ionia into pieces.

Retaliation had strangled peace. Some things had been broken by her hands—perhaps forever.

Staring at the emblem, Irelia’s eyes filled with sorrow.

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