"Transmigrated to Runeterra."

Hello, everyone.

I just finished watching Arcane, and my mind is blown—what a masterpiece, truly perfection! However, I must say they completely messed up Runeterra's timeline again, making everything even more confusing.

Moving on.

We're in the Top 10!

Thank you for the support.

Jarvan arrived at the square with a troop of Demacian guards. Mark didn't even need to exchange words with him; his eyes were filled with unrestrained fury. Fully armed and equipped, his bloodlust was palpable in the air.

His spear, the legendary Dragonslayer, exuded the ferocity of a beast thirsting for blood. At that moment, two shadowy figures, their clothes stained with blood, approached Mark and took positions in front of him, their blades drawn.

"You're late," Mark said upon seeing Katarina and Riven join him. He noticed they both looked as if they had been ambushed.

"We had a little... situation," Katarina replied.

"On my way here, I overheard soldiers saying the King was dead—and that you were the culprit," Riven stated, looking at Mark. He shook his head in denial, pointing to Wisteria, who was still bound by chains, and the corpses of the mages scattered around.

"I had a few complications of my own," he said as Jarvan stepped fully into the square, pointing his spear at him.

"Are you Mark, the mage?" His severe tone echoed across the plaza.

Jarvan IV's eyes scanned the battlefield. As he observed the three masked figures before him, he instinctively knew that Mark was the most dangerous of them.

"Lord Jarvan, it's him! The man who killed your father!" At that moment, Eldrid, his arm scorched and mangled, ran toward Jarvan, collapsing at his feet.

"My mage hunters and I tracked him down and fought him, but he's too powerful. You must be cautious!" Eldrid gasped, and a few Demacian soldiers stepped forward to assist him.

"I didn't kill your father, Prince Jarvan, nor did I order his death," Mark said casually. Jarvan seemed to hesitate, doubt flickering across his face, before roaring, "Silence! I'll interrogate you about that in the dungeons after you've been captured!"

Mark sighed deeply. Flames ignited in his fists as their gazes locked.

"Order your soldiers to retreat. I don't want innocent blood on my hands—although there's none here." His voice was cold and firm.

The dream from earlier had already sown seeds of doubt among Jarvan and the Demacian soldiers. Resistance groups and camps of mages had once existed in Demacia—many, in fact. But they were all hunted down over time, and Jarvan had been one of those hunters.

"Garen, Shyvana—stay. The rest of you, fall back," he ordered. The soldiers hesitated for a moment before retreating, carrying the wounded mage hunters with them.

Soon, the square was empty, leaving only three figures on each side and a sealed Wisteria still thrashing. Seeing that the others had withdrawn, Jarvan stomped his foot heavily on the ground.

BOOM!

There was a deafening crash as walls of earth rose around them, sealing the area.

"So, it's one for each, huh?" Katarina remarked, but Mark shook his head.

"You'll face the Demacian general. I'll handle Jarvan and Shyvana," Mark instructed. The two hesitated for a moment before slowly moving to the side, with Garen following them.

"As a Demacian soldier, I must admit I find no satisfaction in fighting women!" Garen declared in his stoic tone. Katarina and Riven exchanged glances, flames enveloping their weapons.

"Don't worry, big guy—you'll soon be begging us to stop," Katarina quipped. Garen unsheathed his massive sword from his back.

Without another word, the three clashed, the sound of blades colliding ringing out. Seeing that the two were holding their own, Mark turned his attention back to Shyvana and Jarvan, who were staring him down.

"You know, when I heard the prince of Demacia was in love with a half-dragon, I didn't believe it," Mark said casually, flames flickering from his hands as he began to circle them.

"I'm an ally to Jarvan!" Shyvana declared. Mark smirked.

"You'll thank me later. After tomorrow, your love won't be considered an abomination anymore." Mark's words seemed to be the final trigger for Jarvan, who exploded into action, thrusting his spear at Mark.

The Dragonslayer was one of Demacia's oldest weapons, forged from the spine of a dragon. Its retractable and extendable design made it a deadly weapon.

Swoosh!

The air cracked as the spear extended toward Mark. He tilted his head slightly, letting it miss his face by millimeters. Shyvana lunged at him, her claws ablaze, delivering a punch that Mark countered with his own.

Bam!

Flames burst apart as Mark and Shyvana staggered back, surprised by each other's strength.

"As expected of a half-dragon," Mark thought, dodging another of Jarvan's strikes. He pushed the prince back with a gust of wind, but Jarvan used his spear to pull himself back, landing a kick that Mark blocked.

A fierce melee ensued, with Jarvan and Shyvana coordinating their attacks. However, Mark, relying on his Sharingan and superior physique, began to turn the tide.

Swoosh!

The spear sliced through the air, grazing Mark's cheek. Seizing the opportunity, he grabbed it and yanked Jarvan forward, delivering a front kick that sent him flying.

"Jarvan!" Shyvana cried out, charging at Mark with a flurry of fiery slashes. Calmly, Mark dodged them all, delivering a crushing uppercut that staggered her. He pressed his advantage, landing a relentless combo of punches that left Shyvana bloodied and disoriented.

"Stop!" Jarvan roared, lunging at Mark with a flurry of swift spear strikes. But it was futile.

Mark's Sharingan glowed intensely behind his mask, making Jarvan's every move painfully predictable. Mark weaved through his attacks with nimble footwork, striking Jarvan's chest with a fiery punch that cracked his armor.

Jarvan fell to his knees, coughing blood.

"You're strong, Prince Jarvan—perhaps the strongest king Demacia has ever seen," Mark said, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him into the air.

"But you're also a hypocrite. You turned a blind eye to the suffering of mages and magical beings in your kingdom. Yet, because Shyvana saved you, she's exempt? I know the truth, Jarvan—the truth you refuse to admit to yourself."

Mark tightened his grip as Jarvan struggled. Shyvana, surrounded by flames, roared in anger.

"Let him go!" she demanded. Mark released Jarvan and turned to her, unfazed.

"Even if you transform, the outcome won't change," he said. Reaching out, he offered his hand to the fallen prince.

Jarvan, struggling to breathe, looked up at Mark's extended hand in confusion. 

"I know what you're feeling right now, Prince—confusion. Why is the man who was choking me moments ago now offering me his hand? But I believe in the goodness of people and in redemption. Your father knew what was right and chose to act on it, even at the cost of his life. The question is…" Mark paused, slowly removing his mask. 

"Will you have the courage to follow in his footsteps? To break free from the false values that have been drilled into your mind? Or will you, like that fool Eldrid, sacrifice the love of your life for this hypocrisy?" 

Mark's words hung heavy in the air as Jarvan and Shyvana exchanged a tense glance.

Jarvan looked at his face and saw the glowing red Sharingan, shining intensely and illuminating the darkness. 

"You don't know anything," Jarvan muttered through clenched teeth. 

Mark met his gaze. "I know more than you think. I know she suffers in silence, enduring prejudice just to stay by your side. I know that if I tried to kill you, even at the cost of her own life, she would sacrifice herself to save you." 

He withdrew his hand, turning away. "But it seems you're not yet worthy of that love." 

Casually, he slipped his mask back on and began walking toward the ruined fountain where his coat lay. 

On the other side of the battlefield, Katarina and Riven had finally overpowered Garen, pinning him to the ground with their blades at his throat. 

"Finish it," Garen said, his voice resolute, as he closed his eyes and awaited the end. 

But the two women only laughed, sheathing their weapons. 

"Our boss over there said, on our way to the capital, that even though you're a hypocrite, there's still hope for you," Riven said before the two turned and walked away. 

After slipping his coat back on, Mark approached Wisteria, who had stopped thrashing. He could see the magic binding her beginning to fade, and soon it would completely dissipate. 

With a brief flash of light, Wisteria reverted to her original form, breathing heavily, her body showing signs of disintegration. 

The chains retracted as Mark stepped in front of her. "If it's any consolation, I think you won't feel pain anymore on the other side," he said, kneeling before her and placing his hand gently on her. 

In an instant, fragments of her memories and life flashed in his mind, causing him to hesitate briefly. Then, to her surprise, he embraced her. 

Wisteria's ragged breathing slowed as she relaxed slightly in his arms. 

"I apologize for stabbing you earlier, though I know deep down you would have fought me to the death regardless," he said softly. 

She remained silent for a moment before her body began to crumble further. "Will you grant me one last request?" she asked, her voice faint and raspy. 

Mark nodded. 

"Please take care of Rain. She can't control her powers, and she's suffering. Don't let her end up like me." 

With those final words, Wisteria's body disintegrated completely into dust. 

"I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best," Mark replied, staring into the distance in silence. 

Wisteria had killed thousands throughout her life, crimes for which there could be no forgiveness. Even after everything, Mark knew she would have continued down that path—her existence was shackled to magic, magic that had brought her nothing but pain and suffering. 

Her only peace came from those who hunted mages, a tragic irony. From the very beginning, her life had been destined for sorrow. 

Though there was no redemption for what she had done, Mark hoped that, at the very least, she found peace in the end.