Arcane: TTB: Ch. 159

Emystan walked into Piltover's council chamber. Her left hand rested on the pommel of her runic sword. Behind her came a squad of her personal guard, all wearing full plate armor. Under normal Noxian protocol, a commander who surrendered lost the automatic loyalty of her troops. There'd be challenges, power struggles, maybe someone trying to pull a Darius and claim leadership through force. But Emystan's warband was different. These were her family's soldiers, sworn to House Emystan itself rather than to her rank. They'd follow her orders even if she'd surrendered to every power in Runeterra.

The moment she entered, her chin went up. Everything about her posture screamed arrogance. Her eyes swept across the assembled Piltover elite.

"Is everyone here?" she asked Camille.

"Every family is represented," Camille replied.

She stood near the wall.

She had her own suspicions confirmed the moment she saw Emystan in person. The Noxian was trying hard to project strength and dominance, but there was something off about it.

"Good," Emystan said, dropping into the chair that had been prepared for her at the head of the chamber. She waved her hand dismissively. "Then let's get started. I'll keep this simple."

The Piltover council chamber had been designed for meetings between a handful of councilors, not a packed assembly of every notable family in the city. The space was cramped, most people forced to stand because there simply weren't enough seats. Only the councilors had chairs.

She let the silence stretch for a moment, enjoying the discomfort. Then she examined her fingernails.

"My warband took losses defending this city," she said. "Significant losses. All to protect Piltover from Zaun's aggression."

She looked up. "Naturally, Piltover will be compensating us for those losses. I'm not asking for much. So I assume there won't be any objections?"

She was looking at them the way a butcher looked at livestock.

Before Camille or any of the councilors could respond, movement came from an unexpected quarter.

A man in expensive but slightly ill-fitting clothes pushed forward through the crowd. His face was flushed with excitement, and there was something unpleasantly eager in his expression.

"Of course, General!" he said loudly. "You acted to protect Piltover. By any reasonable standard, these expenses should be covered by the city. It's only fair."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Every eye turned toward the collaborator, and if looks could kill, he'd have been torn apart on the spot. The other nobles were staring at him with pure hatred, recognizing immediately what he was doing.

The man ignored the hostile stares. In his mind, the calculus was simple. Emystan had left the harbor alive and apparently uninjured. Her warband seemed intact. That meant she'd won her first confrontation with Zaun. Which meant the smart play was getting on her good side early, before the real bloodletting started.

"Excellent," Emystan said, her smile widening. "I can see you're a man who understands how the world works. I'll remember that."

She leaned back in her chair, getting comfortable. "Let me be clear about something. Noxus doesn't do charity. Every contribution must be repaid. My soldiers fought to defend you from Zaun's threat. They deserve compensation. So here's what's going to happen. Starting today, the Hexgates and the Sun Gates belong to me. Consider it a down payment on what you owe."

Silence.

Then Mel slammed her hands on the table, standing so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"That's insane! You can't just—"

She knew the plan. Let Emystan cause chaos in Piltover. And let the city suffer under Noxian occupation. When the population couldn't take it anymore, Zaun would swoop in as liberators, defeat the tyrant, and unify both cities under the banner of salvation.

She'd hated the idea from the start. She'd grown up watching Noxian occupation firsthand, and knew exactly how brutal it could be. How many innocent people would die or be ruined before Zaun finally stepped in?

Cipher had promised that Zaun's surveillance drones would monitor everything, and ensure no major atrocities occurred. Reluctantly, she'd agreed to go along with it. But she also had a role to play. As Mel Medarda, daughter of Ambessa, she would naturally oppose this kind of blatant resource theft. It would look suspicious if she didn't. And besides, Emystan was already going off-script. The Hexgates and Sun Gates were Piltover's economic lifelines. Seizing them went beyond simple occupation harassment. This was Emystan trying to establish a power base, refusing to be just a disposable tool in someone else's plan.

"Lady Medarda looks tired," Emystan said, not even bothering to look at her. She made a casual gesture. "Escort her home so she can rest."

Two guards moved immediately, grabbing Mel by the arms.

"Get your hands off me!" Mel struggled, landing a few kicks against their armor. It was like hitting stone. The guards were fully plated, and all she accomplished was bruising her own shins.

They dragged her toward the door while she continued to shout.

"You're destroying this city! This isn't governance, it's extortion! Someone has to stand up to—"

The door slammed shut, cutting off her voice.

Emystan picked at her ear, making a show of not having heard any of it. "Spoiled nobility," she muttered. "That family can't raise their children worth a damn."

She shifted in her chair, getting more comfortable, then fixed the rest of the room with a cold stare.

"Anyone else want to object?"

The nobles looked at each other. Their eyes shifted toward the Piltover councilors, hoping someone with authority would step up. But the councilors were doing their own calculations. Mel had the strongest backing of anyone in the room. And Emystan had just had her forcibly removed without even pretending to listen. If they spoke up, they wouldn't get the courtesy of being escorted out. They'd get the blade.

So the councilors stayed silent.

Then everyone's eyes turned to Camille.

Clan Ferros was Piltover's most powerful family. If anyone stood to lose from Emystan's power grab, it was them. The Hexgates alone represented a massive portion of their revenue stream. Surely she would do something.

But Camille just stood there, expressionless, watching Emystan claim the city's most valuable assets without saying a word.

The councilors' hope died.

"I like you," Emystan said to the collaborator, gesturing for him to approach. "You've got talent. But talent needs to be tested before it can be trusted."

The man stepped forward eagerly.

"I have an important assignment for you," she continued. "Complete it successfully, and I'll guarantee you a council seat. Perform exceptionally well, and I can arrange for you to receive a title of nobility in Noxus."

It was bait, and everyone in the room knew it. Empty promises to manipulate a useful idiot. But the collaborator's eyes went wide anyway, seeing only the opportunity.

"You can count on me!" he said. "I'll handle whatever you need. I won't let you down!"

He'd already burned his bridges with Piltover the moment he started supporting Emystan. There was no going back now. His only path forward was complete loyalty to his new patron, no matter where it led.

"Good," Emystan said, nodding approvingly. "I knew I'd read you correctly."

Traitors were always the most useful tools. They were motivated, knew the local landscape, and had no qualms about selling out their former allies. And when they'd outlived their usefulness, disposing of them wouldn't cause even a moment's guilt.

"The Hexgates and Sun Gates are just compensation for this recent battle. But I'm now serving as Noxus' governor of Piltover, responsible for all affairs in this city. That means I need to collect taxes to ensure my warband can operate effectively."

She looked at the collaborator. "You seem like a clever man. What would you suggest? How should we structure taxation? What rates would be appropriate?"

The room went quiet. Seizing two major revenue sources was one thing. But taxation? That was talking about bleeding the entire city dry.

"My only requirement," she added, "is that it doesn't disrupt Piltover's basic functionality. I don't want riots. Or at least, nothing large-scale that becomes a real problem."

The collaborator's mind was already racing. He understood immediately what she was really saying. As long as the city could still technically function at a minimal level, they could extract as much wealth as possible by any means necessary.

And this? This was his specialty. He'd spent years finding ways to profit from gray areas, to squeeze value out of situations where others saw nothing. He'd made a career out of it.

"I have some thoughts," he said, straightening his spine and putting on his most professional expression. "Taxation is like any business venture, you need to consider your investment versus your return. The goal should be maximizing profit while minimizing the effort and risk required."

"Sounds reasonable," Emystan said, though her tone suggested she was mostly just curious how ruthless he'd be. "Continue."

"Piltover's population can be divided into four main categories," he began, falling into a presentation style that suggested he'd rehearsed this kind of pitch before.

"First, we have indentured workers. These are people who were purchased as labor. They have no personal assets, or real skills beyond basic manual labor. Trying to tax them would accomplish nothing except triggering unrest, and suppressing that unrest would require killing people who are economically valuable as workers. I recommend not taxing this group at all. The juice isn't worth the squeeze."

Several nobles shifted uncomfortably. The way he was discussing this was somehow worse than if he'd been openly cruel about it.

"Second category: ordinary Piltover residents. These are people with skills, like technicians, engineers, craftsmen. They have some wealth, but not much. Maybe five percent of the city's total assets if you added them all together. I'd suggest a twenty percent tax rate for this group."

"Third category: small business owners. People who run workshops, repair shops, small-scale manufacturing. They're comfortable, well-off by most standards. This group holds maybe fifteen percent of Piltover's wealth. A thirty percent tax would be appropriate."

He paused, and his smile turned sharp.

"The fourth category is everyone in this room. The nobility, the major merchant houses, the industrial magnates. You control approximately eighty percent of Piltover's total wealth. You own the large-scale production facilities, the international trade networks, the patents and technical innovations."

He met Emystan's eyes. "I recommend tax rates between fifty and eighty percent for this category."

The numbers weren't random. He'd calculated based on typical profit margins for large-scale commercial operations, which generally ran around fifty percent. Tax them at these rates and you'd capture most of their profits while theoretically leaving them enough to continue operating.

Even Emystan looked mildly surprised. She'd been thinking maybe thirty percent as her ceiling. This was significantly more aggressive than her initial plan. The problem, of course, was that stealing that much wealth would trigger resistance. The Piltover elite weren't going to just roll over for this. There would be pushback, probably violence.

But she found she didn't particularly care anymore. After being forced to surrender to Zaun, her entire perspective on Piltover had shifted. She wasn't trying to govern this city or develop it for long-term occupation. She was trying to extract as much wealth as possible before finding a way to extract herself and her warband from this disaster.

If not for Zaun's restrictions against massacring civilians, she wouldn't give a damn what happened to Piltover at all.

"Excellent work. I'm putting you in charge of implementing this. Don't disappoint me."

She'd just handed him the most universally hated assignment possible. He'd make enemies of every powerful family in the city. The collaborator didn't seem to realize this, or perhaps he just didn't care. His face was flushed with pride.

Around the chamber, the Piltover nobles were processing what had just happened. Some looked ready to charge forward. Others looked like they were about to be sick.

One man near the front actually started to step forward, his face red with rage, clearly about to unleash some kind of passionate speech about tyranny and injustice and the principles that Piltover was founded on...

SHING.

The sound of steel clearing a scabbard echoed through the chamber.

Emystan's hand was on her sword hilt, the blade halfway drawn. The light caught on the runic engravings, making them seem to glow.

The chamber went silent.

The man who'd been about to speak froze mid-step. Whatever fury had been building in his chest evaporated.

Noxus wasn't Piltover. They didn't settle disagreements through debate and voting. They settled them with steel and blood. The empire's reputation had been built on the corpses of hundreds of conquered cities, and everyone in this room knew it.

The nobles who'd been working themselves up to some kind of resistance deflated. They stood there in silence, avoiding eye contact.

Some of them were looking at Camille again, desperate for any sign that Piltover's most powerful family would intervene. But Camille remained motionless against the wall.

What these nobles didn't know was that Clan Ferros had already made their choice. She had defected to Zaun. She'd done the math and realized that Piltover as an independent entity was finished. The only question was whether Ferros would survive the transition. Emystan's clumsy extortion scheme had Zaun's fingerprints all over it. She could see the shape of the plan, even if she didn't know all the details.

Across the room, Cassandra was also staying silent, watching Emystan's performance. The House Kiramman had joined Zaun's side as well, though for different reasons. They'd traded some short-term losses for long-term positioning in whatever new order emerged from this chaos.

Compared to what they stood to gain, Emystan's taxation scheme was just a temporary inconvenience.

"Does anyone else have concerns?" she asked, her hand still on her sword. "Now would be the time to voice them."

Nobody spoke.

She smiled and released the weapon, letting it slide back into its sheath.

"Then we're done here. Get started on the tax collection immediately. I want initial revenue within the week."

She stood, and her personal guard formed up around her.

As she walked toward the exit, she paused next to where Camille was standing.

"You've been very quiet," she said softly, just loud enough for Camille to hear. "I would've expected more resistance from Clan Ferros."

Camille met her eyes. "I pick battles I can win."

Emystan leaned slightly closer. "I see."

Then she continued walking, leaving Camille alone.