There was a saying of which Garen C

There was a saying of which Garen Crownguard was fond: Pride goes before the fall. It reminded him, in short, that his relatively new and hard-earned position as Commander of the Demacian Dauntless Vanguard could be easily lost by an arrogant mistake. But determination was not something which he lacked and he was determined to ensure that he never descend to such a level of pride.

When he looked back on this moment, he recognized it as the moment when he truly learned humility. The fall. And she made sure he learned the lesson well.

Anyone could have seen that the Noxians were executing a suicide mission. His small contingent of the Vanguard outnumbered them two to one, was better equipped and more experienced. These three things told Garen all he needed to know about their enemy: They were sent as a last-ditch effort to keep them from leaving Noxian territory with their spoils, though the Noxian High Command didn't expect their own force to succeed; they seemed to be mostly assassin-fighters, given the cowardly nature of their approach; and they were likely sent under a new Commander or one who had fallen from grace as a test of their leadership capabilities. None of these were seasoned soldiers, just kids scarcely out of training or maybe even still in academy. If Noxus didn't expect anything from the attack, Garen didn't either. It made him confident.

He would allow the enemy commander this: The ambush well perfectly timed. It was dusk and Garen and his men were just shy of crossing the Western Noxian border and already relaxing into what looked like a clean getaway. Once they were in the neutral territory that separated Noxus and Demacia, they were in the Institute of War's jurisdiction and neither would be able to fight without having the Institute's High Council of Equity coming down on their heads. He should have known better.

The land to edge of Noxus's borders was sparsely forested and hilly with a number of rocky outcrops, but the scouts had seen nothing; there was nothing to see. Cloaked by magic rather than by nature, the enemy troops seemed to materialize from the boulders and trees around them, already infiltrating their lines and leaping for throats by the time the unawares Vanguard noticed. A few chaotic seconds passed and two of his men went down before Garen shouted out a defensive formation and the Demacians fell into position. In the rush to reform one more fell but the Vanguard were some of the most disciplined of Demacia's forces. Where a lesser group could have easily fallen into panic they rallied; cries of, "Demacia!" filled the air and in a few more seconds the field devolved into the violence of clashing steel and screams.

Garen easily lost himself to battle. He'd been born to be a soldier, groomed for command since he was young and a Champion-representative of Demacia for the last four years. He was a fighter by nature and he couldn't stop the vicious grin that alighted on his face as his sword, a massive blade half as wide as a kite shield, finally slid through the unprotected side of the faceless Noxian in front of him. Conceit was far from his mind now, in his element, singing steel in his hands and the coppery scent of blood in the air. He'd never lost, there was no one who could keep up with him, no challenge-

The Demacian soldier next to him seemed to explode, a sharp spray of blood rushing from his neck as he collapsed, and Garen scarcely blocked the black steel daggers that were on a collision course for his own neck. A glimpse of vivid red was all he caught of the owner of the blades as they vanished, then without even disturbing the dust, reappeared aiming a dagger at his unarmored thighs. He swung where he thought the enemy would be, felt the bite of a blade sinking into his flesh in return, but his attacker paused, now a few steps away.

He blinked, unbelieving.

"Cutting through the man beside your opponent, isn't that what your strategy is?" the woman before him remarked through the din of battle. He noticed his counter hadn't missed at all; her jacket was torn and a wound on her upper left arm began to bleed onto the cloth.

He'd seen her before, at the Institute. Long red hair, vivid green eyes, and a jagged scar that carved its way over her left eye. What was her name? "Katarina DuCouteau?" he finally choked out.

She flew back in at him blades extended only to connect with his sword and he pushed against her momentum hard, sending her stumbling to the side. His follow through missed, though, and she tucked into roll before popping up at his side in another clash of steel. It was an easy parry, but Garen felt shaken.

"It's a shit strategy," she answered, a saccharine smile on her face. "As the new Commander of the Noxian assassins I find a more direct approach to the target to be more effective."

A sneer twisted Garen's face. "Clearly assassins don't know anything about tactics," he spat. "This is suicide."

A sharp whistle pierced the battlefield and the woman's fierce grin grew a little brighter. "Au contraire," she laughed. Her pursed lips let out an answering whistle and as suddenly as the battle had begun the Noxian force disengaged to slink back into the rocky landscape.

Garen took a step toward where the red-headed woman had been standing moments before only to stagger back as a knife sank into the metal where his pauldron met his breastplate.

"A little something so you remember the day you lost," came a provocative voice from behind him, though as he whipped around swinging he was met only with air.

He hadn't noticed that his own private skirmish had drawn him out from the line until his first captain came trotting up behind him. "Sir! Orders?"

The Commander turned, still feeling rattled. "Captain Renault. We need to make it across the border as soon as possible. Send a scout- Corporal Girard- ahead to the main force relaying our movement, not the events of today. Those wounded need to patch as we go, get the healer to triage. How many casualties?"

"Four more, sir," the man relayed, directing him toward the contingent. "It wasn't as bad as it could have been. The enemy did not seem to be as trained as our foes earlier today."

Garen winced. "Agreed. Well, let's do what we can. Put them on the cart with the cargo along with anyone too gravely wounded to march. We can't afford to stop now but once we make back into the neutral zone I will call a halt. We need-"

"Sir!" another voice interjected as a soldier ran up and snapped into a salute. "The cargo is gone!"

For a moment he stared blankly at his subordinate as the words registered. "All of it?"

"N-no sir," the boy stammered. "Just the, ah, remains of that Noxian soldier."

Garen looked down at the knife jutting from his armor. A little something so you remember the day you lost. Damn it.

"We... we cannot turn back now," he ground out, repressing a curse. A perfectly timed ambush indeed. "It's already dark and we're still in Noxian territory. Captain Renault, give the orders to move. The sooner we leave this mess behind us, the better."

Within minutes the efficient soldiers were ready to march, not a one too injured to walk or ride. A grim feeling settled in the pit of stomach and a shakiness danced in his legs, something he contributed to his untended wound, as Garen followed behind his troops. As the shuffle of feet and hooves filled the air, he paused, wrenched the knife from his armor, a scowl on his face and an angry flush creeping up his neck.

This was his karmic retribution for his pride, wasn't it? He glared at the offending knife, raised his hand to throw it... but couldn't seem to complete the motion. Pretending it hadn't happened wouldn't improve his attitude and it wouldn't help him see with unbiased eyes in battle next time. Perhaps... perhaps it would be better if he remembered this loss. His hand dropped into his lap, idly tracing his thumb over the 'S' etched into it's smooth surface. Katarina... DuCouteau. The Sinister Blade, as her League moniker went. One of the Champion-representative for Noxus, he'd seen her before at the Institute of War, and he'd seen her on the magically-controlled Summoner's Rift. He'd never seen her on the real battlefield.

A not entirely unpleasant weakness coursed through his knees again, reminding him of his injury and he spurred his horse into motion, dropping the knife into a pouch on his belt. As much as he hated to admit that he would listen to a Noxian, he hated more that he'd been outdone. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice; there would be no underestimating her again.

When the Dauntless Vanguard was finally a sufficient distance into the neutral territory of the Institute, Garen ordered a halt. They burned no campfires and built no pyres but hurriedly buried the dead and folded their blue cloaks to return to their families. Undoubtedly it was his most hated aspect of command, especially now. How was he supposed to tell a mother her son had fallen in a mission that had failed? Garen stayed until every last shovelful of dirt was cast.

Their single healer had been too exhausted to cast any spells by the time the Commander arrived to have his leg looked at. All he could do was apologize, bind the wound and hand him half a potion that was supposed to speed recovery. But with all of his duties finally completed, the Commander gratefully retreated through the hastily erected camp to the solitude of his own bunk, carefully removing only the most restrictive pieces of armor and leaving his boots on. They were all on high alert tonight after today. He shifted uncomfortably and stared up at the canvas roof and his thoughts immediately slipped to her.

Katarina DuCouteau.

Skill, undeniable. He'd never met one who so easily traded blows with him, especially not a tiny, unarmored slip of a woman. Her strength definitely lay in her agility; the only hit he'd managed to land on her had been glancing and he'd been on the defensive for almost th

Kết quả (Việt) 1:

Đã có một câu nói mà Garen Crownguard là ngây thơ: niềm tự hào đi trước khi sự sụp đổ. Nó nhắc nhở ông, trong ngắn hạn, rằng vị trí tương đối mới và khó kiếm được của mình chỉ huy Demacian Dauntless Vanguard có thể được dễ dàng bị mất do một sai lầm kiêu ngạo. Nhưng quyết tâm không phải là một cái gì đó mà không có ông và ông đã được xác định để đảm bảo rằng ông không bao giờ đi xuống đến một mức độ của niềm tự hào.Khi ông nhìn lại vào thời điểm này, ông nhận ra nó như là thời điểm khi ông thực sự biết được sự khiêm nhường. Sự sụp đổ. Và cô đã chắc chắn ông đã học được bài học tốt.Bất cứ ai có thể đã thấy rằng các Noxians thực hiện một nhiệm vụ. Của ông đội quân nhỏ của tiên phong ít hơn họ 2-một, tốt hơn được trang bị và có kinh nghiệm. Những ba điều nói với Garen tất cả các ông cần biết về kẻ thù của họ: họ đã được gửi như là một nỗ lực cuối để giữ cho chúng từ rời lãnh thổ Noxian với chiến lợi phẩm của họ, mặc dù chỉ huy tối cao Noxian đã không mong đợi của riêng của lực lượng để thành công; họ dường như là chủ yếu là sát thủ chiến binh, được đưa ra bản chất hèn nhát của cách tiếp cận của họ; và họ đã có khả năng gửi theo một chỉ huy mới hoặc một trong những người đã giảm từ ân huệ làm một bài kiểm tra khả năng lãnh đạo của họ. Không ai trong số này là binh sĩ dày dạn, trẻ em chỉ hiếm ra khỏi đào tạo hoặc thậm chí có thể vẫn còn trong học viện. Nếu Noxus không mong đợi bất cứ điều gì từ các cuộc tấn công, Garen không thể. Nó làm cho anh ta tự tin.Ông sẽ cho phép người chơi đối phương đây: phục kích tốt một cách hoàn hảo timed. Nó là hoàng hôn và Garen và người của ông đã chỉ nhút nhát của qua biên giới phía tây Noxian và đã có thể thư giãn vào những gì trông giống như một nơi nghỉ ngơi sạch. Một khi họ đã trên lãnh thổ trung lập tách ra Noxus và Demacia, họ đã trong thẩm quyền của viện chiến tranh và không sẽ có thể để chiến đấu mà không cần của viện cao hội đồng của vốn chủ sở hữu sắp tới xuống trên đầu họ. Ông cần phải có biết tốt hơn.Đất đến cạnh của của Noxus biên giới được thưa thớt rừng và đồi núi với một số đá trồi lên, nhưng các hướng đạo sinh đã thấy không có gì; có là không có gì để xem. Những bởi magic chứ không phải là tự nhiên, quân địch dường như để cụ thể hoá từ những tảng đá và cây xung quanh họ, đã xâm nhập dòng họ và nhảy cho họng khi các không dự định trước Vanguard nhận thấy. Một vài giây nữa hỗn loạn thông qua và hai người đàn ông của mình đi xuống trước khi Garen hét lên trong một đội hình phòng thủ và các Demacians rơi vào vị trí. Trong cơn sốt để cải cách một giảm thêm nhưng tiên phong đã được một số trong những kỷ luật của lực lượng của Demacia. Trong trường hợp một nhóm nhỏ hơn có thể có một cách dễ dàng rơi vào hoảng loạn họ tập hợp; khóc của, "Demacia!" lấp đầy không khí và trong một vài giây nữa lĩnh vực devolved vào những vụ bạo lực đột thép và hét lên.Garen dễ dàng mất mình để chiến đấu. Ông đã được sinh ra để là một quân nhân, chuẩn bị cho lệnh kể từ khi ông còn trẻ và một người đại diện nhà vô địch của Demacia cho bốn năm qua. Ông là một máy bay tiêm kích của thiên nhiên và ông không thể ngăn chặn grin luẩn quẩn mà alighted trên khuôn mặt của mình như là thanh kiếm của mình, một con dao lớn một nửa càng nhiều như một lá chắn diều, cuối cùng trượt thông qua bên không được bảo vệ của Noxian faceless ở phía trước của anh ta. Căng là xa từ tâm trí của mình bây giờ, yếu tố của mình, hát thép trong bàn tay của mình và mùi máu trong không khí, mọc. Ông đã không bao giờ mất, có là không có một trong những người có thể theo kịp với anh ta, không có thách thức-Những người lính Demacian bên cạnh anh ta dường như nổ, một phun sắc nét của máu đổ xô từ cổ của ông khi ông sụp đổ, và Garen hiếm chặn các dao găm chữ thập thép đen đã được trên một khóa học va chạm cổ của mình. Một cái nhìn sống động đỏ đã là tất cả ông bắt của chủ sở hữu của lưỡi khi họ biến mất, sau đó mà không làm phiền thậm chí bụi, lại xuất hiện hướng tới một con dao ở bắp đùi loại của mình. Ông đu mà ông nghĩ rằng kẻ thù sẽ cảm thấy các vết cắn của một lưỡi chìm vào xác thịt của mình trong trở lại, nhưng kẻ tấn công của ông đã tạm dừng, bây giờ một vài bước chân.Ông blinked, không hay."Cắt thông qua người đàn ông bên cạnh đối thủ của bạn, mà không phải là chiến lược của bạn là gì?" người phụ nữ trước khi anh ta nhận xét thông qua các din trận. Ông nhận thấy số lượt truy cập của mình đã không mất ở tất cả; Áo khoác của cô bị xé và một vết thương trên cánh tay trái của cô trên bắt đầu chảy máu vào vải.He'd seen her before, at the Institute. Long red hair, vivid green eyes, and a jagged scar that carved its way over her left eye. What was her name? "Katarina DuCouteau?" he finally choked out.She flew back in at him blades extended only to connect with his sword and he pushed against her momentum hard, sending her stumbling to the side. His follow through missed, though, and she tucked into roll before popping up at his side in another clash of steel. It was an easy parry, but Garen felt shaken."It's a shit strategy," she answered, a saccharine smile on her face. "As the new Commander of the Noxian assassins I find a more direct approach to the target to be more effective."A sneer twisted Garen's face. "Clearly assassins don't know anything about tactics," he spat. "This is suicide."A sharp whistle pierced the battlefield and the woman's fierce grin grew a little brighter. "Au contraire," she laughed. Her pursed lips let out an answering whistle and as suddenly as the battle had begun the Noxian force disengaged to slink back into the rocky landscape.Garen took a step toward where the red-headed woman had been standing moments before only to stagger back as a knife sank into the metal where his pauldron met his breastplate."A little something so you remember the day you lost," came a provocative voice from behind him, though as he whipped around swinging he was met only with air.He hadn't noticed that his own private skirmish had drawn him out from the line until his first captain came trotting up behind him. "Sir! Orders?"The Commander turned, still feeling rattled. "Captain Renault. We need to make it across the border as soon as possible. Send a scout- Corporal Girard- ahead to the main force relaying our movement, not the events of today. Those wounded need to patch as we go, get the healer to triage. How many casualties?""Four more, sir," the man relayed, directing him toward the contingent. "It wasn't as bad as it could have been. The enemy did not seem to be as trained as our foes earlier today."Garen winced. "Agreed. Well, let's do what we can. Put them on the cart with the cargo along with anyone too gravely wounded to march. We can't afford to stop now but once we make back into the neutral zone I will call a halt. We need-""Sir!" another voice interjected as a soldier ran up and snapped into a salute. "The cargo is gone!"For a moment he stared blankly at his subordinate as the words registered. "All of it?""N-no sir," the boy stammered. "Just the, ah, remains of that Noxian soldier."Garen looked down at the knife jutting from his armor. A little something so you remember the day you lost. Damn it."We... we cannot turn back now," he ground out, repressing a curse. A perfectly timed ambush indeed. "It's already dark and we're still in Noxian territory. Captain Renault, give the orders to move. The sooner we leave this mess behind us, the better."Within minutes the efficient soldiers were ready to march, not a one too injured to walk or ride. A grim feeling settled in the pit of stomach and a shakiness danced in his legs, something he contributed to his untended wound, as Garen followed behind his troops. As the shuffle of feet and hooves filled the air, he paused, wrenched the knife from his armor, a scowl on his face and an angry flush creeping up his neck.This was his karmic retribution for his pride, wasn't it? He glared at the offending knife, raised his hand to throw it... but couldn't seem to complete the motion. Pretending it hadn't happened wouldn't improve his attitude and it wouldn't help him see with unbiased eyes in battle next time. Perhaps... perhaps it would be better if he remembered this loss. His hand dropped into his lap, idly tracing his thumb over the 'S' etched into it's smooth surface. Katarina... DuCouteau. The Sinister Blade, as her League moniker went. One of the Champion-representative for Noxus, he'd seen her before at the Institute of War, and he'd seen her on the magically-controlled Summoner's Rift. He'd never seen her on the real battlefield.A not entirely unpleasant weakness coursed through his knees again, reminding him of his injury and he spurred his horse into motion, dropping the knife into a pouch on his belt. As much as he hated to admit that he would listen to a Noxian, he hated more that he'd been outdone. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice; there would be no underestimating her again.When the Dauntless Vanguard was finally a sufficient distance into the neutral territory of the Institute, Garen ordered a halt. They burned no campfires and built no pyres but hurriedly buried the dead and folded their blue cloaks to return to their families. Undoubtedly it was his most hated aspect of command, especially now. How was he supposed to tell a mother her son had fallen in a mission that had failed? Garen stayed until every last shovelful of dirt was cast.Their single healer had been too exhausted to cast any spells by the time the Commander arrived to have his leg looked at. All he could do was apologize, bind the wound and hand him half a potion that was supposed to speed recovery. But with all of his duties finally completed, the Commander gratefully retreated through the hastily erected camp to the solitude of his own bunk, carefully removing only the most restrictive pieces of armor and leaving his boots on. They were all on high alert tonight after today. He shifted uncomfortably and stared up at the canvas roof and his thoughts immediately slipped to her.Katarina DuCouteau.Skill, undeniable. He'd never met one who so easily traded blows with him, especially not a tiny, unarmored slip of a woman. Her strength definitely lay in her agility; the only hit he'd managed to land on her had been glancing and he'd been on the defensive for almost th