The continent of Valoran was a place of wonders. Every hero chosen to set foot in the fabled Runeterra possessed immense power. Just like the creed of the League of Legends said, there are no weak heroes, only weak Summoners.
But not even the wisest sages or greatest prophets of Valoran could have foreseen what was about to happen today, when the time came to inherit the power of a hero, the reason for choosing that power wasn't based on preference, talent, personality, or even the hero's charisma.
It was because of money.
A decision so shameful that any respectable hero would weep in their grave. So, Allen pleaded with the system:
"System, could we maybe... I don't know, get a discount?"
The system remained unmoved.
450 gold coins, that was the price. Still. And the available heroes? Still just nine.
Nine. A strangely mystical number. Multiply any digit (except zero) by nine, and the sum of the resulting number's digits always equals nine. It was a number of completion, of finality.
But out of those nine, Allen could choose from only seven, why seven, you ask? Because Voldemort once said that seven is the most magically powerful number!
Poppy, Keeper of the Hammer
Master Yi, the Wuju Bladesman
Sivir, the Battle Mistress
Soraka, the Starchild
Zilean, the Chronokeeper
The remaining two were free-to-play, and therefore off-limits for permanent inheritance.poppy
Out of the seven, Allen immediately dismissed Poppy and Nunu. One's power was heavily tied to her legendary hammer, and the other's to a sentient snow monster. Neither made the cut.
Master Yi? Strong, sure. But what was Allen supposed to do at Hogwarts, carry a sword in one hand and a wand in the other like some fantasy action hero? Even if the image was cool, it didn't fit the setting. So, he waved goodbye to the Wuju Bladesman.
That left four: Kayle, Zilean, Soraka, and Sivir.
In terms of raw power, Kayle and Zilean were the obvious front-runners. One had invincibility, the other had resurrection. Considering even someone as mighty as Dumbledore lay six feet under, and Voldemort needed Horcruxes to cling to life, resurrection and invulnerability were no small things.
But Allen made his choice.
Sivir. The Battle Mistress.
Voldemort hadn't returned yet. Hogwarts, as it stood, was relatively safe, no casualties, no battlefield. Allen didn't need game-breaking ultimates. If he couldn't even scrape together some gold in all the time between now and Voldemort's return, he might as well smash his head against a rock and save himself the embarrassment.
What he needed now wasn't flashy powers, it was utility, survivability, and something he could use immediately.
Soraka's healing and silence were excellent. Kayle had both offense and regeneration. Zilean offered powerful attacks and mobility. But none of them could top Sivir's signature ability:
Even if all her other powers were locked out, this one skill alone was worth it. It could block almost any spell or attack. And when it succeeded, it restored mana.
A game-breaking, god-tier skill. But the best part?
It cost almost nothing to cast.
Meaning... Allen could use it right now.
With a simple thought, a faint blue shield shimmered around him. Unless you looked closely, you'd think it was just a regular Protego charm. It didn't reflect damage like some magical spells might, but in terms of sheer defense, this shield was on another level.
It lasted just over a second, brief, but long enough to matter. The only downside? A painful 30-minute cooldown. In other words, this wasn't something he could spam. It was a clutch move, not a bulldozer strategy.
No shouting "THIS! IS! SPARTA!" and marching forward like a god of war.
Now came the awkward part of the evening. Too early for bed. TV was a non-option, the blurry, low-res screen made him nauseous, and he'd have to fight for a spot with the other kids. For their sake, still celebrating the fall of their "tyrant overlord," Allen decided to stay put and give them space.
But sitting around doing nothing? That wouldn't do. As for studying? Not a chance. He was still riding high on adrenaline from everything that had happened. Even the mystery of magic couldn't change the fact that textbooks were still textbooks.
Didn't he have one book that wasn't technically a textbook? The one wrapped in a brown paper bag? The bonus gift?
Well then. Time to engage in some critical analysis. Yeah... purely academic.
Thirty minutes later,
Allen emerged from the pile of paper looking like he had been hit by a bludger.
Don't get the wrong idea. He just had a nosebleed.
Sure, Allen wasn't some hyper-experienced "internet veteran" in his past life, but he had seen a fair bit. Still, even he had to bow down to the wizarding world's... advanced materials.
It wasn't his fault. The enemy had Gundams.
Even the legendary Drift King of Akina wouldn't have seen this coming. Because in the wizarding world... the pictures moved.
"That just makes it a cartoon, right?" you ask?
Heh. Sweet summer child.
When the female lead from picture one made a surprise appearance in picture four, where she proceeded to engage in unspeakable acts, Allen's nose betrayed him.
Wizards... y'all really play on hard mode.
No, we wizards. Allen reminded himself. He was a wizard now.
That book was nothing but filth. Total garbage. Straight to the bottom of the trunk. He'd hold onto it... for critique. Yeah. Academic purposes.
And then, there came a knock at the door.
"Allen! The headmaster's asking for you!" Ruby called out from the other side.
The headmaster? What for? School stuff? No way. There couldn't be a problem with his Hogwarts acceptance letter... right?
Confused, Allen opened the door only to find Ruby wearing a classic I-don't-know-anything-so-don't-ask-me face.
Well, only one way to find out.
Allen followed Ruby toward the meeting room, a dozen questions already spinning in his mind.
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