Marvel's master of cosmic magic

Chapter 527

From what Rowan Mercer remembered of his previous life, the League of Legends setting wasn’t just a single world. It was part of a layered cosmology.

Creation gods. Physical realms. Spirit planes. A void dimension. Voidborn entities. Celestial Aspects. Primordial demons. Demigods. Ascended beings. Darkin. Iceborn.

It wasn’t as absurdly stacked as Marvel’s multiverse, but it was still leagues above most of the worlds his other incarnations had touched.

A dangerous place.

And a promising one.

"Clean slate. Restore."

A flick of his hand washed away the filth and river stench. His torn clothes mended themselves, threads reweaving into something neat and presentable.

Rowan stepped forward onto the wooden walkway.

"First priority. Books. I need context before I move."

His knowledge of this world was patchy at best.

He vaguely remembered cosmic dragons shaping stars. A celestial civilization that rose and fell. Ancient empires. Void wars. Rune catastrophes.

Details were missing.

And Sil’s memories were useless for anything beyond basic survival.

The boy barely knew Zaun, let alone Piltover.

He’d never even been to the upper city.

Rowan was mentally mapping where a bookstore might exist in the Undercity when something blue streaked past him.

A small girl with short blue hair sprinted by, clutching a backpack.

Right behind her, a large, rough-looking teenage boy gave chase.

"Hand it over, brat!" he snarled. "Or I swear I’ll break your legs!"

Zaun was chaos distilled into architecture.

Scenes like this happened every day.

Rowan normally wouldn’t have interfered.

He had better things to do.

But the backpack radiated a faint but unmistakable magical signature.

And the scene itself rang a bell.

Hextech.

He stopped walking.

If his memory wasn’t lying to him, the girl was Jinx.

And she was carrying a stolen Hextech crystal.

"Magic fused with technology," Rowan murmured. "Interesting."

As the girl darted past him and the thug closed in, Rowan extended one foot.

The boy went flying.

He hit the ground hard, skidded, groaned, and staggered back to his feet.

Instead of continuing the chase, he turned, furious, and glared at Rowan.

"Who the hell are you, kid?! You trying to die?"

He squinted.

Something about Rowan looked... wrong.

Too clean.

Too calm.

Too expensive for Zaun.

"Leave," Rowan said flatly.

The boy snapped.

He lunged.

Rowan’s hand flashed.

A slap.

The boy flew sideways and smashed into a wooden wall, collapsing unconscious.

Rowan hadn’t used magic.

Piltover hated sorcery.

And he wasn’t in the mood to draw attention.

Even without magic, no normal human here could survive a serious blow from him.

"You okay?" Rowan asked, turning toward the riverbank.

The blue-haired girl peeked out from behind a rusted pipe.

She hesitated.

Then walked over cautiously.

"Th-thank you for helping me."

"Don’t mention it." Rowan smiled faintly and extended a hand. "Name’s Rowan."

She relaxed and shook it.

"I’m Powder."

"Powder! Powder!"

A voice rang out.

A short-haired pink-haired tomboy ran toward them, flanked by two boys, one skinny and one heavyset.

Rowan recognized her instantly.

Vi.

Powder quickly explained what had happened.

Vi gave Rowan a long, assessing look.

"You from the upper city?" she asked bluntly. "I hate Piltover types. But thanks for saving her. If you ever need help down here, find me at the Last Drop."

Rowan tilted his head.

"I’m not from Piltover. I’m from... Demacia. Just visiting."

He chose a faraway name no one here could verify.

Vi’s eyes widened.

"Demacia? Vander mentioned that place. That’s far as hell. You came alone?"

"Yeah," Rowan said casually. "Piltover and Zaun are my first stop."

He changed the subject.

"You know where I can find a bookstore?"

Vi blinked.

"A bookstore? Down here? Those barely exist. There’s one near the bar though. Come on. We’ll take you."

Rowan followed them to a massive steam-powered elevator and rode it into the heart of the Undercity.

Black Lane.

Zaun’s largest market district.

Smoke, steam, metal, neon lights, shouting vendors, chemical haze.

Trade. Crime. Survival.

And somewhere in this mess...

Knowledge.