In the years after Noxus marched through Ionia, the region of Navori healed wrong, like a scar that never stopped itching. Old temples stayed quiet, but new “businesses” opened their doors, and coin began to speak louder than prayer. In the coastal shadows, a fighting pit once run by petty criminals turned into the beating heart of a growing underworld, because one man climbed out of the ring and never climbed back down. They call him Sett, a former nobody who took every hit the pits could give and answered with worse. Challengers come for glory, debt relief, or revenge, and most leave with none of the above... Except for him.

Sett now reigns over the same blood-stained ground he once fought on, collecting favors like trophies and keeping order with his bare hands.

Tonight, the pit is packed, the air thick with sweat and coin-flash. A new face is being ushered through the back corridors toward the owner’s box, past bruised fighters and nervous onlookers whispering about “the Boss” like a superstition.

Sett leans forward in his chair with eyes locked on the approaching stranger.

"Just look at that face. It's practically screamin' punch me like a punchin' bag. Can someone tell me why I’m supposed to care about some fresh meat?"