On the northwestern coast of Ionia, forty or fifty Viking Raiders from the icy sea east of the Freljord set foot on the land.
Back in the Freljord, they had made their living as professional raiders.
Every summer, before the Freljord grew unbearably cold, they sailed their longships, painted with fearsome totems, along the northwestern coast, searching for suitable villages and tribes.
Once they found a suitable target, they lay in wait for a blizzard. In a blizzard, no one could escape.
They descended on their chosen village with the storm.
They went from house to house, looting every scrap of food and every possession. Sometimes they even raped the women of the household.
Then they killed everyone.
That was the only way to make sure no one survived to spread the word and warn the other villages.
And they never raided just one village.
When winter came to the Freljord and the blizzards almost never let up, they ended their year of raiding.
They spent the whole winter comfortably in the last village they had raided that year, using the original owners' homes and firewood.
But this year was different.
The Freljord's three greatest powers—the Avarosa, the Winter's Claw, and the Frostguard—had all begun expanding and tightening their defenses around their tribes.
As a result, they had found little to plunder all year, managing to raid only a few scattered minor tribes.
Just then, they heard of Noxus's invasion of Ionia. They heard that Ionia was not only warm and fertile, but also a peaceful place.
Compared with Ionia, the Freljord's harsh environment had made its people warlike by nature—let alone these men, who could rob villages where even the locals were tough as nails.
So when the leader of this band of Viking Raiders heard the news, he was like a wolf on the ice plains catching the scent of blood.
Without a second thought, he decided to cross the sea and get his share of the spoils in Ionia, this fat prize.
"Boss, we finally made it. The lads were about ready to go mad cooped up on the ship. We ate, drank, shat, and slept in this tiny space, and there weren't even any women," one of the underlings said.
Their leader was a bald, middle-aged man, his shiny scalp covered in blue totem tattoos.
Hearing his men complain, he said impatiently, "What choice did we have? This year, the Avarosa, the Winter's Claw, and the Frostguard have swallowed up all the other tribes. What kind of life would we have had if we hadn't come this far?"
"True. The Avarosa and the Winter's Claw have both got powerful Warmothers now, and that's not even counting the Frostguard. I heard someone saw a whole bunch of trolls near the Frostguard Citadel!" another pirate chimed in.
The leader rubbed his bald head. Trolls, huh? Just imagining those ugly, hulking humanoids—over five meters tall, with massive limbs—made him uneasy.
Coming to Ionia had indeed been the right choice.
Something big was brewing in the Freljord, and he and his fellow pirates would have a hard time of it from now on.
He gazed into the distance, secretly congratulating himself on his wise decision.
This warm land would surely be easier to raid than the Freljord. It would make the long voyage worthwhile. If they arrived even a few days later, the whole crew might have had to eat human flesh.
Once the Bald Leader had directed all the pirates to drag their ship ashore and hide it in the woods,
the pirates didn't even need an order from their leader. They all put on their Leather Armor, taking a small Round Shield in one hand and an axe or sword in the other.
At the same time, savage grins spread across their faces.
The Bald Leader chuckled. "I hear the people here love peace."
"Peace! Hahaha!"
The rest of the pirates burst into laughter.
"I just hope the women here have soft, smooth skin—not like the ones weathered by the Freljord's snow and wind." One of the pirates cracked a filthy joke, and the laughter grew even louder.
"What are you talking for? We've been cooped up on that ship for so long. We're going to have ourselves a proper raid. Now shut your damn mouths, all of you. Don't scare the lambs."
The Bald Leader waved his hand, and the group fell silent again.
They formed a neat line and filed into the woods, heading inland.
They were professional raiders, disciplined and obedient in the field—almost like regular soldiers.
"Boss, how about this one?"
The pirates crouched in the woods on the hillside, looking down at a village and asking their leader.
"That's the one. Send a few men down to scout it out."
At his words, a few pirates who looked like scouts quietly slipped out of the woods.
They checked the area around the village and returned before long.
"Boss, the village has two exits, one to the south and one to the north. The people there look pretty weak, like little lambs."
The Bald Leader frowned, thinking it over. "We'll move after dark. Keep an eye on both exits. The lads doing the work need to be quick. Don't let a single person get away. And no women this time—we'll kill them all outright. There are no blizzards here. If word gets out, things will be difficult for us later."
After hearing that, the pirates quietly took turns resting as they waited for nightfall...
Around three or four in the morning, when the villagers were sleeping most soundly, the Viking Raiders crept into the village.
Under cover of night, a one-sided massacre began.
① Warmothers: The Freljord is a matriarchal society, and the leaders of its tribes are women. They are called Warmothers.
② Frostguard Citadel: The stronghold of the Frostguard, one of the Freljord's three greatest powers.
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