Tryndamere

Ato carried a pig's trotter, dragging a giant boar across the frozen land.

He had landed in eastern Freljord and first headed west. As for the first person he was supposed to find, he had no idea where to look.

But Ato believed there had to be a reason he had come to Runeterra.

Even if he wasn't blessed by nature like the Yordles, he had to have something unique about him. For instance, he always seemed to run into champions from the game.

He had barely arrived before stumbling across a Darkin Weapon. Not long after gaining control of it, he'd met Sarah while wandering around Bilgewater, then encountered Ryze, one of Runeterra's most important figures.

"So, Tryndamere, come face me." Ato's heart felt heavy.

In the Northlands, where food was scarce and the environment harsh, Tryndamere and his people struggled to survive.

He had no noble Iceborn bloodline, only an extraordinarily powerful body.

In the original timeline, Aatrox came to Freljord and nearly killed all of Tryndamere's people.

As a result, Tryndamere, dragging his broken body behind him, searched for a tribe that would take him in. He eventually formed a Blood Pact with Ashe, leader of the Avarosa Tribe, and became someone who would protect her and her tribe for the rest of his life.

It was only after Tryndamere joined them that the Avarosa Tribe truly became stable.

Perhaps the boar's carcass was too horrifying. Ato didn't encounter any other beasts along the way.

"To make Tryndamere and Ashe form a Blood Pact, even though his people haven't done anything wrong, I have to make Tryndamere hate me."

Wait, why had he come up with that idea? To keep the world's events on track, did he really have to treat innocent lives as an acceptable price?

Ato could treat those who went out of their way to attack him like monsters in a game. But Tryndamere and his people were only trying to survive. Was there really no other way?

If it came down to it, could he actually bring himself to do it?

Aatrox sensed Ato's inner conflict and said in a strange tone, "How unusual. Little thing, is there something you can't figure out again?"

"If you can't figure it out, then don't. Shurima once had a saying: 'When you can barely take another step in the desert, an oasis must be waiting for you.' Whatever you can't understand, figure it out when the time comes!"

"...You're nothing like the madman people think you are," Ato murmured. He'd have to learn to hide his feelings better.

He was only a young man with two or three decades of life behind him. Apart from knowing about Runeterra, he couldn't compare to Aatrox, that wily old veteran who'd lived for thousands of years.

It felt awful to have someone see through his thoughts, especially Aatrox.

The two followed a frozen river, its waters mixed with ice, upstream from where it emptied into the sea.

They had traveled across the ice fields for most of the day. By the time darkness filled the sky, they could barely make out the path by moonlight and starlight. Ato, accustomed to civilized society, found it deeply unsettling.

Just then, a glow appeared in his field of vision.

"If we don't find food soon, our clan is really finished! Tryndamere, that wasn't our god! It was just a beast! If not for it, how would so few of us be left?" A rugged-looking barbarian in tattered clothes cried out mournfully.

Tryndamere sat by the fire, thinking back over the past three days and feeling bitter at the foolishness of some of his people.

Now those foolish people were all dead, killed by the tusks of a monstrous boar.

Apart from Tryndamere, the eight people sitting or lying around the fire were the last survivors of the clan.

The speaker was named Rugg. He wasn't as strong as Tryndamere, but he was still one of the clan's most formidable warriors.

Their clan worshiped the Giant Tusker Boar, calling it the Great Tusks Beast King.

It often roamed near the clan's territory. Over time, the ignorant clanspeople came to regard it as an all-powerful god.

A few days ago, the Giant Tusker Boar suddenly entered their territory. Instead of fleeing, the clanspeople approached it, threw themselves on the ground, and begged their god for protection.

In return, their "god" gave them sharp tusks and reduced their territory to ruins.

Countless clanspeople had been trampled to pieces. Only Tryndamere and a handful of others had escaped.

They hadn't found food in three days. Starving and freezing, they would soon start dying.

Freljord's climate made it difficult to grow grain. Most food came from hunting or, if they were lucky, gathering edible wild plants.

"If it comes to it, we can peel bark from the pine trees and soak it in the river until it softens. It's still better than starving to death."

Tryndamere's equally rugged face was already covered in a thick beard.

That would be a dead end too. Swallowing coarse bark might briefly make them feel full, but they couldn't digest it. The resulting illness could be fatal in the freezing cold.

"Ornn, oldest of the gods of forging! Volibear, mightiest of the gods of strength! Anivia, gentlest of the gods of ice! Or the Frost Sisters! Any god will do! Please, gods, save our people!"

Rugg prostrated himself on the ground, calling on every known god in Freljord.

He didn't care whether he was sincere anymore. If it could save his people, he would even give his soul to a demon!

Tryndamere gave the nearly broken Rugg a helpless glance as he searched for a way out of their predicament. The survivors were already beginning to look to him as their leader. He had to lead them out of this crisis.

Suddenly, they heard something scraping.

Those who had been dozing with their eyes closed beside the fire scrambled to their feet. Everyone fell silent and huddled closer to Tryndamere.

Despair showed in many eyes. Without food to replenish their strength, how many more would die if they were attacked by a wild beast?

They could only hope their clan's bravest warrior, Tryndamere, could drive the beast away.

The sound drew closer. Just as they prepared to fight for their lives, they finally saw what was coming. A lean man in a black cloak emerged from a thicket of low shrubs in the distance.

"Not a beast?" They had just started to relax when the terrifying greatsword on the man's back made them catch their breath.

Even Tryndamere's greatsword was smaller!

The man took a few more steps, dragging the carcass of a boar six or seven meters long fully out of the thicket. Tryndamere and the others forgot to breathe.

"I've been walking for ages, and the side dragging along the ground has been rubbed raw. Still, it's all natural iceboxes around here, so the meat should keep for a long time."

The man muttered to himself. When he saw their faces, he brightened.

"I knew I'd run into someone if I just wandered around. Hey, everyone! Anyone want some meat?"