The Ceremony

Faced with the three of them attacking from all sides, Tryndamere was still in his irrational state, driven only by his instincts to fight. He was slow to defend against attacks from behind, and their long blades struck him several times, leaving many small wounds across his body.

"Haha, so much for that. No matter how strong he is, he can't avoid getting hurt..."

Before the words were out, they clearly saw the wounds on Tryndamere stop bleeding. White smoke hissed from them, and they healed at a visible pace!

"Monster..." The tribe's young people no longer knew how to describe what they were feeling.

This guy was born to fight!

"Why does everything related to me get called a monster? Old man, you should take a good look at yourself." Ato, watching from a nearby rooftop, grumbled.

"..." Aatrox couldn't even be bothered to argue anymore.

Perhaps because he had been wounded, the madness in Tryndamere's eyes grew even more intense.

But he made no further move. Instead, he stood where he was and roared furiously, as if trying to quell his anger that way.

"Impressive." Aatrox raised his estimation of Tryndamere once again. "Had he lived in Ancient Shurima, he might have been worthy of the Ascension Ritual. He could have become one of us."

With bloodshot eyes, Tryndamere forcibly suppressed his urge to hurt anyone.

Suddenly, a long blade pierced straight through Tryndamere from the front. Tryndamere froze, then let his head droop limply.

"Is something wrong with this barbarian's head? Has he turned into an idiot who can only scream? War Mother, look. This is the Blood Pact you chose. I still don't think he's worthy."

A young tribesman had taken advantage of Tryndamere's focus on suppressing his anger to attack him from behind.

"You..." Ashe was furious.

Why did the young people, usually the tribe's backbone, lose all reason whenever the Blood Pact came up? They'd even resorted to the despicable act of a sneak attack.

There was no time to hold them accountable. The most urgent thing was to treat Tryndamere's wounds!

Just as Ashe was about to call for the priests, Tryndamere, who had kept his head lowered, reached out with his left hand and grabbed the hand of the young tribesman holding the blade.

The young man jolted in alarm and tried to break free, but no matter how hard he struggled, the tremendous force gripping his hand held firm.

Tryndamere slowly raised his head. His face was contorted, his teeth clenched, and an angry growl rumbled in his throat.

He raised his greatsword high with his right hand and swung it down with all his strength at the young tribesman's neck!

"Stop!"

Tryndamere froze. The red in his eyes gradually faded.

The young tribesman had been scared witless. His lower body was soaked, and Tryndamere's greatsword was only a few centimeters from his neck!

It was War Mother Ashe who had cried out to stop Tryndamere from killing him.

She hadn't expected that the words she'd shouted on instinct could really stop Tryndamere, who was on the verge of madness.

Tryndamere's expression returned to normal, and he released his grip.

The young tribesman lost his support and collapsed to his knees, his gaze unfocused. The ordeal had clearly left him badly shaken.

Tryndamere slowly pulled the long blade from his body and tossed it aside. Drenched in blood, he looked like a demon returning from hell, making the onlookers swallow nervously.

He returned to Ashe's side, looking nothing like someone who had suffered serious injuries.

"Am I worthy of becoming your Blood Pact?"

"Are we worthy of living under the protection of the Avalosans?"

Ashe fell silent briefly. None of the other young tribesmen—or even the villagers watching—stepped forward to object again.

She walked up to him and cupped his bloodstained face in both hands. Looking into his eyes, she spoke solemnly. "I, Ashe, heir of the Avalosans, formally enter into a Blood Pact with Tryndamere, accepting all of him and learning all there is to know about him. We will face the challenges ahead together and restore the glory of the Avalosans!"

Tryndamere stared blankly for a moment, then asked without thinking, "Don't we need the priests as witnesses?"

Ashe shook her head. "No. Because I'm the War Mother."

Only then did Tryndamere understand. He dropped to one knee and spoke just as solemnly. "I, Tryndamere, warrior of the Barbarian Wolf Tribe, am willing to become the Blood Pact of War Mother Ashe. I will give you everything I have and devote all of myself to you. We will face the challenges ahead together and restore the glory of the Avalosans!"

"Come on. Let's return to our tribe. We'll complete the rest of the ceremony in the village."

Ashe helped Tryndamere to his feet, and together with Tryndamere's people, the ordinary villagers who had gathered to watch, and the shaken young tribesmen, they returned to the village built by the Avalosans.

"Do you know what I'm thinking right now?" Ato asked Aatrox.

"Something completely nonsensical, I'm sure." Aatrox couldn't even be bothered to guess.

"I'm thinking that a minotaur could never compare to a devoted lover—not even by a single hair!" That was the audience member Ato's sole takeaway from watching the whole thing.

"...Where to next?" Aatrox ignored Ato's comment.

"Besides the World Rune, there's nothing else in Freljord worth paying attention to. The Abyss's seal on the Void will hold for a while longer. It won't be breached within the next few years."

"Winter has arrived. When spring comes, that crucial war will begin. Let's go see two more people before we leave."

Nuo Yuan 983, winter: Ashe and Tryndamere formed a Blood Pact.

"Where the hell is Ornn?"

Ato let out a wail amid the monotonous scenery.

He had trudged through the ice and snow for more than ten days. Everywhere he looked, there was nothing but snow, and he hadn't seen a single hair of Demigod Ornn.

The two people he'd said he needed to see were Lissandra, the only one of the Frost Sisters still alive, and Ornn, one of Freljord's original three Demigods.

Ato had made a decision that went against everything his ancestors stood for: he was going to ask Ornn to forge a Sword Sheath for the Demonic Sword of the Dark!

He didn't want the sword's terrifying appearance to keep causing problems when he met other Game Heroes.

The Demonic Sword of the Dark looked quite different from an ordinary greatsword. Three symmetrical spikes rose above the hilt, and the greatsword's tip resembled the demonic horns on Aatrox's Darkin body.

But Ato was sure Ornn could do something about it.

"Has my knack for running into Game Heroes finally stopped working? Impossible. Absolutely impossible!"

Ato wandered aimlessly through the snow, bored out of his mind, until at last he found a clue pointing to Ornn.

"See? How could my knack for running into heroes just by wandering around possibly stop working?"

At the foot of the mountain ahead, a shovel stood planted upright in the ground, over ten meters long.