The Ceremony Concludes

Faced with the pincer attack of three people, Tryndamere was in a state of lost reason, with only combat instincts left. He was somewhat unprepared for the attack from behind, and was thus struck multiple times by the long saber, leaving many small wounds on his body.

"Haha, that's all you've got. No matter how strong you are, you can't avoid getting hurt..."

Before the words had even finished, they clearly saw the wounds on Tryndamere's body stop bleeding, emitting a "sizzling" white smoke, and the wounds healed at a speed visible to the naked eye!

"Monster..." The young people of the tribe no longer knew what language to use to describe their current feelings.

The guy before them was born for battle!

"Why is everything related to me called a monster? Old Man, you should reflect on yourself," Ato, who was observing from the rooftop, quipped.

"..." Aatrox was too lazy to retort.

Perhaps due to his injuries, the madness in Tryndamere's eyes intensified.

But he didn't make any further moves. Instead, he stood in place and roared loudly, as if trying to suppress his rage in this manner.

"Admirable," Aatrox raised his evaluation of Tryndamere once more. "If this were in ancient Shurima, he might have been qualified to undergo the Ascension ritual and become one of us."

Tryndamere, with bloodshot eyes, forcibly suppressed the desire to harm others.

Suddenly, a long saber pierced through Tryndamere's body from the front. Tryndamere froze, and then his head drooped powerlessly.

"Is this barbarian's brain malfunctioning? Has he turned into a fool who only shouts? War Mother, please look. This is the Blood Pact you chose. I still believe he is not qualified."

A young tribesman, seizing the opportunity when Tryndamere's energy was focused on suppressing his rage, ambushed Tryndamere.

"You..." Ashe was now furious.

Why was it that whenever the matter of the Blood Pact came up, the young people, who were usually the backbone of the tribe, would lose their reason? They would even resort to despicable acts like ambushing?

There was no time to hold them accountable. The immediate priority was to treat Tryndamere's injuries!

Just as Ashe was about to have the priests come and treat him, Tryndamere, who had been looking down, reached out his left hand and grabbed the hand of the young tribesman holding the saber.

The young man was startled and tried to break free, but the immense strength from his hand made all his struggles futile.

Tryndamere slowly raised his head. His expression was ferocious, his teeth clenched, and he let out an angry growl from his throat.

He raised his right hand high, wielding his great saber, and swung it down forcefully towards the young tribesman's neck!

"No!"

Tryndamere's movement instantly stopped, and the crimson in his eyes gradually faded.

The young tribesman, terrified out of his wits, became wet beneath him. Tryndamere's great saber was only a few centimeters from his neck!

The one who stopped Tryndamere's murderous intent was the War Mother, Ashe.

She hadn't expected that the words she blurted out would actually be able to stop the nearly mad Tryndamere.

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

The young tribesman lost his support and knelt on the ground, his eyes unfocused. The experience had clearly been a huge shock to him.

Tryndamere slowly pulled the long blade embedded in his body and casually threw it on the ground. His blood-soaked appearance was like a demon returning from hell, causing the onlookers to involuntarily swallow.

He returned to Ashe's side, not looking like someone who was severely injured at all.

"Do I have the right to become part of the Blood Pact?"

"Do we have the right to live under Avalosan's protection?"

Ashe was silent for a moment. No one else among the tribe's young people, nor the surrounding villagers, stepped forward to stop them.

She walked forward, cupped Tryndamere's blood-stained face in her hands, looked into his eyes, and said solemnly, "I, Ashe, inheritor of Avalosan, do hereby establish a Blood Pact with Tryndamere, accepting all of him, understanding all of him. We will face future challenges together and restore Avalosan's glory!"

Tryndamere was a little dazed and subconsciously asked, "Don't we need a priest to witness this?"

Ashe shook her head. "No, because I am the War Mother."

Tryndamere then came to his senses, knelt on one knee, and said with equal solemnity, "I, Tryndamere, warrior of the Barbarian Wolf Tribe, am willing to become War Mother Ashe's Blood Pact. I am willing to dedicate everything to you, I am willing to give all of myself. We will face future challenges together and restore Avalosan's glory!"

"Let's go, back to our tribe. The remaining procedures will be completed in the village."

Ashe helped Tryndamere up, and together with Tryndamere's tribesmen, the ordinary villagers who had witnessed the event, and the still-shaken young tribesman, they returned to the village established by the Avalosans.

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

"It's definitely something nonsensical," Aatrox replied, not even bothering to guess.

"I'm thinking that the Minotaur will never be as good as a single hair on a Pure Love Warrior!" This was the only thought the viewer Ato had after watching the entire process.

"...Where do we go next?" Aatrox ignored Ato's complaint.

"Freljord has nothing else worth paying attention to besides that World Rune. The seal on the Abyss by the Void can still hold for a while; it won't be broken within a few years."

"Now that the Winter has arrived, when Spring comes, that crucial war will begin. We'll leave after meeting two more people."

Nuo Yuan 983, Winter. Ashe and Tryndamere established their Blood Pact.

"Where on earth is Ornn?"

Ato wailed amidst the monotonous scenery.

He had trekked through the ice and snow for over ten days. All he saw before him was snow, and he hadn't even seen a glimpse of the Demigod Ornn.

He said he still needed to meet two people: Lissandra, the only one of the Frost Sisters still alive today, and Ornn, one of the original three Demigods of Freljord.

Ato made a decision that went against his ancestors: he wanted to ask Ornn to forge a scabbard for the Demonic Sword of the Dark!

He didn't want to have problems interacting with other heroes anymore due to the terrifying appearance of the Demonic Sword of the Dark.

From the outside, the Demonic Sword of the Dark was very different from ordinary greatswords. There were three symmetrical spikes above the hilt, and the head of the greatsword resembled the demonic horns on Aatrox's Demonic body.

But Ato believed Ornn would find a way.

"Could it be that the Game Hero's physique is always failing me? Impossible, absolutely impossible!"

Ato walked aimlessly through the snow, finally finding a clue about Ornn.

"I knew it. How could the hero's physique fail me just by wandering around?"

At the foot of the mountain ahead, a Shovel, more than ten meters long, was stuck vertically in the ground.