"Everybody—line up! Nobody move!"
The person in front spoke in Valoran with a slightly awkward accent. She rode a massive wild boar and burst out from the raiders' ranks.
Judging by her looks alone, she seemed like a girl who wasn't even fully grown yet. Her straw-colored hair was simply tied up behind her head, and her youthful, pale face still had that raw, inexperienced look—like she was malnourished. But her green eyes were bright and razor-sharp.
The strange part was that in weather and terrain like this, she was wearing almost nothing—just a few pieces of beast hide wrapped around the parts that needed covering.
On her back was an enormous, notched steel cleaver of a blade. She wasn't short—easily over five-six—but next to that weapon, she looked small and thin. Her hands wore leather gloves around the reins, and she was barefoot.
The girl swung down off the boar, planted one hand on her hip, and stared at the caravan.
"Logan… isn't she freezing?" Jinx leaned in close to Logan, rising on her toes to whisper.
This wasn't even deep Freljord yet, but once you crossed the snow mountains, the border region still sat around negative four degrees Fahrenheit at the warmest. The permafrost here never thawed. Tree branches were permanently hung with ice needles and frost. And the snow on the ground was thick and dense—like packed ice.
Stepping on that barefoot… Jinx didn't even want to imagine what her feet would turn into.
Frozen ham hocks?
She was wearing a thick wool coat, three layers underneath it for warmth, and even heat packs stuck along her lower back—and she still felt cold.
A Zaunite girl like her had never seen an environment this brutal in her life.
"Her physique is special," Logan answered, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the girl.
Yes—she was one of the few in the group who wore very little.
And the moment Logan saw that, a term instantly surfaced in his mind:
Iceborn.
Iceborn were a special kind of Freljord bloodline. People with it had physical resilience and magical sensitivity far beyond ordinary humans. Depending on how strong their Iceborn blood ran, their raw constitution could even surpass Valoran's most elite troops, the Dauntless Vanguard.
In terms of training and discipline, the Dauntless Vanguard would still crush these raiders—but if you talked about potential and inherent power, Iceborn were more terrifying.
And the key thing about Iceborn was this: they were rare, but not uniquely so. It wasn't like only Ashe and Sejuani had it, the way some people liked to imagine.
In the Freljord, there were plenty of Iceborn. Ashe and Sejuani were special because the concentration of their blood was far beyond normal—and there were even rumors that both carried the weight of "reincarnation."
So when Logan watched the girl leave her mount, walk up to John, and stop about fifteen feet in front of him, Logan knew what she was.
A Winter's Claw warrior.
And not just any warrior—a junior leader.
Why was Logan so sure she was Winter's Claw, and why a leader?
Simple. In the Freljord, the only force that could field boar-riders at scale was Winter's Claw.
Sejuani's mount was Bristle, a drüvask war-boar. Drüvasks weren't like frost wolves, moose, or yaks—drüvasks carried thin traces of demi-god blood, and Bristle was the best of them.
Meaning: if you traced them back far enough, these mountain boars' ancestors were divine.
So aside from Winter's Claw, other tribes simply couldn't tame drüvasks. And in this group, this girl was the only one dressed so lightly—and the only one riding a drüvask.
Plus, she was leading. She was the first to charge out.
If she wasn't a boss, then who was?
Logan looked at her, then at John.
John really did have absurd luck. He'd helped Logan and Jinx out of simple kindness, and now it was Logan's turn to help him.
Logan had come to the Freljord to rescue Darius. And to rescue Darius, there was no avoiding Winter's Claw. Even without John, Logan would have sought Winter's Claw out himself—yet now Winter's Claw had come straight to them.
If helping John could prevent his goods from being stripped clean, it was a fair repayment for letting Jinx ride in a warm wagon-house.
With that thought, Logan was about to step forward.
But the moment he moved, he stopped.
He heard the conversation between the Winter's Claw girl and John.
"Where are you coming back from?"
John hurriedly replied, "I greet Winter's Claw. I'm returning from the little border backwater of Bering."
"What are you hauling?" The girl nodded and asked again.
"Kerosene, charcoal, cookware, and some food," John answered honestly.
The girl lifted a hand behind her and gave a small wave. Two Winter's Claw warriors who had been riding frost wolves dismounted and walked to the tall moose. They threw back the gray tarp and checked the cargo.
A moment later, they called out, "Donna—no problem. It's all cookware. No blades, no swords."
The girl named Donna raised her chin at John. "You know the rules?"
"I do, ma'am. So… what do you need?" John asked carefully.
Logan frowned as he listened.
"Everyone's been doing badly lately," Donna said to John. "Noxus started a war with us not long ago. They lost, but plenty of them are still inside the borders. And the Frostguard have started moving again. You know them, right?"
John nodded, hunching his shoulders. "Yes, ma'am. I know. I'm truly grateful for what Winter's Claw has done for people like us."
In his heart, he agreed with Donna.
Winter's Claw was a raider tribe, but most of the time, they didn't prey on traveling merchants. They fought wars with other tribes and absorbed them. For merchants, running into Winter's Claw might be bad luck—but running into any other raider tribe would be worse.
Sejuani was a sharp and formidable warmother. She forbade Winter's Claw from slaughtering Freljord's traveling merchants because she understood something clearly: it was because those merchants traveled the world that the Freljord had access to anything good at all.
But Sejuani also knew other warmothers weren't the same.
In a land where supplies were scarce and survival was brutal, every winter saw small tribes vanish from history. To live, people would do anything. If you ran into Winter's Claw, at worst you lost some goods. But if you ran into other raider tribes, you could lose everything—goods and life alike.
And the Frostguard… that was a Freljord taboo. Those people served a "legendary" figure, and every time they emerged, the whole Freljord fell into chaos.
For traveling merchants like John, meeting them meant only one thing: death.
So when the world got like this, the only ones who could actually protect merchants like him… really were Winter's Claw's "bandits."
That was why John feared and respected Donna, but didn't hate her.
Donna saw how well John understood the unspoken rules. The edge in her posture softened, and she smiled instead.
"How's your haul been?"
Her face really was pale—sickly pale, the kind that came from hunger. It wasn't just her skin. The bulging veins on her thin arms, and the way her ribs pushed against her tightly drawn stomach, made it clear Winter's Claw hadn't been living well.
"Ma'am… how much do you want?" John asked cautiously.
Donna froze, then looked annoyed. "I hate thinking. Fine—give me a second…"
Hearing that, Logan abandoned the idea of stepping in.
Winter's Claw seemed… different from what he'd imagined.
It looked like Winter's Claw played the role of protector for traveling merchants, and with merchants they were just collecting a "tax."
And Logan could tell John didn't resent it at all. It was one side willing to pay, and the other willing to take—because the alternative was worse.
If Logan jumped out now, what would that even be?
To be honest, Logan had always assumed Winter's Claw would be a pure villain faction. If anything, Ashe's Avarosans felt easier for him to accept than Sejuani's Winter's Claw.
Ashe and Sejuani—one was an idealist, the other a conqueror.
And with Logan's worldview, he naturally leaned toward the idealist.
After a long moment, Donna lifted her head and said, "I only want food. Give me two-tenths of whatever food you have."
John blinked, surprised. "Only two-tenths this time?"
He'd expected her to demand half—but two-tenths?
Winter was about to hit. In the Freljord, winter tested every tribe, even major ones like Winter's Claw.
John still remembered last year—when he'd been surrounded by Noxians, it was Winter's Claw that drove them off, and then took all of the caravan's food. Only the food, but still—all of it.
And now… Winter's Claw only wanted two-tenths?
"You didn't run into danger," Donna said seriously. "If you'd been attacked by Noxians, the Frostguard, or another tribe, and we arrived to save you—after rescuing you, I would've taken eight-tenths of your grain. But right now, you're just passing through."
She paused, then added, "This winter's going to be hard for us. It's going to be hard for you too."
"So we get through it however we can," the girl said with a small smile. "And we grind our way through this winter together."
John looked at Donna with genuine gratitude, raised his hand, and shouted, "What are you standing around for? Hurry up and unload the grain for Winter's Claw's honored warriors—three—no, four-tenths!"
Then he looked back at Donna. "Ma'am, we're willing to give you four-tenths of the food."
"Can I ask you to escort us to Nairzayag?" John continued. "Like you said—the Frostguard have been showing up again. Without your protection…"
"That works," Donna said after thinking it over. She nodded. "But I'll only take twenty people to escort you. The rest need to get this food back to the tribe."
Then she looked at John and laughed. "You're a crafty old man."
John smiled, bowed respectfully, placed a hand to his chest in the Freljord salute, and said earnestly, "May fortune bless Winter's Claw's great warmother."
Soon, Winter's Claw took four-tenths of the caravan's food—well over a thousand pounds of supplies.
A single moose could carry that kind of weight through snowy mountains without an issue. Winter's Claw, however, split the food into sacks for speed—wolves, boars, and moose each carrying a hundred-plus pounds.
They needed to get it back quickly. First, Winter's Claw was short on food, and this much would let hundreds survive the winter. Second, it reduced the chance of something going wrong—the sooner they got home, the sooner they could breathe.
Donna upheld the deal. She took a dozen or so people to accompany the caravan, preparing to escort John's group to a nearby small town.
Logan and Jinx didn't go back into the wagon. They walked with the caravan instead.
Along the way, Donna noticed them. These two were clearly outsiders, not Freljord natives. Confusion flashed across her face, but she didn't say anything—this was John's caravan, after all.
"They're from Zaun," John proactively explained when he noticed Donna's doubt. "They came to the Freljord to sightsee."
Donna's lips curled into a mocking smile.
"Sightsee?"
"Coming to the Freljord to sightsee?" She let out a cold laugh. "Half a year ago we were fighting a war with Noxus. Lately the Frostguard have been roaming again. Several tribes have been slaughtered and wiped out."
"And in times like this… you come to the Freljord to sightsee?"
Donna didn't even know how to describe the behavior of this man and woman. She genuinely thought it was stupid.
From their clothes, their health, and their expressions, she could tell they lived happy lives. They didn't worry about food or the environment. If you already had happiness, why gamble it on danger?
She didn't understand.
Really—she couldn't understand.
Donna was looking at her, and Jinx had already been curious about Donna to begin with. She trotted forward, ran up beside the drüvask, tilted her head up, and tried to greet Donna.
"Get back!" Donna snapped, yanking the reins and shouting.
Jinx froze, her eyebrows dropping as her temper flared.
You've got to be kidding me. I come over to say hi and you tell me to get back?
If her coat wasn't so thick that she couldn't reach her pistol, Jinx would've whipped it out on the spot, aimed it straight at Donna, and hit her with—Say that again?
But right as Jinx's anger rose, the drüvask beneath Donna erupted.
The unfamiliar scent from outside the Freljord made it furious—especially because mixed into that scent was the smell of humans it had fought not long ago. That only made the beast angrier.
It thrashed its massive head, turned sharply, and drove its giant tusks straight at Jinx.
"No—Vanna, stop!" Donna screamed.
Damn it!
But perched on the boar, she had no way to control a three-meter monster. She could only watch as Vanna charged the girl wrapped up like a white bear.
All around them, people cried out. Even Donna thought the Zaunite girl was about to be gored through and die on the spot—
When, suddenly, a hand reached out from behind Jinx.
That hand was pale, with long, clean knuckles, and it pressed down lightly on Vanna's tusk.
In the next instant, veins rose along that pale hand as a man spoke a single, clear syllable.
"Back."
Donna felt her body lift—then slam back down onto Vanna's back, with shattered ice chunks and snowflakes exploding upward around her.
She stared forward in a daze.
Jinx wasn't hurt—because a black-haired young man had appeared behind her.
With one hand, he forced Vanna down into the snow, pinning the drüvask to the ground, and he locked his dark eyes onto the beast's stare.
"W-whooo…"
Everyone watched as the savage drüvask let out a frightened whine.
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