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Finally, Gragas found the camp in the vast snowy field. The place was surrounded by sharpened wooden stakes, forming a circular protective area, giving off a primitive and rough feeling. The entrance to the camp was a door made of rough wooden planks, and on the snowy ground in front of the door, there were a series of footprints, indicating recent human activity.
Gragas felt a glimmer of hope and used all his remaining strength to frantically pound on the wooden door. His voice echoed across the silent snowy landscape, filled with urgency and concern: "Is anyone there? Open the door! I'm Gragas! There's someone in urgent need of help here!"
His voice trembled in the cold air, filled with unmistakable urgency and panic. His heart was filled with tension and anticipation, hoping that the people in the camp would hear his call and respond quickly.
Gragas pounded on the door again, not daring to relax for a moment, because he knew that Darius's life was slipping away with every passing second. His gaze was firm yet desperate, fixed on that door, hoping it would open a pathway to life for them.
The door was suddenly pushed open, and the figure of a middle-aged man appeared in the doorway. He was draped in a heavy bear skin, exuding a wild and majestic aura. Two winding tattoos adorned his eyelids, and his bare upper body was covered in various exotic and mysterious symbols, resembling totems from ancient rituals.
Gragas stood before him, unable to help but nervously swallow. The shaman before him exuded a mysterious and unfathomable aura, belonging to the most ancient and enigmatic group of people in this frozen land. They possessed ancient knowledge and mystical powers, deeply revered by the local residents.
Gragas quickly composed himself, knowing that now was not the time to be amazed; Darius's life was hanging by a thread. "Please help me, my friend is badly injured, we need assistance!" Gragas urgently pleaded.
The middle-aged spiritualist's gaze shifted from Gragas's face to Darius on his shoulder. Although his expression remained indifferent, a subtle trace of concern flashed in his eyes. He did not speak, only nodded, signaling for Gragas to follow him into the camp.
Gragas immediately and carefully lifted Darius, following the middle-aged spiritualist into the mysterious and ancient camp. Although his heart was still filled with tension and unease, at least they now had a glimmer of hope.
As Gragas followed the middle-aged spiritualist through the camp, he felt all eyes on him. The men and women spiritualists, with their deep and curious gazes, seemed to be scrutinizing this stranger who had suddenly entered their world. Gragas felt uneasy, but he had no time to dwell on this, as his thoughts were entirely focused on the heavily injured Darius.
They arrived at a wooden cabin, where the flickering fire inside dispelled the cold outside. The warmth of the central hearth filled the entire cabin with a cozy and tranquil atmosphere. Seated by the fire was an elderly woman, slightly hunched with a cane in her hand. Her face was adorned with intricate tattoos, each line seemingly holding ancient secrets.
The middle-aged spiritual walker approached the old woman and spoke to her in a low voice. Gragas couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could sense the seriousness and urgency. After a while, the old woman nodded, seemingly agreeing to something. She then waved her hand, signaling the middle-aged spiritual walker to leave.
Gragas stood there, holding Darius in his hands. The old woman's gaze turned towards him, deep and ancient eyes seeming to see through everything. Gragas felt a tightness in his heart, but he knew that this was their only hope.
The old woman's voice was like the ancient wind, low and hoarse, as if coming from the depths of time. She looked at Gragas with a hint of eerie humor in her eyes. "Gragas, you fatso, how dare you show your face here again." Her voice was as grating as a crow's.
Gragas responded somewhat awkwardly, "Mrs. Joya, I know I did something I shouldn't have last time. This time, I'm here sincerely asking for help. I will make appropriate amends." As he spoke, his gaze unconsciously fell on Darius on his shoulder.
Mrs. Joya let out a cackling laugh, filled with sarcasm and mockery. She shook her head, and with her eyes, marked by the passage of time, carefully scrutinized Gragas and Darius on his shoulder, as if contemplating something.
Then, she suddenly became serious, her voice carrying an unquestionable authority: "What you've brought this time is not just a severely wounded Noxus general, but also a huge trouble. Do you know what this means?" Her gaze became sharp as she stared directly at Gragas.
Gragas swallowed, realizing the situation might be more serious than he had imagined, and nervously said, "I know this may cause trouble, but he needs help now. I am willing to take responsibility for this."
Mother Qiaoya's eyes seem to penetrate Gragas's soul, and her petite figure exudes a kind of dignity that cannot be underestimated. The air in the room seems to solidify, and every word carries weight.
She slowly says, "Although the Spirit Walker does not intervene in wars, the Noxus person you brought... I don't understand, why should I lend a hand? And you, why make such a choice?"
Gragas hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and answered honestly, "Mrs. Jiaoya, I'm not sure why I made this decision myself. Perhaps it's because we went through some things together in that chaotic and deadly battlefield. Maybe it has nothing to do with whether he is Noxus or not, it's just purely... a call of human nature."
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