League of Legends

Chapter 808 Kegan Nohe
That night, the old man was sleepless all night.

Lying in a rough blanket, he looked up at the aurora surging in the night sky.On the other side of the fire, Kegan was snoring.

It must be a dream dreamed by heartless people, the old man thought.

Kegan was a savage, yes, but a young man raised in a land of torment.A soul conceived in the Freljord must see survival as a paramount need.The beasts wandering in the wilderness are as tough as iron and fangs are like spears. People from hostile villages burn, kill and loot along the frozen sea rocks, and there is also a winter that has lasted for hundreds of years.

In this land, writing and painting are luxurious pastimes, and books are unimaginable.Generations of people can only rely on the repeated narration of the babbling old man and tribal shaman to pass on the story.

And Kegan, no matter how dull and stubborn he is, is far from heartless.

"I took him, did I do something wrong? Was it out of sympathy or weakness at that moment?" The old man asked himself in his heart.

It seems that there will never be a conclusion.

"I can actually leave him..." With this thought, I couldn't help but swell up.

"Anyway, it's not the first time..." The old man's eyes fell on the sleeping Kegan through the trembling heat stream above the embers.

The young man's lips were twitching slightly, and his fingers were shaking in response.

"I wonder what you dreamed about, Kegan Nohe." The old mage whispered, "In the fading memories, what kind of ghost wants to possess you?"

In dreams night after night, Kegan walks in his past.

Before meeting the old mage, he was an exile on the ice field, and his strong will to survive was the only thing that could warm him.

How about going further?

thugs.Incompetent shaman, son at odds with his mother.

His bones could barely be considered to have experienced nineteen winters of training, and he was still young by the standards of any other place.Except the Freljord.He worked hard to live with knives and tricks, not only won a little fame, but also suffered far more infamy than he deserved.

Night after night in his dreams, he was displaced, lost in a howling snowstorm, and slowly froze to death.He is a doctor, groping among the rocks in the pouring rain, looking for precious herbs that will be missed if you don't pay attention to the weeds.

He was a boy, curled up in his mother's cave, safely avoiding the chaos of the world, but he couldn't escape his mother's gaze...a gaze full of worry.

Night after night, in the dreamland, the village of Regan was once again on fire.

He understood his lineage at the age of seven, and his mother squatted in front of him, holding his face in both hands, examining the bruises and scars on his face.He felt a vague and embarrassing surprise that his mother rarely touched him.

"Who did it?" she asked.

He took a breath and was about to answer, but he heard his mother say something that he rarely said: "What did you do? What did you do wrong to suffer so much?"

Before he could reply, the mother got up and walked away.

He could still feel his mother's touch on his skin, so strange that he couldn't help shivering.This abnormal intimacy was fleeting, which made him melancholy and reluctant.

"Mom, I wrestled with people, and all the boys in the village wrestled, and so did the girls."

His mother glanced at him suspiciously: "Kegan, those wounds didn't come from a fall." She whispered, "I'm not stupid."

"After the fall, there was a fight." He raised one of his torn sleeves and wiped his nose, wiping away a half-dried blood scab: "Some people were not happy when I won, and got angry."

The mother was thin, and this cannibalistic land has no place for the weak.She looks very old, ostracized both by unspeakable grief and by her talent.

Even though Kegan was only seven years old, he could understand.

Thanks to his mother being a mage, he was a precocious child.

He raised his head and saw his mother's figure embedded in the hole where the mother and son settled down.He saw a tenderness in her eyes, as unfamiliar as the touch just now.He thought his mother would crouch down and pull him into her arms, and he felt both fear and longing.

Then, the mother's eyes became cold.

"Did I tell you not to mess with other kids? Kegan, if the people in the village hate you, we'll have a hard time."

"But they did it first."

She paused, half turned around, and looked down at him, her expression on her face was as gloomy and cold as her eyes.Good eyes met the boy's, pale green pupils, as she used to say her father's eyes.

"But you were the one who started it before, Kegan, with your temper..."

"I don't." The boy lied: "At least, not every time."

Mother went deep into the cave and sat cross-legged by the fire pit.

The soup made from Ernuk's fat was as thin as clear water, and this was the dinner for the next three days.

While stirring, she said, "Magic is in our blood, bones, and breath, so we must be careful, more careful than others."

"But……"

"You shouldn't cause trouble in the village, we are already very annoying. Old Ragne is a good person, at least he can take us in."

Kegan didn't have time to think about it before blurting out: "We live in a stone cave, so far away from the village. Since they treat us so badly, you don't need to treat them. Let's move out."

"Kegan, what nonsense are you talking about? I heal people because I have the ability. We live here because we have to." She looked at the distant mountain peaks, the trees on the mountain were covered with dark Night and silver moonlight: "The forest will be covered with ice and snow to the end of the world. We will die outside. Let them say what they want, and leave no trouble, or the magic in you."

But the boy remained motionless at the entrance of the hole: "If they speak ill of me, or hit me... I'll fight back. I'm not like you, coward."

What happened next seared this night into his memory forever.

For the first time in his life, he didn't lower his head to promise his mother to be obedient, but clenched his fists tightly and stared fiercely.

Silence seesaw between mother and child.

He expected a slap, a feeble slap, a slight pain for an hour, or a long sob.

My mother often cried, always at night after she thought he was asleep, she would cry quietly alone for a long, long time.

But this time, there was something new in her eyes, like fear.

"You are really born to your father." The mother's voice was calm and restrained...it seemed worse: "His eyes have been looking at me. The crimes he committed have been reminding me. And now, his words, his hatred , just throw it in my face."

The boy stared at her and asked fearfully and angrily, "So you hate me?"

She hesitated... this was better than any answer.

Even after many years, after his mother's bony skeleton was reduced to ashes on the cooling woodpile, he did not forget her hesitation at this moment.

(End of this chapter)