The sun rose as usual.
Nohr Village North had been reduced to bare earth after a night of looting and brutality by the bandits.
Aside from the women who were abused and killed on the spot, several more attractive ones were taken as private spoils by the bandit lieutenants. The bandits also captured nearly a hundred male villagers.
They sent twenty mounted bandits to drag dozens of strong middle-aged men and a dozen pretty "female spoils" back north to their base. The bandit group's numbers hadn't decreased—counting the captives taken earlier from the northern hamlets, they now had more than 150 slaves meant to serve as livestock for labor or amusement.
Counting the deserters and the starving slave-captives, the bandit group had swelled to nearly six hundred people, and naturally, logistics had become a serious problem.
The bandits who had emptied the village of all its cookware and food would never share their own rations or jerky with the newcomers or the captives. So the question became how to quickly drive these 150 starving "livestock" into the battlefield to drain Noxian arrows.
Of course, they could also just kill them on the spot.
"We're less than half a day from Nohr Village. At this rate we won't reach the Immortal Bastion by tomorrow. These useless things will slow our march to a crawl. Any thoughts?"
Scouting ahead on his shaggy Damorian pony, the one-armed Daor carried a massive double-bladed axe over one shoulder. Behind him stretched a column of bandits and over a hundred rag-clothed captives driven forward like worms.
"Boss, why exactly did we ally with those Mustak bastards? Just to attack Noxus with their tribes?"
Seeing that no one else spoke, a brown-skinned man with dreadlocks riding another pony questioned Daor.
Knowing that the schemer Zack was prompting him, Daor didn't get angry. He grinned.
"Of course it's to let those idiots keep the Noxian army busy and leave us free to plunder."
The dreadlocked man chuckled, showing rows of yellow teeth.
"Exactly. The Immortal Bastion is famous for being easy to defend and hard to attack. Even Noxians aren't stupid enough to send all their fighters north to clash with Mustak's tribes. Since that's the case, our job is raiding villages, not sieging fortresses.
If the Noxians dare leave the Bastion to reinforce a village, we ambush and butcher them. We have cavalry—we can come and go at will. Once they leave the walls, those Noxii barbarians holding the Immortal Bastion will die as many times as they come. As for these worthless captives…"
"Heh. Zack, spit it out. What's your idea? Don't hold back."
The speaker was the massive "Big-Head," over two-point-two meters tall and wrapped in plate-reinforced leather.
Daor kept silent, clearly waiting for Zack's conclusion.
"We don't need this many captives. Killing them all would be a waste. So… speed up the march. Anyone who falls behind—kill them. We can always capture more at Nohr."
"Hahahaha! You really are the brains."
"No wonder your head's smarter than mine, Zack. All I know is killing."
"Haha, Big-Head, killing is all you need to do. When we forge you a full iron suit someday, you'll shine on a proper battlefield…"
Laughing and chatting, the bandits quickened their march. The already-wounded villagers of Nohr North soon began lagging. In despair, they were cut down by bright blades and left to sleep forever beneath the winding Gorrell Mountains—food for vultures.
…
On the other side of the mountains, battle cries shook the sky.
Blood had already stained the banks of the Blackiron River.
Driving their frail stick-armed slave-soldiers forward, Mustak's centurions and Upol's centurions led two hundred warriors each into the charge.
"Crossbowmen! Loose!!"
At Thousand-man Commander Brent's command, more than eighty Noxian archers and crossbowmen atop rock-magic platforms fired into the mob three hundred meters away.
Arrows and bolts whistled through the air, piercing tightly packed slave-soldiers, though they had little effect on the tribal warriors behind them who charged in loose formation with wooden shields—or hid behind their slaves entirely.
Over a hundred slaves fell screaming and dying, and those who fled were stabbed by the tribesmen behind them.
"Reload! Spearmen—throw!"
Even as the first volley landed, two hundred Noxian spearmen hurled their few remaining javelins.
Iron-tipped javelins arced through the air, skewering dozens of broken wooden shields and the men behind them.
"Loose!!"
From behind the shield-bearers, tribal ax-throwers and archers attacked. Dozens of spinning hand-axes struck the front-line Noxian spearmen, while arrows shot toward the platforms.
Screams burst out. Arrows pierced the slowest Noxians; more than ten crossbowmen fell dead. A spearman struck in the face by a hand-axe had his skull cleaved open, spilling yellow-green matter. The Noxians faltered.
"Spearmen, hold!! Crossbowmen—loose!"
There was no time for mourning. Only kill or be killed remained in their minds.
Another volley fell. Hundreds of tribal warriors pushed through the arrow rain and collided with the Noxian spear-wall.
"Kill!!!"
The two sides locked together. Ranged weapons lost all value. Though outnumbered, the Noxians, clad in half-plate, held firm—especially once their remaining eighty axe-fighters charged in from both flanks, accelerating tribal casualties.
Hoofbeats thundered. A hundred tribal cavalry galloped along the river to smash into the right flank. At Brent's order, several Black Rose mages — freshly recovered — cast stone-magic.
A dusty glow flashed, and a patch of stone spikes erupted from the ground. Riders and mounts were impaled, others thrown as horses panicked and bucked, shattering their formation.
Seeing their cavalry's failure and spotting Noxian mages, tribal morale plummeted.
Brent immediately deployed the last thirty Noxian cavalry—not to clash with the remaining riders, but to sweep behind the tribal infantry. The tribesmen broke and fled.
A deep, mournful horn echoed from the tribal camp. Several hundred reinforcements charged toward the battlefield. Seeing their own formation about to break, Brent ordered the retreat horn sounded.
Letting the fleeing tribes be recovered by their fresh troops, the blood-spattered Noxians wiped their weapons clean on enemy corpses, recovered arrows and armor, and silently withdrew.
Seeing the still-endless mass of tribal warriors, Brent's eyes darkened.