Chapter 11: The Thorn Boar Spirit's Mad Charge
The Thorn Boar Spirit hurled itself forward, eyes rolling back like a pig with its tail aflame. Yet for all that, it was still a spirit. Roots and branches sprouted from the earth, twisting around it to swell its massive bulk. One might expect such growth to slow it down, but the spirit only accelerated.
"I'll rip that ragged hide of yours to shreds!!"
Clad in armor of tightly woven roots and branches, the Thorn Boar Spirit's charge hit like a battering ram. The Wendigo summoned chill to erect a towering, sturdy wall of ice before him.
The spirit startled at the sight of the immense barrier but quickly sneered upon sensing it lacked potent mysticism. "You fool. Holding back your power in a spirit-on-spirit fight!"
It was convinced the spirit before it was a fledgling, barely born. Even noble spirits couldn't ignore experience. Young ones often didn't know better than to conserve mysticism against fellow spirits. It worked fine against humans or monsters, where weak power sufficed. But against equals? Skimping only wasted more mysticism in the end.
That was why the Thorn Boar Spirit had armored itself with excessive power. It truly intended to end the Wendigo in one collision.
When the spirit's hulking body shattered the ice wall, shards flew skyward. They glittered in the sunlight, forcing the spirit to squint.
"Where are you? Stop hiding like a coward and come out!"
With shards and sunlight blinding it, the spirit shook its head, searching. The Wendigo didn't hide. He emerged from the wreckage, gripping a massive ice sword raised high in a ready stance. Ominous mysticism swirled around the blade.
Dark blue energy coiled around the subtly rippling ice sword, hinting at the immense power it held. The Thorn Boar Spirit, twisting to ram him, froze in shock. The mysticism emanating from that sword was no joke.
"Y-you mad bastard! Planning to vomit up every scrap of mysticism you've ever gathered?!"
Spirit fights were one-strike kills, sure. But preparing for it to this extreme? Unheard of. The blade pulsed with enough mysticism to represent a spirit's all-in bet. Faced with this horrific concentration, the Thorn Boar paled. Instinct screamed that a direct hit would shatter its own mysticism in seconds.
The Wendigo's azure eyes flashed as he swung the ice sword. It screamed through the air like a banshee toward the spirit's head.
The Thorn Boar realized evasion was impossible. Stopping meant losing control of its momentum; charging meant a head-on collision. It opted to take the bleed. Better to twist and minimize damage than crash headlong.
Kagagagak!!!
The ice sword didn't just slice the root armor—it tore it away. The spirit's front leg, frozen solid on contact, ripped free with a gruesome crack.
At least it hadn't taken a direct hit. The ferocious chill from the sword froze village buildings and barricades, blasting into the forest. A clean strike would've turned it into frozen pork.
Lucky break, but the Wendigo's attack didn't end there. Dark blue energy seeped into the spirit, devouring its mysticism. Roots and branches forming its body withered white and crumbled.
The vicious malice in that power made the Thorn Boar shudder. "Th-this... No spirit could harbor such an aura. What are you?!"
The Wendigo said nothing.
'What would I even say? I don't know myself.'
But one thing was clear. He reshaped the ice sword into a sharp halberd—the double-bladed spear used for boar hunts.
"Seeing you bitch like this, you're no spirit anyway. Good to know it's not fratricide. I'll send you off easy."
"You dare mock me?!"
The Thorn Boar Spirit thrashed in fury, summoning mysticism. Roots burst from the ground, writhing like living tentacles to coil around the Wendigo.
The Wendigo trembled silently. Mistaking it for a successful strike, the spirit bellowed with laughter. "Kuhahaha! Right, I'm the boar clad in roots and branches. A spirit over a hundred years old! I won't fall meekly to some rootless nobody li—"
"You fucking pig bastard, wrapping tentacles around my body?!"
A razor-sharp gale exploded, freezing and shredding the roots. For the first time since waking in this world, the Wendigo surrendered to raw fury. The halberd warped viciously, more harpoon than spear now.
It plunged deep into the boar's flank. The spirit writhed in agony, seeking escape, but had no chance.
"Gr-greeeeek!?"
"One thing's sure—you won't die clean."
Ice flowers bloomed from the halberd's tip, thorns sprouting as stems extended inward. For a manufactured body, the pain was unreal. The spirit convulsed in torment beyond death's mercy.
"Stoooop!!! Please, mercy!!!"
"Mercy? We're just getting started."
The Wendigo conjured three more halberds, stabbing them into the boar's body. Their mysticism resonated, swelling the flowers rapidly. Beautiful ice blossoms adorned the wretched form.
The spirit longed to revert to pure mysticism but couldn't. The halberds' eerie energy pinned its soul.
The Wendigo gazed down, then yanked one free.
Kwaduduk.
"Kyaaaaak!!! Please, end it!!!"
Mysticism tore away with the flower; the spirit prayed to lose its rank and return to nature. The Wendigo impassively pulled more.
His rage ebbed, replaced by a new question.
'What the hell is this scent?'
A faint aroma he'd missed at first. The same as in the dead shaman's house. Now emanating from the boar's core. He wanted answers.
"Kraaaak!!!"
The spirit wailed, but... self-inflicted, right?
The final pull shattered its form. Only the head remained intact, heaving ragged breaths, eyes trembling on the brink of death.
The Wendigo plunged his hand deep into the skull. His rough grip rummaged, extracting the scent's source: a seed.
"Not the one that shaman pulled out... Hm?"
"Sp-spirit, sire! Mercy!!"
Sensing the spirit's mysticism dissipate, the Wendigo glanced at the head. It lost color, crumbling to dust.
Its last lifeline gone, Ryurik gaped in horror, grasping at the dust—but no revival came.
The Wendigo approached slowly. Ryurik tried fleeing, but his legs were frozen solid.
"What's this seed?"
"I-I don't know! Forgive me! Truly, I was! I offended your nobility, tricked by the spirit—Kahk!?"
Ryurik's silver tongue slipped again, but the Wendigo seized it, infusing chill. The cold invaded his brain via his tongue, killing him. Pitiful end for a shaman contracted to a century-old spirit.
The Wendigo tossed the corpse aside, probing the seed's energy. No ordinary mysticism.
"Feels more fundamental than mysticism..."
"Wendigo-nim. May I say something?"
Skadi approached cautiously, trembling with awe and rage. The awe was for him; the rage? Not the spirit or Ryurik. Herself—for failing to grasp what she served as his shaman.
Skadi channeled rage into action.
'Gotta help Wendigo-nim somehow, or I'm no shaman!'
When he'd asked Ryurik about the seed, her sharp mind had pieced it together. He nodded; she spoke.
"Spirits are made of mysticism. But that's not all. Not every mysticism a spirit encounters can be wielded—and yet they can assimilate offerings or worship through it. Why? Because spirits are born with an Origin."
Origin. Every spirit had one. She'd assumed Wendigo was a spirit partly because he seemed to have one tied to the forest.
The Wendigo pondered the word. A seed that hadn't existed before. Scent emerging as mysticism eroded. Spirit dying once extracted.
"So this seed is the Thorn Boar Spirit's Origin?"
"Just a guess, but the only one that fits. It's... too radiant for plain mysticism."
Skadi swallowed dryly. His seriousness filled her with pride.
He rolled the seed between claws, mulling options. He sniffed again. The aroma entranced him...
"Makes my mouth water."
"Pardon?"
His words so out-of-left-field, even prim Skadi blurted a retort.
Saliva gathered instinctively. Not plain hunger—a deeper urge. This time, he trusted instinct.
"Skadi, stand guard. Tell Geron and Hegilson to stay back."
"W-Wendigo-nim? Wait—!!"
She sensed his intent and called desperately, but too late. He crunched the seed.
Countless roots and branches erupted from his head, coiling around his body. Skadi stared, dumbfounded.