Tidings of the Horde
After Hegilson boasted his silver tongue and departed, Wendigo gathered his wits.
My head's spinning. Or maybe I've rarely had a clear one to begin with.
Life's weariness had been something he'd half-expected since becoming a hulking deer-skulled monster. But this kind of fatigue? No one could've foreseen it.
He'd solved food, clothing, and shelter, yet who knew his very existence would be the root of all trouble?
Wendigo chewed and swallowed a deer leg, bone and all, seeking inner peace. The sweet-and-savory sauce was truly exquisite.
Yeah, it's all for survival. In a world like this, getting respect means dealing with incidents as a matter of course.
This wasn't a place where food arrived via delivery app. In the worst case, you might risk your life for a single loaf of bread.
With his mind at ease, even his thoughts turned positive. On second thought, problems might be few and far between.
The forest folk were tough by nature. Living in such harsh lands made humans hardy out of necessity. They tried to handle issues themselves rather than seeking outside help.
Besides, Wendigo was a spirit. No one would doubt his power, but his temperament? Everyone would suspect it. Even in dire straits, few would dare ask a spirit for aid.
...Surely that's how it would be.
Somehow, without realizing it, he'd become a merciful, benevolent, and wise spirit—but Wendigo's daily routine saw little change.
He pondered mysticism over talks with Skadi, hunted for exercise, and decided major village matters. That was it.
After about two months of peace, Wendigo concluded his worries were unfounded. The village was utterly serene.
"Peace is wonderful, isn't it, Geron?"
"Yes. All this is thanks to your merciful and benevolent—"
"Ah, Geron. Please, spare me the cringe-worthy flattery. Hearing that at Skadi's gatherings is torture enough."
"Hahaha. Understood."
Wendigo grimaced while chewing a ripe fruit, prompting Geron's laughter. Truly, a spirit unlike his appearance.
Worth serving, without a doubt.
Even tribal chiefs in the southern forests clung to authority and might for dignity. This spirit needed none of that.
He exuded dignity by mere presence, his character worthy of respect. Geron smiled warmly and continued.
"Peace is good, of course. Winter's coming soon—normally, we'd fret over food and cold."
This wasn't about shedding his chief's burdens. Most issues Skadi handled anyway. Cold was just a form of chill, easily banished by Wendigo's Origin.
"Skadi's totems keep the village warm enough."
"Indeed. And we'll harvest the crops blessed by your mysticism soon. No famine, just bounty—who could worry? Hahaha!"
It was luxury born of Wendigo's boundless mysticism. He hadn't done much himself, yet pride swelled.
Infused with my mysticism—close enough to my doing.
Not wrong, and no one would deny it. Even Skadi, who'd led the efforts, would've nodded in agreement.
They could winter peacefully like this.
Wait, usually thinking that summons trouble...
"Spirit, an outsider wishes to see you. Shall I let them in?"
"My bad premonitions always hit the mark."
"Send them away?"
Wendigo pondered, chewing fruit. The village was stable, winter near—everyone cautious. Turning away a visitor might breed grudge, but retaliation would be tough.
A village with a spirit? Their home likely had none, making revenge futile.
Still, hearing them out can't hurt.
Isolation wasn't guaranteed. Better to meet as the superior party sooner than later.
"Tell them to wait. Geron, clear the food."
"Yes. I'll call people to tidy up."
At Geron's order, they cleared the meal and straightened the space. Soon, Wendigo commanded in a grave tone.
"Let them enter."
The door opened, and a man stepped in. Sturdy build, unhealed scars, unkempt hair. The wild-man eyed the room warily.
Then he startled, stumbling back.
Muscles rippled under tough hide and skin, crowned by a fierce deer-skull glare. Wendigo's form intimidated, his aura chilling spines.
"No need to fear. I look the part, but I don't eat people."
"S-sorry!"
Wendigo knew it wouldn't help, but tried soothing him anyway. The man knelt in shock.
"Right. You braved fear for a reason. Speak—what brings you here?"
The man hesitated. Wendigo scented his turmoil: chaotic confusion. He'd come seeking solutions but doubted his choice.
Wendigo opted to ease his wariness.
"My manners—guest arrives, and no tea? Let's chat over a cup."
"No, how could I impose on a spirit?!"
"It's fine. Drink. You look worn; rest a bit in times like these."
Geron brought hot tea from outside. None for Wendigo—normal cups couldn't match his size; he drank separately.
"Good for the body—finish it."
"Th-thank you."
The man sipped awkwardly. Bitter and faintly sweet, harmonious on the tongue. He gasped in awe.
"Such tea exists?!"
"Tasty, and restores vigor."
The man's eyes trembled. Unexpected hospitality melted his tension, warming his heart.
With the mood softened, Wendigo probed properly.
"Haven't introduced myself. I'm Wendigo, the spirit rooted here."
"I-I'm Ivan of the Bearren tribe. Herbalist and warrior."
Unusual combo, but common among forest folk. In ambush-prone lands, all doubled as fighters.
"Sorry, no clue where Bearren's settled."
"Natural—many small tribes, none grand."
Forests didn't favor large groups. Even Nidhorn Village was one tribe entire.
Chit-chat warmed the air. Wendigo cut to the chase.
"You braved harsh paths to reach us. Why?"
"...Lately, uneasy stirrings deep in the forest."
"Uneasy stirrings? Evil spirits?"
Spirits or evil ones—both disasters to folk—but evil seemed worse, more likely.
Ivan shook his head. Evil spirits or spirits proper, they'd prepare. Lowly evils could fall to desperate humans; true spirits lost interest if appeased.
"Not evil spirits. We saw a horde of monsters."
"Monsters, huh. Goblins? Ghouls? Big spiders?"
Wendigo listed from Skadi's lore—all local dwellers.
Ivan shook his head, face grave.
"Don't doubt my words."
"Out with it."
Wendigo's nonchalant reply drew Ivan's solemn report.
"Those monsters—and maybe more—formed a single horde, heading south."
"...That warranted the dramatics? Lighter than expected."
"!?"
Ivan gaped at the anticlimax. Monsters varied by race, natural foes or prey—yet united, marching south. He and his warriors had rubbed their eyes in disbelief.
"You knew?"
"Nah. But a steadfast forest man seeking another tribe's aid? Must be serious."
Wendigo repackaged How should I know? neatly. Ivan swelled with emotion at the praise.
Truly, kind spirits exist! Hegilson's tales were true!
As Ivan composed himself, Wendigo pondered. Unavoidable trouble. Monsters' goal unknown, but hostile—collision inevitable.
Fleeing? No— he'd just adapted.
Being chased out? Pass.
Confront the horde, then...
"Big deal indeed. Tribe-scale movement means many pointless deaths. I'll help."
"Y-you will?!"
Wendigo nodded. Ivan burst into tears, overwhelmed.
Truly benevolent!
Secure a core, others will rally for survival.
Not benevolence—efficiency. One body (two with Skadi) couldn't cover all. Better unite than risk uncertainty.
A little hassle secured the village—why balk?
"We'll visit nearby tribes, form an alliance. My guarantee should sway them."
"Thank you! Truly!"
"I get it—stop the tears. Much ahead."
"Yes!"
Ivan swallowed sobs, eyes blazing warrior fire. No lack there.
Wendigo nodded, satisfied.
Grown man crying's off-putting.
Unaware, Ivan burned with admiration. Ignorance is bliss, sometimes.