The Mad Spirit's Deception
Wendigo shifted his body to check the wooden puppet's condition. It felt a bit sluggish and weaker, but there was no major hindrance to its movement, and he could clearly see OneTon's rotting face—so its vision was fine too.
"Breaking our promise and showing up right in front of me? You've got some nerve. Got any excuses...?"
'It works.'
OneTon's words bounced off Wendigo's ears without sinking in. It was only natural—he had no intention of listening. But it wasn't deliberate ignoring; he was too busy marveling at his own ability.
'Imitating that wolf bastard actually paid off.'
Wendigo prided himself on having a pretty objective grasp of his own strengths. Immense power, a somewhat(?) intimidating face, and bottomless mystery like the vast forest—those were his advantages. His flaw? A shocking lack of creativity.
Why else would someone who could manipulate frost and plants keep churning out weapons to fight with? If anyone suggested it was for the romance of it, Wendigo would have scowled. Romance in a world where your life hung by a thread? Nah. It was just poverty of imagination—he stuck to the easiest things that came to mind.
'If I'd known I'd end up in a hellhole like this, maybe I'd have become a writer.'
Thank goodness wielding mysticism only demanded intuition and imagination; otherwise, he'd have been stuck surviving on brute strength alone. In that sense, OneTon made for an excellent teacher. Unlike the Thorn Boar or Gikas, he'd shown real mystic-based abilities.
Truly grateful, you son of a—
"Don't ignore me!!!"
—Ignoring? I heard every word.
OneTon barked, and Wendigo denied it with a straight face. He was so brazen that even OneTon—a lifetime con artist and betrayer—hesitated for a split second.
'Is he really not...?'
—More importantly, can you show some other tricks? Not this—something real, like actually splitting your body in two.
"...May every curse from the underworld and skies hunt you down!"
In response to Wendigo's polite question, OneTon bulged his bloodshot eyes and spat a curse. Wendigo had half-hoped, but what nonsense! OneTon felt his guts twist, but Wendigo had been dead serious.
You had to learn from enemies if there was something to gain. Especially guys like OneTon—vicious, enemy-riddled, yet long-lived. They survived because they had real skills.
—Come on, just show me?
"Shut your trap! I know you're no ordinary spirit—how dare you mock me!"
He looked down on Wendigo, but OneTon acknowledged he wasn't some scrub spirit. The pure, pristine mysticism forming his body wasn't something a weakling could amass. He couldn't gauge the quantity, but one thing was clear: this spirit was seasoned, if not quite on his level!
"A spirit like you must know a trick or two of spirit shamanism. And you want a demonstration? How much of a joke do you think I am?!"
......
Wendigo burned to retort, but he kept his mouth shut. Clearing up the misunderstanding wouldn't help—and OneTon wouldn't believe him anyway.
"More importantly... you dare break our deal and touch my underlings? You really want war?!"
—...What're you talking about? I only moved because you broke the promise first.
"...What?"
OneTon reflexively shot back, dumbfounded. Him break the promise? He hadn't even prepped his backstab yet!
Wendigo crossed his arms and declared boldly.
—The village you were about to raid pledged loyalty to me just an hour ago. I was merely protecting my own.
Wendigo stated the lie as pure truth. Sure, the village had voiced hopes of joining once they grasped the truth—but before the raid, they were outsiders. Obvious fib, but OneTon was flabbergasted by something else.
"...Hold on—what? Protecting your underlings? You serious right now?"
OneTon couldn't compute. Spirits didn't go deaf, so he hadn't misheard... 'Why the hell would a spirit protect underlings?!'
To OneTon, underlings weren't for protecting—they were tools to manipulate. If it were just his view, fine—but every spirit he'd met shared it. He wasn't exceptionally evil; spirits were arrogant pricks across the board.
"You mad spirit! And that's your excuse?! What kind of idiot spirit wastes mysticism shielding underlings?!"
"...Not the words I'd expect from an enemy, but... you sure you're really a spirit?"
—What's the rule saying spirits can't cherish their followers? It's only natural to look after those who toil for you.
OneTon and Rektar stared at Wendigo like he was a lunatic. Wendigo shrugged it off—he was used to those horrified looks by now.
OneTon's stomach turned at the nauseating reply, but it confirmed his suspicions. Settling in this forest was weird enough; now it was crystal clear.
"A crazy spirit... I was the fool for dealing with you."
'That nuts? Nah... wait, that beastkin's glare says I look plenty insane.'
Wendigo figured if he was already the mad one, might as well lean in.
—Alright, spill it. You broke our deal and attacked my people. How're you gonna make this right?
"Cut the crap! You tricked me first—now you want compensation? And let's not forget, you slaughtered my underlings too!"
Rektar nodded, glaring at Wendigo. From Sekunda's tales alone, he could picture the brutal massacre.
Wendigo eyed Rektar. It was just a puppet linked by mind, but Rektar tensed—Wendigo might cast spells through it!
—Rektar, was it? From your aura, seems you're a big shot in this village.
"...Chief of the Blue Mane tribe."
—I see. You a warrior?
Tribe chiefs were always warriors, and he was no disgrace to the title. At such an obvious question, Rektar nodded.
"I am."
—Good. If you're a true warrior, answer me this: does an honorable one hesitate to kill foes?
"A real warrior fears no blade against enemies."
—Then slaying those who raid your people—isn't that just what an honorable warrior does? Why should I have spared yours?
"......"
Rektar had no comeback. Nothing solid came to mind. As chief and warrior, drawing steel after his tribe took hits was duty—shirking it was dishonor.
OneTon shot Rektar a pitiful look. What a useless chief!
"Enough sophistry. Final warning: interfere again, and you'll regret it!"
—Seems you're the one regretting already. Ditch the bullshit and let's talk something useful...
"RAAAAAAGH!!!"
OneTon had a talent for pissing people off, but Wendigo outdid him. Spouting calm nonsense impossible to refute? Infuriating.
Finally, OneTon snapped and demolished the puppet—ripping the head, smashing the torso. Still seething.
"Rektar! Ready the warriors!"
"OneTon, we can't throw them in recklessly. You know best how tough spirits are."
"I'll help. Take my beasts!"
"Hm... your beasts."
OneTon offered magnanimously, but Rektar hesitated. Beasts were strong—but only if controlled. Already grumbling about raids for sacrifices (er, kidnappings), now pamper temperamental beasts? No way. OneTon alone maxed his rage daily; he couldn't afford that blunder.
"One more promise: make your beasts obey the warriors unquestioningly."
"...Fine. Until that damn deer's mystic is shredded to bits, my beasts will serve your warriors loyally."
OneTon swallowed his gripe and swore. Beasts bowing to humans irked him, but killing Wendigo was worth it.
'I'll make you die for sure!'
"...Connection's cut. Could've squeezed out more."
"Interrupting like that mid-talk. What a nasty-tempered spirit, sir."
Skadi, guarding Wendigo, shook her staff irritably, cursing OneTon. Wendigo nodded in agreement. The constant rage screamed volcanic temper.
'Didn't curse once, and he blew up—guy's a powder keg.'
Skadi would've marveled, 'Lord Wendigo could kill with words!'—but sadly, she hadn't seen it.
Stepping out, village leaders waited solemnly.
"Spirit, shall we move now?"
Geron—fully armed—asked. Wendigo nodded.
"Yeah. His temper says he'll hit the forest soon. How long till messengers reach the villages? They'll need to arrive quick for you to act freely."
"Faster than his lot, at least. Unlike them, we're at home in these woods."
"Plus, snow won't melt for ages—they'll take forever pushing in."
The forest was no easy trek. Plains warriors? Forget it. Wendigo figured time was on their side.
"Skadi, got what I asked for?"
"Yes! Not tough shamanism, and simple materials—done quick."
Skadi fetched the corner item and offered it. A totem. Her carved runes mattered, but the head—a deer skull—most.
Wendigo infused mysticism. Its eyes glowed blue; jaws parted, spewing fog.
"Perfect. Deploy this on contact—they'll falter hard."
"Great for cover... but stop them?"
"Don't worry. It'll work wonders."
Wendigo stroked the skull confidently. Fog alone wouldn't scare them, sure.
But...
'Make 'em tremble at the sight—and after warriors get massacred in it, fear's inevitable.'