Shaky Hierarchies and Forest Ambushes
Unlike Wendigo's forces, which boasted a solid chain of command, the Blue Mane Tribe's power structure was perilously unstable. It wasn't due to complicated blood ties or factional infighting—nothing so sophisticated. The root cause was the absence of a supreme leader.
I'm the chief of the Blue Mane Tribe. So... shouldn't that spirit leeching off us have to obey me?
These guys are begging me for spells and blessings, so it's only natural they follow my orders, right?
If either OneTon or Rektar had yielded even a little, they might have formed something resembling a proper force. But both were consumed by their lust for power...
"Hahaha! Finally, that spirit bastard understands me! Yeah, command belongs to the chief, of course!"
It was no surprise, then, that Rektar burst into laughter upon seizing control of the beasts from OneTon. He gazed at the beasts, now meekly obeying his commands—a far cry from their usual troublemaking. Their grimacing faces as they followed orders filled him with immense satisfaction. Riding atop a massive wolf only made his shoulders rise toward the sky in triumph.
"Hehehe. In the end, even that spirit had to kneel before the chief's majesty. Congratulations, truly!"
"Haha, your flattery's over the top! But it's not entirely wrong, so I'll forgive you this once!"
A ratkin sidled up, offering sycophantic praise, and Rektar bared his teeth in delight. Yet he remained vigilant. He knew full well how cunning and sly OneTon was. For now, the spirit had handed over beast control out of accountability for his blunder and personal grudge—but the moment Rektar slipped, OneTon would pounce.
I absolutely won't let that happen!
Though he couldn't fully dominate the tribe because of OneTon, Rektar was a capable warrior. Surviving dozens of battles alongside his brothers and father since childhood proved it.
In Rektar's eyes, Wendigo had at least one clear weakness.
"Surround the forest as widely as possible. Send the beasts in first to locate villages, then strike them all at once. For some reason, the forest spirit is protecting the humans."
"Uh... really? I have a hard time believing that."
"...I can hardly believe it myself, but that's what happened."
Even his loyal warriors shot him skeptical glances, but Rektar was certain. Why else would the spirit go out of its way to save people? Whether bound by an ancient pact or a shaman's contract, there was undoubtedly some reason it had to protect humans.
Even a spirit can't stop an army alone.
By spreading out and hitting multiple villages simultaneously, the spirit would be thrown into chaos. Of course, he expected resistance from the forest folk, but Rektar dismissed it. What could those villagers do against battle-hardened warriors and bloodthirsty beast packs?
"Chief, we've positioned the warriors as widely as possible."
"Good. Deploy the ready units first!"
Rektar brimmed with confidence. His plan was a bit improvised, but solid enough. Watching his warriors enter the forest, he thought to himself that what mattered now was courage against the unknown and quick adaptability.
However...
"Chief! Big trouble—the paths are blocked by trees and rocks!"
"...What?"
A ghost village, abandoned by its inhabitants. Wendigo had made it his forward base, preparing for battle amid the flurry of bustling warriors. Geron approached and reported.
"Report: The tribes who've accepted our proposal are blocking the passes and en route."
"Excellent. That must have thrown them into a panic."
"Yes. Anyone unaware of the forest folk's strategy would be."
True to its nickname "the end of the world," those who lived in this forest were, for the most part, the desperate and forsaken. That alone was reason enough for outsiders to scorn them as losers and their descendants. But that was a misconception born of ignorance.
The weak never survived this brutal, extreme wilderness in the first place. These were strong, wise people—and they proved it now.
Even in retreat, they'd felled trees and rolled boulders to block paths, flipping off their enemies. In a forest already tough to traverse, the few easy routes were now ruined; the invaders would have to hack through the hard way. They'd even burned or carried off everything from their villages, leaving nothing worth taking even if one reached them.
Even I'd hate fighting here. All the hassle, no rewards.
Warriors of this era lived by the sword—literally. Few were battle maniacs; most just wanted big hauls from a single clash. No loot? Unhappiness was inevitable. Risking life for nothing would frustrate even a saint. For now, as one tribe, they'd grit their teeth and hope for later gains, but...
"They won't get what they want. Geron, start moving the warriors."
"What about Skadi?"
"You support her. She's a tough one, but I can't help worrying."
"Haha, calling Skadi a tough one? Someone so kind and gentle? No way."
"......"
Geron chuckled mischievously, as if it were a cheeky joke. Skadi occasionally showed mad ferocity, but at heart, she was kind and people-loving. A gentlewoman like her, a "tough one"? Geron was convinced she'd never slain so much as a beast.
I should tell him about when we first met Skadi... Nah, better preserve her image.
Wendigo wondered what face Geron would make learning she'd impaled two men, but he held back with effort.
"Caw~!"
A large raven swooped down, perching on Geron's shoulder—a messenger bird raised by the forest folk. Geron deftly untied the leather strip from its leg and checked the message.
"A good start. They've given up breaching the blocks and are taking the guided paths."
"Perfect. See you later, then. Wait for my signal at the rendezvous."
With that, Wendigo's form vanished into the forest. Geron stared after him, thinking,
Whoever's facing the spirit lord... my deepest condolences.
If it were him, he'd have surrendered or fled outright. Shaking off the thought, Geron moved to carry out orders.
...Skadi's pouting at missing the send-off was just a bonus.
"Arf! Arf arf!"
"Grroooar!"
"Quiet down, you damn beasts! Move in silence!"
Sending beasts ahead into the forest had seemed smart, but the Blue Mane warriors couldn't laugh. First problem: no proper roads.
The plains-roaming Blue Manes weren't fazed by rough terrain per se. But these "paths" exceeded rough—they were outright unrecognizable as trails. Worse, the few usable ones were deliberately wrecked by the forest folk.
Even renowned nomadic riders had to proceed on foot. One slip, and horse and rider would meet their end. The beasts from OneTon were rideable in theory, but...
Who knows what mischief those things might pull if I climb on.
One bite to the leg, and I'm off to the gods.
No warrior here was fool enough to trust their lower half to the spirit's minions. Who knew what the beasts might do?
"Damn place. How do people even live here?"
"Cold, gloomy—creepy as hell. Plains aren't paradise, but compared to this? Heaven."
"Is that the issue? Fuck, there's nothing worth looting. Why'd the chief pick this shithole...?"
The warriors nodded, faces sour. Second problem: the forest had nothing to plunder.
Villages they'd found were just ruins, stripped bare. No metal expected, but zero food? Even lifelong raiders were stunned by such thorough spite.
"Losers' spawn, alright. Escaped faster than greased pigs."
"Wanna go back to the plains..."
"You there—shut it and move!"
As grumbling intensified, great warrior Bokun bellowed. Left unchecked, morale would plummet. But shouting wasn't the fix. The warriors' glares at Bokun weren't friendly.
He'd profited from the forest raid, after all. OneTon had blessed a few warriors as payment for sacrifices—some Rektar's allies, others who'd curried favor directly. To OneTon scheming for tribe control, they were useful tools. Bokun was one.
His bear-kin traits were exaggerated: bulkier, fiercer. Naturally, warriors despised tribe traitors cozying up to the spirit.
Damn bootlicker. Stirring shit with spirit scraps.
Someone snap that bastard's neck already.
Factional discord worsened, glares flying, tension thickening. Then the final nail...
"Bokun. Fog's rolling in."
"Call me great warrior! And I see it! Think my eyes are ornaments?!"
Bokun snapped at the warrior's warning. As if mere fog warranted halting! He readied to beat an example—then froze at a glint beyond the mist.
Shrieeeek!
The gleam hurtled toward him with deadly screech. Halfway there, Bokun recognized it: a massive, transparent ice spear!
Can't dodge!
Instinct screamed impossibility; he raised his right arm. Too late, but his wooden shield, bear pelt, and iron muscles might block it...
Crackcraaaack!
The spear pulverized the shield, skewered his arm clean through. Pelt and muscle meant nothing. The razor tip pierced his chest, heart frozen by searing cold. Bokun's lips blued; he collapsed with a thud.
Icy fog swept over the warriors. Instinctively drawing weapons, they glared toward the spear's origin.
Beyond the swirling mist... something watched them.