Warriors Choose the Battlefield, But Not Their Return
In the homeland of the Blue Mane Tribe—a land they must one day return to—the eastern plains held a certain proverb: "A warrior can choose to head to the battlefield, but he cannot choose to return."
It might sound like utter nonsense at first glance, but seasoned warriors knew exactly what it meant. Humans could choose to start something, but they could never predict how it would end.
Lately, that proverb had been echoing relentlessly in Rextar's mind. His current predicament embodied it perfectly.
"Chief. Today again, warriors were ambushed by the spirit..."
"...I know."
Rextar clenched his teeth to suppress his rage. He bit down so hard that the warrior delivering the report flinched and stepped back, tense with fear. It seemed like the chief might lose control and swing his sword at any moment.
'Damn it! We haven't even properly clashed with those bastards yet—what a disgrace!'
Rextar swallowed his fury and shoved open the tent flap, storming outside. His gaze turned to the warriors who had barely survived the spirit's ambush.
Or could you even call it survival?
'Another one dead. That fucking spirit is toying with me, no doubt!'
At first, the number of survivors could be counted on one hand. Now, it had grown enough to fill both hands and more. As the tribe's leader, he should have been thrilled—but Rextar couldn't muster any joy.
A warrior, leaning on a comrade's shoulder as he limped along, stared blankly at Rextar and murmured.
"The mist... the mist..."
"Damn it. Enough with that cursed mist bullshit!"
Rextar couldn't hold back. He grabbed the barely escaped warrior by the collar and roared. Every time that word "mist" slipped out, the warriors would whisper and shoot him sidelong glances.
Zaken, who had been quietly watching, approached and gripped Rextar's arm.
"Chief. I understand your anger, but let him go. Treating a warrior returned from the brink of death like this goes against our code..."
"The brink of death? You idiots still don't get it! You're all falling for that spirit's petty tricks!"
Shaking off Zaken's hand, Rextar jabbed a finger at the warriors, unleashing his fury.
He knew exactly why they whispered and stared. The survivors had spread the warning they'd heard among the ranks.
'Step into the eye-mist, and you die.'
What he'd dismissed as the ravings of defeatist fools had multiplied, slowly eroding the warriors' resolve.
"You fools. No matter how strong the spirit is, it's still just a spirit. Once its mysticism runs dry, it can't rampage like this. It's trying to turn you into cowards so you'll abandon us on your own!"
His argument had logic, but the warriors' gazes weren't exactly welcoming. Even if he was right, they couldn't fathom why they had to keep fighting this pointless battle. What was there to gain here? Just wood, grass, and fruit—that was it.
'Why not just head back to the plains now?'
'He talks big without ever facing the spirit himself.'
'Has he really been enthralled by it?'
Sometimes, thoughts spoke louder than words. Rextar felt his gut twist at their irreverent stares.
'If only... if only I had full power!'
His father Galer, a warrior revered by all, had died suddenly, leaving Rextar with only half the authority. A leader's prestige was proven through deeds, but he'd had no chance to build any.
Dragging warriors into a forest where the only gain was human sacrifices—in such a half-baked state—naturally bred distrust. It was inevitable.
But inevitable or not, Rextar wasn't magnanimous enough to tolerate it.
'They can't even grasp the grand vision of strengthening the tribe!'
"Chief. I hate to say it, but maybe it's time to turn back..."
"Shut your mouth. Looks like all that warriors' respect has gone to your head."
As Zaken tried to persuade him, Rextar's blazing eyes locked onto him. His beast-like fangs ground together, poised to tear into flesh.
Yet Zaken's eyes remained still as a serene lake... and ice-cold. Not the gaze of a subordinate looking at his chief.
"Zaken. I know you have the warriors' respect. You earned it saving them at the risk of your life. But..."
Click.
"...defy my orders again, and I'll kill you in the most agonizing way possible."
Rextar half-drew the sword at his waist, crimson flames licking from the blade like a serpent's tongue. He radiated killing intent, as if ready to strike, delivering his final warning.
Their staring contest lasted an eternity, ending only when Zaken bowed his head.
"Forgive me. I only spoke my personal opinion for the tribe's future."
Rextar barely suppressed the urge to cleave Zaken's neck. He was mindful of the warriors watching them.
"...A mere warrior discussing the tribe's future. I'll let it slide this once—go calm the men."
As Rextar shoved Zaken aside and turned away, some warriors approached him, murmuring. He couldn't make out the words, but they were surely nothing good.
'Once this expedition ends, I'll take Zaken's head.'
It wasn't just personal grudge; as Blue Mane Tribe's chief, he couldn't tolerate a rival.
Rextar resolved to behead Zaken after this was over.
As he headed back to his tent, a warrior approached.
"What is it? Something wrong?"
"OneTon summons you, Chief."
Rextar flinched. A vein throbbed at the nape of his neck.
Not just the honorific for a spirit, but being summoned by it grated on him.
He kicked the warrior's shin hard enough to make the spirit-blessed man stagger.
"Do I look like a dog that comes running when that thing calls?!"
"Nngh... N-not that."
"Shut up!"
Zaken had the warriors' backing, but this one didn't. Rextar's blind rage lashed out unchecked.
The warrior begged forgiveness without resistance, enduring the blows. Only after he passed out did Rextar move on.
Insolence was insolence, but he still needed to hear what OneTon wanted.
At OneTon's tent, two warriors stood rigidly guarding the entrance. Their beastly features marked them as blessed by OneTon.
Rextar scowled at them.
"Why are you guarding this tent?"
"Out of respect for the spirit, we're volunteering."
Rextar barked a hollow laugh. Respect for a spirit? If such a thing existed, they'd be madmen—or con artists. Spirits deceived all living things; what better teachers for frauds?
Warriors had no reason to respect spirits, so these two were clearly lying to him.
"Sure. Respecting a spirit that uses humans as fodder and thinks itself the wisest of all creatures."
"......"
"But your 'respect' is none of my concern. Cut the crap and step aside. I need to see it."
The warriors glanced warily, then cautiously parted the tent flap.
"Ah, there you are. Took you long enough."
"...Do I seem like a dog that comes scampering at your call?"
OneTon, mid-feast on a human, licked its chops and chuckled. Rextar glared, irritated by the spirit's inexplicable amusement.
"The humans guarding my tent became proper dogs once I granted them power. But you take my strength and still act so uppity."
"Don't lump me in with that trash. Don't forget—you and I are strictly business."
"Ah, of course."
OneTon bared its teeth in laughter. Rextar gripped his sword hilt. The spirit found his fury quite entertaining.
Nothing had gone his way lately, but this foolish warrior danced exactly to his tune.
'If only the forest spirit were this level of fool.'
"Get to the point. Why did you summon me?"
"My beasts brought intel you'll like."
Sensing Rextar's rage nearing its limit, OneTon cut to the chase.
Its tail writhed, sketching a map of the forest. Observed through beasts' eyes, it was remarkably detailed—marking advance routes, obstacles, and warrior positions.
As the map expanded, Rextar's eyes gleamed. A vast clearing dominated the center.
"Can there really be such a wide clearing in this forest?"
"Beasts confirmed it—an old village site. Soil wasn't fertile enough, so the tribe abandoned it. But you'd find it useful, no?"
Rextar nodded. Secure enough space, and establishing a base was simple—trees were everywhere.
With a base, he could give the warriors proper rest. Even frightened, given time, he could restore discipline.
And in a prolonged war, the spirit—whose battles drained its mysticism—might retreat.
But there was a catch.
"What if it's a trap? You sure?"
"Possible. That's why I'll help you this time."
Rextar swallowed a curse. This mess stemmed from OneTon's greed, yet it spoke as if it were someone else's problem. Spirits' shamelessness never failed to astonish him.
OneTon rose, its massive bulk circling Rextar.
"My beasts will charge first. Unlike your lot, when I directly control them, they won't spare their lives—and that will smash any trap in one go."
"...Even so, facing a spirit isn't easy."
"It's already expended power on your men. Without eating humans like me to build mysticism, gathering it in a forest is tough."
When Rextar still hesitated, OneTon met his eyes. It saw the desire flickering there.
"And finally... as payment for the sacrifices so far, I'll share my power with you."
"!"
Before Rextar could react, OneTon's fangs nipped his arm. Shock gave way to a gasp as mysticism seeped into his blood.
As it coursed through his veins, his body transformed. Eyes flashed beast-like, fangs sharpened, muscles and bones twisted to match.
Rextar panted amid the thrilling surge. This was why, despite hating spirits, he couldn't drive them away. Power beyond human limits was a drug in itself.
"Ready?"
"...Of course."
Riding the euphoric wave of might, Rextar was certain. With this, he could face the spirit.
...Blissfully unaware of how gravely he'd underestimated the Wendigo.