The Wandering Shaman's Blunder
As Geron recited the contents of the messenger bird's note, Wendigo let out a deep sigh.
There really are such things as unlucky names.
Of course, the problem could have arisen even if they hadn't named the wolf OneTon. The fact that they'd been tracking the wolf meant they'd had their eyes on the village even before arriving. Still, the petty, foul-tempered bastard's name just made his irritation bubble up unnecessarily. Like how an ugly mug stays ugly no matter what it does.
Geron stored the messenger note in the repository and asked Wendigo for his opinion.
"What shall we do?"
"...The one chasing OneTon is a shaman, right?"
"Yes. Though it doesn't seem the villagers recognized him as one. He probably proclaimed himself a shaman."
Wendigo tapped his claws rhythmically on the armrest of his jade throne, lost in thought. Chasing OneTon was water under the bridge. What mattered now was the shaman's purpose in following. If it was personal grudge, things would get messy, no doubt.
But just chasing him off feels like a waste.
Truth be told, setting aside the reason, this was the third shaman Wendigo had encountered. The one contracted to the thorn boar hadn't left room for talk or persuasion, but this one was different. At least he hadn't caused a scene—that suggested room for dialogue.
I don't expect to recruit him, but it'd be nice to squeeze something useful out of him.
He pondered what he could extract from the shaman, but nothing came to mind. In cases like this, agonizing over unknowns was pointless; better to consult an expert.
"Geron. Send someone to fetch Skadi."
"As expected, Lady Skadi would be better suited for such matters, yes?"
"Mm. With my knowledge, the best I can do is rob him outright."
Wendigo stated robbery so matter-of-factly, but Geron didn't flinch. It was absurd, yet fitting for a spirit. And as a man of the forest, Geron was well accustomed to the law of the jungle...
Still, he won't say that in front of Lady Skadi.
Geron ordered a warrior waiting outside to summon Skadi.
A short while later, warriors opened the doors, and Skadi rode in on OneTon. The wolf panted happily as ever, his face beaming innocently.
They say you can't spit on a smiling face. Not wrong.
Wendigo eyed OneTon suspiciously. No matter how he looked at it, it wasn't the wolf's fault, yet the face of that wolf spirit kept overlapping with OneTon's.
Wendigo forcibly tore his gaze from OneTon and waved to Skadi. She smiled softly and bowed to him.
"Lord Wendigo! I heard you needed me... Has something troublesome happened?"
"Mm... Seems a shaman has come to the village."
Wendigo explained the shaman's arrival and asked if there was anything to gain from him. Skadi pondered, fiddling with her delicate lips, then offered her personal guess on the shaman's identity.
"In my opinion, the shaman who appeared in the village isn't anyone remarkable. Most likely a wandering shaman."
"Wandering shaman. Like the one contracted to that thorn boar?"
"No. Actually, shamans contracted to spirits don't wander much."
To Skadi, raised under her strict mother's watch, uncontracted shamans barely qualified as shamans... but not everyone was as rigorous as her mother. To ordinary folk, handling mysticism was enough to earn the title.
Those born with spiritual affinity and blessed with luck were recognized, apprenticed to elder shamans. Even self-serving shamans wanted to leave a legacy before death. These lucky few learned spells and wisdom, contracting spirits their masters had painstakingly persuaded, gaining some of their power... But such fortune was rare.
Most shamans took Great Nature as their master, self-teaching from its midst.
"Then the one contracted to the thorn boar... Ryuk?"
"Lord Spirit. It's Ryurik, not Ryuk."
"Close enough. So that guy was pretty skilled, huh?"
"Yes. The tree giant that faced you, Lord Wendigo—if made by a wandering shaman, it'd take a lifetime's effort, if even possible."
Wendigo felt disappointed. If even Ryurik was top-tier among wanderers, this village visitor might be worse.
Geron caught Wendigo's shoulders subtly slumping and gently prodded Skadi.
"Still, he's a shaman. Surely there's something to gain?"
"There might be?"
"As expected!"
Geron beamed at Wendigo, who perked up at the prospect. But...
"However... to get it, we'd have to strip the shaman bare. As a wanderer, everything he carries is his worldly possession."
At Skadi's firm words, Wendigo sighed as if he'd expected it.
"If you wish, Lord Wendigo, I'll seize him and take everything."
"Lady Skadi, even in jest...!"
Geron thought it a joke, but her steely gaze left him aghast. She stared at Wendigo like she'd act on it immediately, ready to gut him.
Wendigo found the proposal tempting but shook his head after a moment.
"No. We don't even know if he's malicious—starting with robbery is... Geron, what did you just eat?"
"Fruit good for calming the mind and body. Lady Skadi gave it to me recently."
"Why'd you... No, eat what you want. Sorry."
Geron clutched his fruit pouch so hard it crunched; Wendigo apologized quickly. The resentful glare suggested he thought Skadi's radical(?) idea stemmed from Wendigo...
She's more extreme than me, if anything.
But such logic wouldn't sway Geron, who saw Skadi as a daughter. Wendigo gladly shouldered the misunderstanding. He wasn't entirely innocent anyway.
"For now, let's invite the shaman in. Talk about OneTon... If he won't back down, we can deal with him then."
"Yes. I'll send villagers to escort him here."
Wendigo hoped the shaman was reasonable. He had no desire for needless bloodshed.
The wandering shaman, Isaac, found his situation intriguing.
I had no idea such a large force had sprung up in these woods.
Isaac was northern-born but no forest shaman. He'd never have entered if not for the wolf fleeing here. Forced inside by the chase, the forest defied his prior knowledge.
Not just villages neatly divided like territories, but that mysticism emanating from there...
Isaac sipped his tea, peering out the window. Dense darkness shrouded the depths, but it couldn't hide the mysticism. Pure yet faintly ominous, it wafted subtly from the woods, tickling a shaman's curiosity. But his wonder didn't stop there.
He recalled sights en route.
The land brims with vitality, but livestock infused with mysticism? That's no natural occurrence.
Land could be invigorated by human effort, but imbuing livestock with mysticism? Beyond mortal means.
Someone's definitely up to something in these woods!
Most would flee such anomalies, but Isaac pressed on. True shamans sometimes risked life itself.
"Shaman, sir. Permission granted. We'll escort you to the temple."
"Mm."
A warrior—lower body clad in pants and leather, torso bare—spoke politely. Isaac scanned him sternly. Shamans needed broad skills, but Isaac excelled at gauging levels. The wolf-pelted, bare-chested look screamed savage, but the bone helmet at his waist made Isaac's eyes gleam. It bore deep, complex mysticism—beyond Isaac's own capabilities.
To carry such an artifact, he must be a high-ranking warrior.
Enchanted items were treasures; ordinary warriors couldn't wield them without strength to protect—or they'd become poison.
Isaac dropped his stern facade, fawning amiably.
"Your build screams mighty warrior... Surely you hold high status in the village?"
"Haha, you jest, shaman sir. I wouldn't claim low status, but not that high."
"...?"
The warrior waved it off as banter; Isaac eyed him puzzled. That helmet suited a huscarl guarding the chief at best...
Flattered, the warrior thumped his helmet and chatted.
"Our village has a shaman whose skill reaches the heavens. She made this treasure for us. Many warriors besides me have..."
He gushed about Skadi, village pride and idol: banishing cold, healing sick, sharing dreams and hope...
These ignorant fools.
Isaac nodded along, inwardly tsking. Textbook case of blind devotion. But not useless—half might be true if she crafted such treasures.
Regrettable losing the wolf... but this could be a greater boon.
He recalled the massive white wolf he'd hunted. Its mysticism wasn't immense, but precious to a wanderer like him. Initially for spells, now the wolf seemed trivial.
That shaman the warrior praised must be a key figure in this alliance.
Isaac pondered apprenticing under this mystery shaman. The helmet's craft suggested age, but possible.
"We've arrived. Enter, and temple guards will escort you."
"Ah, thank you."
The temple awed with grandeur and potent mysticism, tensing Isaac. Bone-helmeted warriors and wolves guarded the entrance. Their stares chilled him.
The warrior spoke true.
Not mere escorts, but guards wore such treasures. Isaac gawked admiringly. Wolves sniffed him; fearing attack, he gripped his dagger. Warriors yanked leashes, scolding.
"You mutts! What's this rudeness?!"
"Sorry. They like people—excited by outsiders."
"N-No problem."
Wolves whined as dragged off; Isaac rubbed his neck, waving it away humbly. Warriors smiled—unseen under helmets.
Doors opened; Isaac entered. Many bustled: filling baskets with vegetables, inspecting dressed meat...
...A temple handling food?
"Shaman sir. Follow me."
"Ah, sorry. Got distracted."
Isaac's doubt lingered unanswered as he followed inward. A massive door loomed; he swallowed dryly. Chilling aura made him shiver. A burly guard called inside briefly.
"You may enter."
"...Thank you."
Isaac sharpened his senses and stepped in. Tense, he faced... a colossal jade throne and seated giant.
Isaac calmly surveyed. The guard had signaled someone inside, yet no souls visible.
What hideous taste in statues.
Staring at the throne's giant, he critiqued forest folk aesthetics. Its mighty mysticism screamed shaman-made. He'd heard imperial shamans or mages built such abominations for cults...
Isaac muttered unwittingly.
"Even so, decorating with a deer's skull is..."
"It's not decoration—it's my real head."
"...Eh?"
A voice echoed; Isaac whipped around. Still no one. Spine tingling, he looked up at the statue's head.
"Right. You came chasing the wolf to the village..."
"Gaaahhh!!! Th-the statue's talking!?"
As the statue—no, Wendigo—spoke, Isaac yelped, drawing his dagger. Wendigo stared, baffled.
Even for a shaman, that's too dim-witted.
Wendigo decided to lower his assessment.