Shamans Confront the Towering Wendigo

The shamans faced the colossal Wendigo, boasting his enormous frame. They steadied their trembling hearts and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠peered at him through their Spirit Eyes. Having just spent time with what they thought was the real Wendigo, they couldn't believe the being before them. A body brimming with mysticism—could that have been nothing more than a clone?

'This is insane...'

The shamans shuddered at a mysticism incomparable to what they'd sensed moments ago. It was a harmonious blend of myriad essences, impossible to pin down to a single attribute.

'How can a single spirit harbor such diverse mysticism!'

'And this might not even be the end of it... This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance.'

Before the Wendigo could utter a word, the shamans dropped to their knees. An irresistible temptation gripped them—one no shaman could resist: the promise that the mysticism bestowed by the spirit before them could elevate them to higher realms.

The Wendigo stared at the kneeling, quivering shamans with a baffled expression. He hadn't said anything yet, and here they were, prostrating themselves. He subtly turned his head to glance at Geron.

Geron, sensing the weight of the Wendigo's gaze, offered advice. "Say something, my lord. Their demeanor suggests genuine loyalty to you."

'What am I supposed to say...'

As Geron averted his eyes like it was someone else's problem, the Wendigo sighed deeply. The shamans flinched at the sound, unaware why he'd let out such a heavy exhale.

'Does he dislike us?'

'Is it because so few passed the test?'

Unsure of the reason, they worried, but the Wendigo had no intention of harming them. If he had, he'd have slaughtered them all in the cave.

After eyeing the shamans for a moment, the Wendigo spoke. "Shamans, raise your heads and introduce yourselves, one by one. We'll start from the left."

"Yes! I am Osa, shaman of the Knorr tribe. Through my tattoos, I..."

Starting with the female shaman, they each launched into their best self-introductions, eager to prove their worth. The Wendigo listened silently, his imposing presence leaving them tense for the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first time in ages. With no reactions or nods, they couldn't gauge his thoughts.

'Hmm... Even listening, I can't tell what use they might have.'

The Wendigo had no real opinions. Shamanic arts were still too arcane and incomprehensible to him. He zoned out, absentmindedly focusing on Skadi's ice necklace.

Skadi nodded with a beaming smile, hidden from the shamans' view. The reason the Wendigo had gone to such lengths to recruit these outsiders he barely cared about was surprisingly mundane.

'As my domain expands, Skadi's been overworked. If I pay these guys decently and put them to task, she'll have some breathing room.'

Setting aside their outsider status, the shamans were perfect replacements for Skadi.

'You can't overwork people—it's never good.'

Skadi was exceptional, researching spells even while handling duties, but who wouldn't welcome more free time? No creature, beast or otherwise, disliked freedom.

"...So if the great spirit permits, we shall engage in a fair and satisfactory transaction..."

"I've heard enough. Contracting with all of you might be a stretch, but we'll make a deal."

"!"

The shamans gaped at the Wendigo in shock. They'd pegged him as extraordinary, but contracting with five shamans at once? Unheard of.

At his gesture, Geron bowed and fetched the prepared contracts. As Geron handed them out, the shamans received them reverently and read slowly.

"The contractor shall obey the spirit and Skadi's orders for the stipulated period... No offerings or rituals?"

"Don't harm the forest folk unless they attack first? As a condition?"

"Don't spread rumors about what you've seen or gained in the forest. In life-threatening situations, disclose only what's demanded...?"

Confusion spread across their faces. This bore no resemblance to typical spirit contracts. Spirits usually demanded sacrifices, rituals, or shamanic feats they couldn't perform themselves—not these odd terms.

As they faltered, the Wendigo leaned forward, glaring. "What's wrong? Planning to harm the forest folk?"

"N-no, of course not! Why would we do such a thing?"

They hastily denied it and refocused. After poring over the documents, realization dawned: this was an employment contract.

"Um, what does 'guaranteed rest' mean here?"

"You need time for personal research, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but..."

His matter-of-fact response left them speechless. What tasks warranted such terms? They lacked the guts to ask the Wendigo directly and glanced at Skadi instead.

Skadi sought his permission with a look; he nodded, and she spoke. "Nothing grand. Patrol the forest for anomalies, gather herbs when the forest folk fall ill..."

"Th-that's what you're contracting us for?"

"Lord Wendigo truly cares for his people."

Her casual affirmation horrified them. A spirit that cares for humans? Absurd.

...Yet the contract proved it. As cognitive dissonance set in and they whispered, the Wendigo grumbled impatiently.

"I'm dealing with you openly, without deceit, yet you keep doubting me."

"F-forgive us. This is our first such contract."

"Fine. Let's discuss the rest—starting with compensation. Considering why you came to this forest, I'll pay at least what Isaac took: ice crystals or equivalent."

"Really!?"

Forgetting decorum, they shouted. The Wendigo nodded calmly—ice crystals were trivial for him to produce.

He moved to discuss rest periods, but...

"If that's true, we'll sign immediately!"

"Shall we use blood ink?"

"......"

Their resolute faces and drawn daggers left him dumbfounded. Accepting so eagerly felt like scamming naive fools. And blood oaths? Overkill.

"Blood ink? Don't be ridiculous. Treat your bodies with care. Geron, give them quills and ink."

Geron grimaced but complied, heading out. Meanwhile, the shamans whispered.

"Offering such generous pay with these terms."

"Maybe he really does care for people."

Of all reasons, compensation? The Wendigo sighed inwardly in exasperation.

After the shamans signed (no blood involved) and followed Skadi, the Wendigo chewed a fruit snack, grumbling. "I based it on Skadi, but as you said, Geron, outside shamans are stranger than I thought."

"Hrm... Hate to say it, but your contract wasn't exactly normal either, my lord."

"Hm? Was it unfair somehow?"

"......"

Geron stared piercingly. Really clueless? As silence stretched, he explained. "It's too fair—that's the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠odd part."

"Oh? Have you grown drunk on power by my side, Geron? Contracts should be fair."

"Crunch. I live better now, sure, but if I'm power-drunk, then outside lords are lost in love with it."

Visibly indignant, Geron chewed an herb Skadi had given him. Power-hungry exploitation was the norm; laws and morals were mere tools. Few considered fairness in this era—deals baked it in.

"You could've demanded they teach all their spells to Skadi. No one would blink."

"That feels too self-serving... Besides, Skadi'll figure out their arts herself."

"But think of the gain for the forest if we extract everything before they leave? Wasting this chance feels regrettable."

"Regrettable? This contract's to make them mine."

"Pardon?"

Geron blinked at the unforeseen twist. Using them, yes—but recruiting fully?

"Screening them taught me one thing: good shamans are rare."

"Obviously. They wield envied, feared power."

"Exactly. So why not have the good ones serve me? I hold what they drool over, after all."

To claim people, shake their hearts and offer fair pay and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠respect. Comprehension dawned; Geron's worries eased. He'd feared the Wendigo's "kindness" caused losses.

"So that's the intent behind your merciful contract. I worried needlessly."

"I'm not merciful—just sensible."

"...Sometimes I wonder where your 'sense' comes from. Anyway... it reminds me of those who received your mercy."

"Let me guess. The exiled shamans?"

Geron nodded. Not frightening, but nagging like rotten teeth.

A vengeful shaman could be troublesome. The Wendigo agreed—and had acted.

"No worries. I've already selected examples via the forest's eyes."

"Examples?"

"Obvious, isn't it?"

The Wendigo gripped his throne, chuckling darkly. "Fertilize the forest with their corpses, of course. I'm a pacifist, but I don't forgive enemies."

'They won't die pretty.'

Facing the Wendigo's murderous glare, Geron shook his head. However many became examples, they'd be the unluckiest scum.