Syr's Foresight Proves Spot-On
Syr's prediction was exactly right. The shamans who had ventured into the forest didn't give up easily. How could they, after letting a golden opportunity slip right through their fingers? If they had been righteous shamans, they might have atoned for their sins and begged the Wendigo for another chance, but these rejects did no such thing. They were the sort of villains who would draw their blades and give chase the moment an opportunity fled from sight.
Among them, Gelmir, the shaman of the Turs tribe, took the most audacious step. He rallied shamans of like mind, persuaded the tribal chiefs, and raised an army for an expedition into the forest.
...And Gelmir came to regret it.
'I underestimated human greed.'
"I've brought the most warriors here! Naturally, I should claim the largest share of the forest's land!"
"You're full of shit—must be some dog in your ancestry with how well you bark. Numbers mean nothing if your quality's in the gutter!"
"Ahem. As the eldest here, surely I..."
"If you've lived that long, maybe drop the greed already!"
Inside the lavish tent, the grizzled chiefs glared at one another, bickering over land they hadn't even claimed yet.
Gelmir let out a silent sigh at the pathetic sight.
When the armies first began gathering one by one, it had been quite satisfying. With a head-on clash against the forest spirits on the horizon, more meat shields were always better.
But the thrill was short-lived. Convincing the chiefs and assembling the warriors had gone well enough...
...until far more chiefs than planned joined the expedition, throwing everything into disarray.
Gelmir shot a glare at the shamans. They hadn't anticipated this mess either and averted their eyes from his stare.
Gelmir ground his teeth, his gaze laced with contempt.
'Idiots. Uncontrollable beasts are nothing but variables that ruin plans!'
He could guess the shamans' intentions. Bring more troops, claim more spoils from the forest—simple as that.
He might have overlooked it if just one or two had done it; a pleasant margin of error.
But these sly bastards had all pulled the same stunt, then failed to rein in the chiefs.
'No—worse, they've been egging them on. As long as they snag the spoils at the end, who cares if the alliance falls apart.'
Bad men always knew the minds of their fellow villains.
Gelmir tamped down his rising fury and thumped his staff against the ground. The bells on it chimed clearly, sending out a ripple.
The wave swept over the chiefs, cooling their heated tempers.
But invoking magic without permission was rude. One chief grumbled at Gelmir with a sour expression.
"You—shamans or not, using spells so casually is..."
"Silence. I planned this expedition. I am chief of the Turs tribe and a shaman. You're welcome to bring your forces, but you will not undermine my authority."
Gelmir was no spring chicken, but no one could dismiss him. Born with shamanic talent was one thing; seizing the chief's seat was another. Especially in the north, where the position passed to proven warriors by custom.
The insolent chief glimpsed the scars and writhing muscles beneath Gelmir's robes and quietly backpedaled.
"I won't fault you for debating spoils. A chief must secure his warriors' share above all—I know that better than most."
"Ahem. Glad you understand."
"Of course. Even the shamans who convinced you added unbudgeted numbers for their own gains."
Gelmir's barbed rebuke flew toward the shamans. They shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes.
He stared them down a moment longer before looking away. That was enough to reassert his authority.
With all eyes on him—chiefs and shamans alike—Gelmir maintained his dignified poise.
It bought time to revise the plan.
'I meant to leverage my position as shaman and expedition leader... but that's not viable now.'
They acknowledged him now only because their own foolishness had been exposed. Gelmir wasn't naive enough to think it would last. These power-hungry tyrants would scheme for leadership at the first chance.
'Better to thin the numbers.'
Having reworked the plan in his head, Gelmir shed his icy demeanor and spoke like a benevolent sage.
"All your arguments have merit. Anyone gathered here has some outstanding quality."
"Doesn't mean we split the spoils evenly."
"True. But if each has a strength, we have a fair basis for division."
One chief, drawn in by Gelmir's sage tone, asked, "A fair basis? What would that be?"
"Simple. Divide by merit—each chief's contributions."
Some faces soured; others lit up. The former lacked confidence in their feats; the latter brimmed with it.
But voicing complaints now would expose their weakness, after all their earlier boasts.
'Damn it. Complaining here admits my shortcomings.'
'Sly fox. So that's why he watched the squabble.'
"No objections, I assume. My words revealed each of you has a strong suit."
"Hahaha! None at all!"
"Ahem. With such fairness, no need for ugly fights."
The confident chiefs naturally backed Gelmir. Of course, they'd turn daggers on him at the first slip.
But Gelmir didn't care. He trusted no one—least of all himself.
Riding the momentum, he outlined the plan.
"We advance steadily, claiming the forest bit by bit. Winter's far off—no need to rush."
"Why not scatter wide for faster gains?"
The chiefs nodded at the suggestion, eyes burning with ambition. Steady progress wouldn't yield glory or spoils!
Gelmir swallowed a predatory grin. Just as he'd expected.
'Northerners are born raiders. How long can they resist prey in plain sight?'
He feigned stern resolve and shook his head. "Even savages with spirit aid demand caution. I understand the urge, but I can't allow it."
The chiefs hid their displeasure, but Gelmir's eyes weren't fooled. These wolves would act alone.
The alliance advanced into the forest at a glacial pace, per Gelmir's plan. Multiple tribes moving as one pack made them slow as slugs...
Todel, shaman of the Reir tribe, chafed at the sluggishness. It hadn't been part of the deal.
'If the spirit flees, what then? Why dawdle like this!'
War was a whirlwind strike to end in one blow. Stubborn by Reir blood, Todel couldn't stomach this torpor.
His chief felt the same.
"Shaman Todel. All detachment members assembled."
"Good. Move quietly and swiftly."
Todel and the chief handpicked skilled, bold warriors for a vanguard unit.
Their goal was straightforward: scout a forest village fast and signal the main force.
"Shaman Todel, why not seize the village ourselves? Their numbers are few—we could take it with this group."
"Tempting, but haste breeds mistakes."
Todel soothed them, though his thoughts mirrored theirs. The forest folk he'd seen were disarmingly peaceful.
But Todel overlooked one thing...
This forest hadn't known peace for long.
"Arrows!"
Arrows streaked from the underbrush, targeting the warriors. Dozens struck home; the unlucky took shafts to throats or hearts and dropped dead.
Caught off-guard, the warriors panicked and hunkered behind trees and shields.
Todel clicked his tongue and drew a bronze mirror from his robes.
"Mirror, oh mirror—reveal the foes' positions!"
Catching sunlight, the mirror blazed, illuminating the woods.
The forest warriors, perfectly camouflaged in brush and trees, cast shadows like they stood in open plains at noon.
"Follow the shadows!"
"Their spell's exposed us—attack!"
The forest warriors abandoned cover and charged. Todel broke into cold sweat at their unexpectedly large numbers. This was no lucky ambush; they'd known and prepared.
'Has the spirit been watching us? No choice—crush them now...'
"Spirit! Look upon us in mercy!!!"
Todel froze mid-draw at the thunderous cry. A burly warrior in a bone helmet charged, eyes gleaming with fanatic zeal, clad only in hides.
The Reir warriors gawked like he'd lost his mind.
"Madman—rushing into battle without armor!"
Spears and blades swung at him. Fearless, he leaped bare-bodied into the fray...
Kagagak!
"What the—!?"
"Hahaha! With the spirit at my side, think your puny weapons can pierce me?!"
Deflecting steel with flesh, he bellowed mad laughter and swung his axe. Armor split; bodies cleaved.
Todel paled at the helmet's potent enchantment and drew his weapon.
"Stand back! He's mine!"
What emerged was a small dagger—toy-like next to an axe, but no ordinary blade from a shaman.
Closing in, Todel slashed the air. The dagger whipped up a gale, birthing razor winds...
That instant, Blue-Mane tribe wolf-riders burst silently from the trees, lunging at Todel.
"Blue-Mane warriors! Now we prove our worth to the spirit!!"
"Tear them! Fill our bellies with enemy flesh today!"
"Grrrrowl!"
The massive wolves targeted throats; Todel blasted wind to hurl himself back. But his warriors lacked such magic.
The sudden wolf assault routed them effortlessly.
Todel scanned the chaos with trembling eyes. The bone-helmed warrior fended off ten alone; wolf-riders savaged the rest with spears and fangs.
No sign of the pampered weaklings shielded by spirits.
'Th-they're not softened by peace under spirit protection!'
Todel sensed something had gone terribly wrong.