Fractured Alliance
Gelmir had anticipated from the moment he first planned the expedition that commanding this large, greedy, and selfish coalition wouldn't be smooth sailing. Even those who rose under the banner of noble causes couldn't avoid discord... so how much consideration and cooperation could a union stained by avarice muster against adversity?
"A supply unit passing through your territory was ambushed. How the hell do you manage things?!"
"Heh. In this frozen wasteland, warriors numbering over a hundred are born every year, and there are even more living as bandits—why complain to me?"
"Forgot how you guaranteed safety at the last meeting? Make your excuses!"
"It was safe when I was there holding down the fort. Who could've predicted the thieves would rampage the moment I left?"
"You call that an excuse?!"
Naturally, these greedy lot weren't about to show any consideration or cooperation.
Gelmir rubbed his furrowed brow, exhausted by the endless bickering. What the hell was this nonsense?
'We haven't even faced the spirit yet, and they're already in an uproar.'
If this squabbling had been just between individuals, Gelmir wouldn't have cared. As the only one in the coalition with the authority to issue commands, the more the chieftains and shamans splintered, the easier they were to control.
But when these fools started forming factions within the alliance and banding together, things got serious.
The shamans and chieftains in the meeting hall exchanged signals and began mouthing off.
"Raising your voice like that is hardly appropriate."
"Thinking of shoving your subordinates' screw-ups onto another chieftain? That's pathetic."
"You... you bastards!"
The ones who had been silent until moments ago unleashed a barrage of blame, and the chieftain felt a surge of injustice and rage. Enduring a supply cutoff was bad enough, but pinning it on him? No wonder he snapped.
If he swallowed this, he'd be no better than a gelded pig—not a warrior of the North.
In an instant, the accused chieftain roared and drew his sword. Murderous intent gleamed in his fury-filled eyes.
Normally, the moment a chieftain drew steel, others would erupt in killing aura and counter. But Todell stepped forward with a mild smile, blocking his path.
"Calm down. Is starting a fight over something this trivial really wise?"
"Shut your foul mouth...!?"
As the chieftain bellowed again, Todell hardened his expression and lunged, swinging his dagger. Blades of wind whipped around it, and the chieftain barely parried with his sword.
But no mere iron blade could block a shaman's conjured wind. The chieftain's sword shattered on impact, as if forged from mud.
Todell sneered as the man trembled and glared.
"Heh. Your swordplay's worse than your mouth? Can't even block a mere shaman's strike."
"Enough. Even if he drew first, that's too harsh for a tribe's chieftain. Todell!"
Gelmir slammed his staff on the ground and barked, unable to stand it any longer. Even Todell, who loved needling the chieftains, made Gelmir uneasy. Old shamans always hid a sharp dagger or two.
'This should be enough.'
Todell flashed a sly smile, nodding in lieu of an apology. It was utterly rude, but Gelmir didn't flinch. Instead, his cold, sunken gaze made Todell tense.
Gelmir spoke quietly but clearly enough for all to hear.
"Todell. Get out and compose yourself."
"...As you wish."
Todell nodded and left the hall, with a few others glancing around nervously before following.
Gelmir sighed at the pathetic spectacle. How was he supposed to continue the meeting like this?
"Today's meeting ends here. Everyone out."
"Hmph. So it seems."
"Tsk tsk. What kind of warriors start a war looking this disgraceful..."
Gelmir ground his teeth as the departing group muttered complaints. Normally, fools who devoured their own warriors should be cowed into submission by now, with the coalition under his firm control!
As Gelmir's displeasure showed, the last stragglers eyed him suspiciously.
Things had veered far from the original plan.
"Gelmir. I've lived as long as you and never doubted your abilities. But... this situation is quite unexpected."
"I can't even guess what backbone those fools have to act so bold. Are they performing some ritual to doom us all?"
For once, the hall filled with sensible discussion instead of useless emotional drivel.
Gelmir tapped his staff thoughtfully. Something was off, no matter how he sliced it.
'What brought us together? To seize the spirit's mysticism, shamanic power, and land, right?'
Among the shamans unjustly(?) expelled without even questioning the spirit, these were the ones unafraid of bloodshed. What reason did such a coalition have to stir pointless strife over a few dead warriors and bruised egos, with no gains in sight?
Two possibilities: They were idiots too dumb to know profit... or they had another way to achieve their goals.
'The chieftains are rowdy and lazy, sure... but none of the shamans were that brainless.'
When selecting shamans, Gelmir hadn't cared about petty things like personality—he'd vetted their abilities thoroughly. They were the type to toss pride into the mud for power.
The latter seemed far more likely. And to pull off this farce while still reaching their goals? Only one way Gelmir could think of.
'There's a traitor among them. No, more than one.'
The most probable explanation, yet Gelmir found it puzzling. Not because he trusted the shamans—they were the worst of the ill-tempered, black-hearted lot.
What puzzled him was how quickly they'd bitten on Wendigo's offer.
What reward could possibly make these shamans betray so fast?
'Unless it's something on par with Isaac's ice crystal... no way they'd flip this quick.'
That would be insane. The ice crystal Isaac brought was dangerous even for novice shamans. No one would waste it just to buy betrayal—better to wipe out enemies directly for profit.
But if, just if, the spirit was ancient enough that mysticism overflowed, with a twisted personality enjoying such schemes...
"Looks like there's a rat in the coalition."
"Heh... yeah. Not an impossible notion."
"But wouldn't there be too many? Just the recent squabbles number more than we can count on two hands."
One chieftain objected hesitantly, but Gelmir shook his head.
"No need for all to betray. Even a cunning spirit wouldn't afford to plant that many."
"Then?"
"Probably three or four duped the idiots. They figured huddling together meant bigger shares of the spoils."
"Tch... can't rule it out."
An ally's incompetence is scarier than an enemy's competence. The chieftains scowled, cursing those suckered by the ploy. How incompetent do you have to be?
"Gelmir. What now?"
"My thought... accelerate the advance. Best option."
"Ending the expedition quick is good, but... safe? What if they stab us in the back?"
"Fine. We're sending them to the vanguard anyway."
"What?"
In Gelmir's view, the traitors' influence hadn't rooted deeply yet. They'd soured the mood but hadn't sabotaged directly.
If many had turned, the coalition would've split and butchered each other by now.
This was the last chance to crush the spirit.
"The traitors stirred trouble, but most are clueless—duped into acting out."
"How's that tie to speeding up?"
"If not traitors, they're hungry for merit, eyes bloodshot. Give 'em what they want—use as arrow fodder."
The chieftains murmured, weighing it. Solid proposal.
The longer the delay, the worse for them too. Warriors guzzled their grain stores, and bringing so many left territories vulnerable.
"But... if they rack up merits, our spoils shrink, right?"
No one liked losses, especially in this barren North where fertile land was priceless. Fewer starved meant more warrior sprouts.
Gelmir knew their minds. He chuckled, shaking his head at their naivety.
"Chieftains and shamans alike—so green."
"Gelmir. Cut the weird talk—explain."
"Traitors' followers anyway. Nail the spirit deal, then mop up the weakened fools. Done."
"That's... pretty good."
Gelmir's words hit home. They bore the losses; we take the loot—who'd refuse?
As smiles crept on their faces, Gelmir grinned slyly. No complaints? Best working with bad eggs.
Gelmir was wrong on several counts, but his biggest miscalculation was underestimating the traitors' numbers.
Wendigo had recruited ten. Could've been more, but too many risked issues, so he capped at ten.
So greedily unhesitant—they grabbed his hand without splitting chieftains or shamans, lured by land and mysticism.
"They've decided to advance fast."
"Traitors do one thing right."
"Bad guys shine brightest against fellow scum."
As Geron marveled, Wendigo replied flatly. Similar mindsets—they knew each other's plays.
Geron nodded, moving pieces on the large parchment map.
"Rough map, but their position's about here."
"Not far. Chokepoints sealed tight?"
"Yes. Lure traps set quick—no rust in skills. Issue's we can't abandon the village..."
"Just settling down—can't order 'em to ditch it. Too harsh."
Wendigo shook his head; Geron smiled and nodded.
Wendigo scanned the map, picking a spot: distant from village, flat for warriors to mass.
"Here. Order traitors to lure the army this way."
"Good for maneuvers. Few trees—wolf riders can shred 'em..."
"Hey. Battle? Too many casualties."
"Pardon? You planning solo? Even for a spirit, facing the whole horde's risky."
Geron urgently dissuaded, assuming Wendigo's solo burden. But Wendigo eyed him like he'd lost it.
"Think I'd do something reckless and inefficient?"
"...Kinda do."
Geron recalled the Blue-Mane clash, pouting. Wendigo coughed, stung—had been pretty reckless, yeah.
"Ahem. Not this time. Got stand-ins."
"Clones? Decent."
Wendigo shook his head. Clones sucked against hordes without direct control—shamans could decapitate 'em easy.
He'd use traitors instead.
"Pit traitors against the coalition. Thin their numbers plenty."
"But will they obey?"
"Nah. Don't worry—got a plan."
As Geron eyed him meaningfully, Wendigo conjured two ice arrows, showing them off.
"These two shots, and they'll fly into a frenzy, ripping each other apart."