When the Rod Cleanses
Wendigo had always kept his distance from the absurdity and harm of violence, but sometimes it was the most effective solution to a problem.
Legs broken, eyes bruised, lips split—yet the prisoners' rotten mindsets had been thoroughly cleansed.
"H-here it is."
"Hm..."
The prisoner dragged his shattered leg forward and offered the parchment. Wendigo read it carefully.
He looked up at the prisoner to ask a question, but the man met his gaze and cried out in terror.
"I swear on my life—there's not a single lie on that parchment!"
"...Fine. Go back and wait."
Wendigo couldn't tell if the prisoner feared him or the warriors more. Or perhaps both...
As the prisoner bowed and scurried away, the warriors watched with satisfaction.
"As expected, the stick works best on scum like that."
"Maybe we should start by thrashing any outsiders who want to meet the Spirit."
"That's... actually a pretty good idea. Fun, I mean."
It was a tempting suggestion, but Wendigo dismissed it inwardly. These men had treated the forest with hostility and harbored rotten hearts from the start, but not all outsiders were like them.
...Though thinking about it, most of them are.
Skadi's persecuting village, the shamans and nomads plotting human sacrifices for ambition, even the ones who'd stolen the beast-men...
As Wendigo began seriously considering the warriors' chatter, Geron approached and spoke up.
"Spirit, shall I extract the documents from them so you can rest?"
"The battlefield cleanup isn't even done yet. I can't just relax alone while—"
"What leader considers even that? If the higher-ups handle this, we'd be the ones in trouble."
At Geron's words, the warriors bowed their heads in respect. The fact that Wendigo cared about such details made them feel ashamed.
Wasn't it just a matter of cracking fingers and bones until a satisfactory answer came?
Wendigo pondered Geron and the warriors' reactions. Without a way to discern truth, could he trust them with this?
He thought it over, then glanced at the prisoners. Bodies black-and-blue, bones slightly shattered, lips and eyelids torn—they were a mess.
...If they tried anything after that, they'd have to be insane. We can let it slide once.
It was just to pick the most decent heir among them anyway. If a half-dead man risked his life on tricks, there'd be no mercy. A guy like that would die screaming sooner or later, with or without him.
Decision made, Wendigo rose from his throne, nodded to Geron, and said,
"Alright. If you insist, I have no choice."
"We won't disappoint you."
"It's not that important—just do it reasonably."
As Geron vowed solemnly, Wendigo chuckled, offered light encouragement, and departed.
Once he was gone, Geron—more precisely, the warriors loosening up—turned a stern gaze on the prisoners.
"Everyone, put down the clubs."
"Weren't we gonna beat 'em?"
"Their eyes were all beastly and sinister—like they needed more blood drained... Uh, never mind. Putting them down."
Seeing Geron's glare sharpen, the warriors sheepishly lowered their clubs.
"We could beat 'em a bit more, though..."
One warrior muttered, making the prisoners tremble in fear. To them, the forest warriors seemed more sinister than the Spirit himself.
* * *
Extracting—no, obtaining—the documents from the prisoners had been left to others, but contrary to what he'd told Geron, Wendigo didn't rest. The area was still a mess.
War demanded time not just in preparation and battle, but even in cleanup.
Gathering and burning enemy corpses, neatly preparing allied dead, collecting spoils—it was grueling...
"Arf! Woof woof!"
"Yeah, eat up. Thanks to you wolves, the enemy bodies are piling up less."
"The nomads were pros at looting—checking fingers to toes, thorough as hell."
"Hahaha! And you lot ripping hides to find hidden rings? Made me cheer."
...But rewarding work.
The warriors laughed heartily as they cleared corpses. Stripping them yielded hard-to-get steel armor and weapons, plus luxuries like rings and necklaces—how could they not smile?
Good they're finding some satisfaction in it.
Wendigo ignored the looting. Those who'd risked their lives deserved their share.
He watched them fondly, then headed to the surrendered prisoners, guarded by scowling wolf-riders. Some wolves even prowled among them, growling.
Spotting Wendigo, a warrior saluted.
"Spirit! What brings you here?"
"Geron chased me off from work, so I'm wandering."
Wendigo spoke plainly, without a hint of deceit, but the warriors burst out laughing. Geron, Wendigo's loyal advisor, kicking him out? Sounded like a joke.
The prisoners thought the same—but instead of laughing, they gaped in shock. A Spirit joking with people?!
They whispered, glancing at the warriors.
"A-am I dreaming? My arrow-shot knee hurts too much for that."
"Damn, better if it was. I'd bolt from this forest the second I woke."
"Not a real Spirit—maybe a shaman shapeshifted into a monster?"
"Ever seen a nice shaman? The ones I've met were all lunatics, male or female."
The prisoners huddled, trying to rationalize, but found no answers. In their worldview, Spirits and shamans were inherently broken souls.
As they gossiped about Wendigo's nature, the warriors roared.
"You bastards! Forgetting who spared you, insulting the Spirit?!"
"S-sorry!"
"Forgive us! He is a Spirit!"
"Th-that's right! The most Spirit there is!"
What's the 'most' Spirit supposed to mean?
Were all Spirits he'd met this abnormal? Wendigo briefly wondered if they were cursing him indirectly.
But his doubt faded fast—they gasped and trembled the moment he looked.
"For self-proclaimed warriors, they're awfully timid, aren't they?"
"Spirit, might be the blood on your face..."
Puzzled, Wendigo recalled the forgotten bloodstains.
Hm, yeah, that'd be scary.
He swallowed his bitterness at the valid reason. Even battle-hardened warriors would fear a blood-smeared Spirit.
"Guess my face is scarier than my blade. Fetch water to wash it off—and if you've time, water for the prisoners too."
"Water for them too?"
The warriors blinked, confused. They'd obey, but why? What was so lovable about prisoners?
"Yes. Some came willingly, but most were dragged by their fool chief and shaman. We'll release them post-negotiation—no need to be cruel."
"R-really?"
Hope dawning, a prisoner blurted it out. Warriors bristled, weapons rising, but Wendigo stopped them with a nod.
"No enslavement or sacrifices. Behave, and you'll return alive to your families."
"!"
At the merciful grace, prisoners teared up, bowing low. To them, a halo shone behind Wendigo.
How could they suspect such a being was an evil shaman or Spirit?!
"We were fools! Blindly believing their lies, spewing such filth without knowing your mercy!"
"Now we see! You're the kindest, most benevolent in the world—"
"Enough. You're embarrassing me."
As prisoners wept crocodile tears and warriors fawned, Wendigo's conscience stung—he cut them off.
Even that seemed humble; warriors and prisoners gazed in awe. What humility, what benevolence!
Hm, can't ever say it's 'cause they're useless to keep.
Truth was, warrior-slaves offered low utility for high risk. No massive farms needed hundreds of mouths to feed, house, and clothe.
Not like I'm doing human sacrifices myself. Better to sweet-talk and release them.
If even one in three spoke kindly of the forest, it'd aid future dealings.
"We'll pass your mercy down generations in tales!"
"If anyone insults you, I'll behead them myself!"
"...Just quench your thirsts."
Unable to bear their sparkling eyes, Wendigo looked away.
...Fooling villains was rewarding; fooling the innocent stirred unease.
* * *
A week later.
The forest remained chaotic but had regained peace. The prisoners' gratitude kept them quiet, and Geron's successful document extraction helped.
A few extra wounds, but if Geron wanted it...
"Spirit, why the stare?"
"Ahem. Just grateful you're always working so hard for me."
Geron sensed Wendigo hiding something but let it slide. Bigger matters awaited.
"Envoys from beyond the forest have arrived. Minimal guards suggest your message got through."
"Good. Sent warriors to escort them?"
"Swift wolf-riders are ready. But... uninvited guests joined the envoys."
"Hm. Not unexpected."
Hundreds of warriors routed without gains? Others taking interest was natural.
Wendigo flicked his hand—go on—and Geron continued.
"Syr, a shaman from the Freyr tribe, joined the delegation."
"Don't recognize the name..."
"Call the shamans?"
"No need for all the busy ones. Fetch Skadi and Osa."
Osa won't like it... but orders are orders.
Maybe she'd appreciate the Spirit's trust. Imagining her horror, Geron relayed the command to the warriors.