Fools Provoke the Sacred Wolf
On the outskirts of the forest, the heirs invited by the Wendigo had gathered. Naturally, it wasn't quiet.
In a place teeming with ill-fated faces, how could hot-blooded warriors possibly stay silent?
"Lefrun, you furry bastards! If you hadn't sweet-talked my father, none of this would've happened!"
"Hah. Not a kid anymore, and you're blaming others now? Your old man fell to his own greed—why take it out on us!"
A red fox beastkin from the Lefrun tribe and the fourth son of the Ulpen tribe clashed in a heated exchange. They glared at each other, hands resting on their weapons, ready to swing without hesitation at the slightest provocation.
Syr watched the scene and sighed inwardly.
'This is why the North is...'
Syr hailed from a fairly noble bloodline in the North and loved her homeland in her own way, but scenes like this always made her head spin. She simply couldn't comprehend these warriors whose heads were filled with booze, meat, and simplistic notions of honor.
The problem was that such rude, barbaric behavior was considered normal in the North...
"Always stay on guard. Once your petty tricks run out, I'll come for your heads myself!"
"Was it thirty years ago? You know your ancestors got plundered by our tribe, right?"
"Ha! Guess you forgot how you got pushed east by us fifty years back! When I become chief, I'll drive you back to your old homeland!"
Aside from a few tight-knit alliances, most Northern tribes harbored deep grudges against one another. These descendants of raiders had a charming custom of plundering without discrimination, even fellow Northerners.
Raids, of course, always involved bloodshed. Her father had lost an eye to a southern chief, her grandfather had raided a northern tribe, her uncle had beheaded a famed western warrior... At least they were only trading barbs for now—that was downright civilized. Otherwise, blades would've been drawn ages ago.
The Ulpen fourth son glared at the Lefrun warriors for a good while before spitting on the ground and retreating to his tribe's group.
But Syr held no hope that things would quiet down. Unlike usual, there was reason enough for noise even without clashing with other tribes.
Ulpen's eldest son slapped his returning younger brother's cheek.
Crack!
For a mere brotherly scolding, the blow packed serious force. The fourth son's lip split open.
The eldest grabbed his worthless sibling by the collar and glared with eyes that could devour him whole.
"You idiot! Who said you could pick fights with other tribes? You ignoring my authority right now?!"
"Authority my ass... You still think you're the next chief candidate! Once you lose the Spirit Eye, you're nothing!"
Ulpen's fourth son sneered at his eldest brother. Normally, he wouldn't dare defy the heir apparent, but things were different now.
Why else would the spirit summon not just the heir, but all with claim to succession?
The fourth roughly shook off his brother's hand. With the dice already cast, no need to bow to enemies.
Naturally, this wasn't unique to the Ulpen tribe. The air around was filled with shouts from fools no better than Ulpen's idiot.
'These are the North's future? Relieving... yet bleak.'
Syr distanced herself from the cluster of warriors. They glanced at the passing Syr.
Who could've guessed they'd encounter a renowned Northern beauty in this dreary spot?
Some exaggerated their curses and violence to catch her eye, but Syr's attention was fully elsewhere.
The spirit dwelling in her bloodline, Freya, whispered in her mind.
"Shut it. If they want my attention, they should show some brains instead of flaunting their stupidity. More importantly, don't you sense something?"
"You little...!"
At Freya's nonsense, Syr spat a curse. Sometimes she wondered if her spirit was one of beauty or actually rage and provocation.
Otherwise, how could it be so earnest in infuriating people?
"Keep babbling and get out."
Like how long-lived folks turned eccentric, Freya was a true oddity of a spirit. After toying with obedient beauties for ages, the thrill of a prickly one (bordering on loathing) hit different.
Freya whined before answering Syr's question.
"!"
Syr drew her golden whip, steeling her mind. Freya's personality was a mess, but she was an ancient spirit all the same. If even she called it "thick," tension was warranted.
The forest spirit might have some trap laid. Though a prideful spirit unlikely to stoop to dishonor...
'No surprise if the world's full of crazy spirits.'
Having dealt with a thoroughly mad one, Syr missed no possibility, however slim. She readied her whip to lash out anytime.
At that moment, a massive wolf burst from the forest.
Even the growling warriors startled and fixed their eyes on it.
A single wolf wasn't scary, but one from the forest was no ordinary beast.
"It's... way too big."
"...Did a bear and wolf mate or something?"
The bear-like white wolf evoked images of its namesake, golden eyes gleaming as it scanned the warriors. They sensed from its boldness that it was no mere animal.
Indeed, the wolf wasn't ordinary—it was OneTon, blessed with mysticism by the Wendigo.
OneTon's sudden visit to the warriors—precisely the heirs—was simple: While other wolves shone in the Northern alliance's battles, it had little to show, breeding discontent.
Born a leader, OneTon still needed to prove it. Guarding Skadi was vital, but even with high intelligence, it was a beast at heart—not clever enough for deep philosophy.
OneTon sniffed, wrinkled its nose in disgust, and growled at the filth before it.
"What's it doing?"
"Warning us not to enter the forest?"
The warriors panicked. Who'd imagine getting ambushed by a wolf while awaiting the spirit's messenger?
As they assessed, Syr caught on and slyly stowed her whip.
'You think I'm an idiot? Anyone can see it's the spirit's pet!'
Syr firmly rebuffed Freya's whisper. No fool she—nor too dim to guess the wolf's nature.
A mystical wolf emerging from a spirit-ruled forest? Obviously tied to the spirit.
Though why sniff and growl so ferociously...
Other warriors realized it too, sheathing weapons. No intent to cause issues before meeting the spirit.
"Guess it's the spirit's wolf."
"Everyone, weapons away. Doesn't seem ordinary..."
"Hahaha! Cowards! Scared? Step back! I'll take that wolf!"
But the world was vast, and fools plentiful—especially wastrel sons banking on their chief-father's name.
Ulpen's fourth, Targal, boasted and stepped forward. He'd hatched a brilliant scheme: Offer such a fine wolf, and the spirit would be moved to grant him chieftaincy. Bold... and brainless.
As Targal nocked his bow, Syr warned in alarm.
"Lower that bow now! That wolf isn't ordinary—"
"Oh, Syr! Fairest of Freyr tribe! Your golden locks gleam like woven gold!"
Even amid chaos, Targal beamed at her interest, spouting buttery lines. Her "worry" inflated his ego.
Grit.
'Want to kill him.'
Syr endured murderous impulse with superhuman patience, about to warn again—until a warrior impulsively hurled a spear at the wolf.
She sighed at the flying spear.
Who'd dream there were two such idiots?
"I'll claim that wolf—Norg tribe's Hard!"
Targal's feverish eyes shot jealousy at Hard. To lose glory so lamely while hesitating!
Hard's spear flew fiercely at OneTon, who stared unmoving.
Hard smirked watching. Perhaps the wolf sacrificed itself for his heroic debut...
Clang!
"...Huh?"
"Grrrrrr!!!"
OneTon casually batted the spear, then charged with a chilling howl.
Hard startled, drawing his sword—foolish. The instant he did, OneTon tore his throat.
At the sudden carnage, warriors reflexively drew and rushed OneTon.
"Damn it, just kill it!"
"What tough hide!"
Once blood rushed their heads, warriors didn't stop till blood spilled—foe or self.
This time, their own flowed. They tried slashing OneTon's hide to no avail. Merely approaching the north-wind-shrouded wolf chilled their breaths, stiffened their bodies.
"Yelp!"
"Let go! Get off... Graaaah!"
Frozen warriors were easy prey. OneTon's claws shredded armor, fangs pierced like daggers.
Bold chargers backed off as things soured, seeking aid.
"Warriors dying and you're not ashamed? Help!"
A few seemed baited by the plea—provocation, really—but most didn't bite.
Why drag others into self-made mess?
"Sounds like we're your minions."
"No brains or no thoughts? Why poke a non-attacking beast... Tsk tsk."
"Grr!"
Warrior Leirik, seeing taunts fail, drew his enchanted axe. Extreme penetration should pierce that hide.
'Meant it for the spirit!'
But fail to kill now, and he'd die. Better slay and flee.
Leirik hefted the axe at the charging wolf.
OneTon sensed the shamanism but didn't slow, sharpening claws and senses for the incoming axe.
Both intent on killing—
Thwip!
"Guh!?"
"Yip?"
An arrow from the forest struck Leirik's chest. It didn't stop—two more pierced heart and throat.
OneTon glanced past the falling corpse to the forest.
Soon, wolf riders led by Zaken burst out panting.
OneTon barked innocently, as if it hadn't just ripped warriors apart.
"Woof woof!"
"OoooneToooon!!!"
Alas, Zaken couldn't match the cheer. Obvious corpses littered the ground!
At Zaken's shout, OneTon averted eyes, perhaps regretting—but unrepentant. Stinky fools doomed anyway, it figured.
"You damn mutt!"
"Grr?!"
Zaken halted beside OneTon, leaping down to smack its back and yell.
"You vendetta beast! Should've begged the spirit to rename you ages ago..."
"U-um..."
Seeing the warrior-slayer cowed, one approached cautiously.
Zaken bristled but chilled seeing the warrior—Wendigo's guests, after all!
The warrior eyed OneTon, asking Zaken.
"That wolf... the spirit's wolf, er, wolf?"
"...Close enough."
"Knew it! See here, this is too much! We surrendered fair, but sending a wolf to attack?!"
"Y-yeah! We came at the spirit's call—what's this?!"
Warriors who'd swung at OneTon lacked full idiocy. Seizing chance to leverage for negotiation edge, they played victim in unison.
Poor choice.
Syr approached Zaken, bowing politely.
"Sorry to greet amid chaos. I'm Syr, representing Freyr tribe."
"Ah, pleased. The spirit mentioned you."
Recognized, warriors tried roping Syr in. Smart shaman aid would ease things.
"Syr! Tell him—the wolf attacked us—"
"Shut up."
Syr had zero intent aiding fools. Cold eyes on warrior, smile to Zaken.
"Ignore them. Self-inflicted."
"What do you mean?"
Zaken's eyes gleamed. Warriors wouldn't abide her "betrayal," but...
"Back off."
"Back off? That bitch selling us out and we just watch—Guhk!"
"She's spilling your shameless deeds! Shut it and move!"
Untouched warriors shielded Syr. No reason not eliminate rivals.
Syr calmly explained; Zaken's face twisted viciously. He clung to reason, piecing it.
"So... they attacked OneTon first? The spirit-blessed wolf? The one Skadi herself raises?"
"Don't know Skadi, but... spot on."
"Zaken! Slaughter the scum!"
Wolf riders drew weapons, bloodlust rising. Turns out they were rude—not OneTon. Hunting a directly blessed beast? Shameless!
Zaken drew Wendigo's gifted sword, glaring.
"Dare hunt the spirit's wolf? Get out! Trash like you can't enter!"
"W-we erred, but we're spirit-summoned!"
"Shut it!"
One rebelled; Zaken roared, kicking him down and pinning throat.
"Spirit said bring all? No—expel suspects, troublemakers!"
"C-can't do this!"
"Quiet! Don't wanna be wolf chow? Leave the forest! Linger till tomorrow, I'll kill you myself!"
Zaken bellowed; wolf riders advanced in agreement.
Warriors retreated from furious wolves and men. Brainless glory-seekers, none brave enough against enraged riders.
"F-fine. We'll go—no attack."
Thus, some invitees were expelled without entering.
Zaken glared their direction long after, then relaxed guard.
Syr marveled at his loyalty—not fear or greed-born.
'Truly serves the spirit?'
Isaac's unbelievable words true?
'...No. Can't trust spirits lightly.'
Syr, with spirit aid, barely kept tension.
Moments later, Syr and heirs followed Zaken deeper into the forest.