Heirs Judged by Scent
The absurdity wasn't limited to the heirs either. If anything, it hit them even harder than Syr and Freya, given that the chieftain was decided by Wendigo's whims. Who could have guessed that reeking of body odor would strip someone of their eligibility?
"Let, let me go! There must be some mistake from the spirit... Aaaagh!"
"Shut your trap! The spirit said you disgust her, so what mistake?"
"Let him go before you break his wrist!"
The rejected Yakop from the Bpak tribe denied reality and threw a tantrum, but the warriors showed no mercy for such insolence. After a brief sound of flesh tearing and bones snapping, the dragging noise signaled his removal. The heirs broke into cold sweats, tensing up.
They glanced warily at the spirit while sniffing themselves.
Damn, I do kinda stink of sweat.
Good thing I brought the sachet.
Some had come prepared with odor-neutralizing sachets or perfumes, but most hadn't. Why would a warrior, who lived by blood and sweat, carry such things?
A red fox beastkin tapped the sachet at his waist, sneering at his half-siblings.
"Tsk tsk, don't my half-siblings know manners? You should've prepared like me."
"Kiamen!"
His brother bared his teeth in a glare, but Kiamen just flashed a smug grin, certain they'd be ousted.
Beastkin inherited strong natural scents from their beast bloodlines.
Heaven is on my side!
If the spirit was so picky about mere human smells, she'd surely recoil at his siblings' odors and boot them out. Then, the Lephrn tribe's chieftain would naturally be him!
"You there. All beastkin, step forward."
The Lephrn heirs grimaced and advanced. They were the only beastkin present.
Kiamen watched his dejected siblings with a victorious smirk...
"You there. You too, step forward."
"Me? You mean me?"
"What, are you not beastkin but a human in beast hide? Don't make this annoying—come here."
Wendigo ordered Kiamen with clear exasperation.
Unaware he'd be included, Kiamen bit his lip and stepped up.
As Kiamen approached, one brother mocked him.
"Acting all high and mighty with your sachet—look at you now. How bad must you stink for it to be useless?"
Grind.
Kiamen gnashed his teeth, glaring at his brother, who ignored it.
As Kiamen raised a fist in humiliated rage, Geron intervened.
"Have you forgotten you're before the spirit? Unlike her, we lack patience—bear that in mind."
Geron shot them a sharp warning glare. Behind him, warriors stood ready to draw swords.
"S-sorry."
"Forgive us!"
Kiamen and his brother lowered their eyes, begging pardon.
Geron patted their shoulders in forgiveness.
Wendigo, watching, whispered to Geron as he returned.
"Aren't you scaring them too much?"
"Isn't this because you suddenly banished one? I hate playing bad cop."
Geron shot Wendigo a grumpy look. Did he enjoy intimidating strangers?
"Whoever gets chosen, you need to show some authority. Otherwise..."
"No idiot would charge without a death wish, right?"
Wendigo doubted it. Multiple tribes allied and failed to land a hit— their leader Gelmir even lost his head.
But Geron shook his head firmly.
"The world's vast, and idiots abound. Aren't those fools ignoring the spirit's warning what started this mess?"
Can't argue with that—depressing as it is.
Wendigo couldn't refute. They'd ignored a warning delivered via corpse puppetry. These people were no saints—given a chance, they'd do anything.
"Fine, got it. They're rejects anyway—no big deal."
Wendigo backed off and stared down the Lephrn heirs.
The heirs felt primal fear bubbling from their guts under the massive monster—no, spirit's gaze. Those non-eyes seemed to peer into their souls, unnervingly.
Feels a bit colder...
Damn, no expression—can't read her thoughts.
Wendigo scanned them, sniffing.
He couldn't help but marvel.
"Huh, you all really take after your father."
"Our... father?"
Milosis recalled his old man, face souring as he asked. Not a flattering comparison—his infamous con artist dad was the last person he'd claim resemblance to.
Wendigo nodded affirmatively.
"Yeah. He's memorable, so I'm sure."
The other heirs perked up, ears twitching eagerly—except Milosis.
Did Dad fool a spirit?
Plausible. The Lephrn were scam experts, and their father the worst.
For the first time, they felt respect for Dad and decided to sell him out.
"Our father is impressive, right?"
"Was he famous?"
"Of course! No one in the north doesn't know his name."
"I see..."
Wendigo nodded. A guy lying mid-beating must have a colorful record. No regrets dumping his lookalikes.
No need to overthink.
Wendigo pointed at Milosis.
"The Lephrn chieftain will be this one from now on."
"M-me?"
Milosis pointed at himself, stunned. Totally unexpected.
His aggressively pandering brothers gaped in shock, glaring daggers.
What did he have that they didn't?!
"May I ask why you chose me?"
"You're the only one who smells clean."
"Spirit..."
Geron clutched his neck, tapping Wendigo's leg with his sword hilt—explain properly.
Noting Geron's face, Wendigo elaborated.
"And unlike the others, you don't resemble your old man at all."
"...Did my father—er, Valken—offend you?"
"Hm... not that bad."
Milosis sighed inwardly in relief. Who'd scam a spirit with their life on the line?
"He just ignored my terms and hid some heirs. Tricking enemies isn't odd."
"Ah, fuck."
Milosis marveled at his dad's bold stupidity.
* * *
Milosis's rude outburst passed thanks to Wendigo's leniency. Geron, considering the scam on the spirit, let it slide too. Blame the revealer.
She used to explain well, but lately...
"Can't spill my abilities. And talkative isn't dignified... How many calming fruits is that?"
Geron calmed with another heart-mind fruit. Wendigo changed topics to avoid stressing him sick.
"At least we filtered plenty—good enough."
"Crunch. True, numbers are down... but are they really that bad?"
"Overkill? What do you take me for? They're legit trash—told you to boot 'em."
To outsiders, it looked like a bizarre smell-based purge, but Wendigo had screened seriously. Who knew half the mob reeked of rot?
The one-day decision dragged on.
"More importantly, any weird vibes from shaman Syr?"
"The shaman lady? She's quiet, even greeting folks to make friends."
"Huh. Odd."
Wendigo stroked his chin, recalling Syr's first impression. Her beauty rivaled Skadi's, but that scent...
Fragrant, but mixed with spirit aroma.
Definitely spirit-tied. Motive unknown, but...
"Fetch Skadi. And shaman Syr."
"Meeting her yourself?"
"Yeah. Got me curious."
Time to find out. Friendly? Possible ally, conditionally. Otherwise, painful stay ahead.
* * *
While heirs bathed to scrub scents, Syr wandered gathering intel.
To her, the forest spirit was unreasonably cranky. No spirit she'd met expelled guests over insults.
But Syr returned empty-handed, flopping on her bed with a frown.
"Are they all under a gag order? Why worship such a spirit so fanatically?"
Protecting people, paying shamans to manage land and woods... Why would a spirit bother?!
Syr clawed her hair in anguish.
Freya materialized beside her, cackling.
"Kyahaha! You overthink everything. Just shrug it off—'some spirits are like that'~"
"You were shocked too at first!"
"Eh, that was shocking. But I kinda get why she did it?"
Syr crossed her arms, eyeing Freya's sparkling gaze.
"Don't tell me you really think she booted them for stinking."
"Oh my~ Do you think I'm that clueless? I'd never tease you into a rage."
Opponent's a spirit. A damn spirit. A spirit with shit luck...
Syr inwardly cursed Freya while holding back irritation.
Freya tidied Syr's messy hair, whispering in her ear.
"My take: she has authority to judge by scent."
"Impossible. Spirits can't wield powers unrelated to their origin."
Naive shamans might buy it, but Syr wasn't.
If possible, why would Freya, with eons lived, limit to beauty?
Undeterred, Freya pressed.
"Mutations aren't just for beasts or humans, dear."
Like extreme cold mimicking heat, spirits sometimes arose from unrelated bases. The world flowed on infinite possibilities.
"But histories and records I've checked mention no such spirit..."
"How long have you recorded history? Far past, it was common. Now, fewer spirits born—harder to spot."
Freya's rare seriousness convinced Syr.
She advised her cherished contractor earnestly.
"Dear, why not ditch greed and leave? Mutation aside, such spirits are rarely stable..."
"Lady Syr! The spirit summons you!"
"Oh my."
Freya, grave moments ago, gawked at the door—then back at Syr, mock-wiping tears.
"Boo-hoo, I'll never forget you!"
"Quit the bad omens and come on!"
This is why spirits suck!
Syr huffed, opening the door.
The warrior peeked inside, startled. Despite her words, the room seemed empty.
He pitied her—recalling tales of shamans gone mad from botched spells.
Already crazy at her age...
Grind.
Syr wasn't mad. Her bloodline hosted a nasty spirit... No point explaining.
She sighed, asking the warrior.
"...Just guide me, quick."
"Yes. I heard nothing."
"......"
The tactless reply choked Syr with rage. Sometimes, heavy silence beats dumb comfort.