Shadows Over Nidhorn
Wendigo spent the night at the abandoned mansion before setting out for Hegilson's village. They couldn't leave right away that day—Hegilson's condition was still too dire. After receiving Skadi's diligent care (though she didn't seem particularly thrilled about it), Hegilson trudged toward the village, his mind swirling with worry.
A shaman nursing me? Never saw that coming. 'The price for summoning a spirit is already beyond imagination, but what about the herbs she used to heal me?'
Hegilson recalled a tale from an elder: a shaman who appeared kind-hearted only to strong-arm them into a deal. The memory bloomed vividly in his mind.
"Hegilson. I know what you're thinking, but don't worry. We're not so destitute that we'd stoop to that."
"H-Huh!? No, Spirit, that's not what I meant—it was just an old story that popped into my head..."
Hegilson scrambled to explain, but Wendigo paid little mind to his thoughts. Frankly, it wouldn't be strange if he suspected them. Nursing Hegilson wasn't about extracting payment. What Wendigo wanted was to leave a good impression.
I figured I'd hide out at first, but on second thought, no need for that.
In a world where spirits were unfamiliar, hiding made sense. Humans hunted fierce beasts when threatened; a monster on the loose would mean extermination, not just a hunt.
But... after talking with Skadi and interacting with people, Wendigo's view shifted. Unlike Earth, this world had real shamans and well-known spirits. Monsters existed too, from what he'd heard. Even the troll hide draped over him proved it.
At this point, Wendigo concluded that approaching people beat skulking in the woods. Roaming the forest with Skadi, building a reputation—it seemed he could blend in with humans just fine.
Once misunderstandings clear up, they'll spread the good word themselves. Besides, those herbs for Hegilson weren't anything rare.
"Hegilson. More importantly, tell me about those beasts that attacked you. Anything unusual?"
"Unusual? Oh, plenty. Way too much, honestly."
Hegilson dredged up memories he'd rather forget—nightmarish horrors.
"Every hole in their heads sprouted blood-soaked roots, like monsters straight from hell. Even decapitated, if the roots stayed connected, they'd keep moving, like..."
"Something like this?"
"Yes, exactly like th-those things... Huh!?"
Wendigo pointed beyond the trees—wolves charging straight at them. Hegilson's description was spot-on, not a detail lacking.
"Krrrkhehek!"
"Weird howls. Skadi, take Hegilson and fall back."
Skadi nodded without protest. As she pulled Hegilson away, he asked,
"W-Will he be okay? Even a spirit can't easily handle a whole pack alone."
"Don't worry. No mere beasts will touch a hair on Wendigo's head."
Skadi said it confidently, but Hegilson couldn't relax. There were too many wolves. A few slipping past Wendigo would head straight for them. If Skadi fell, could they still save the village?
No. The spirit helps because of the shaman. Without her contractor, there's no reason for aid.
Hegilson vowed to protect Skadi at all costs. He stepped in front of her, raising his sword.
"Shaman, it might be dangerous—stay back..."
Mid-sentence, a chill gripped him from ahead. He whipped his gaze forward.
Wendigo hadn't moved. He simply gaped his maw at the oncoming wolves.
That was enough.
Thick mist poured from Wendigo's mouth. Hegilson sensed an inexplicable dread in it. Instinctively, he recoiled, but the wolves hurled themselves into the fog—their instincts broken by the parasitic plants controlling their brains.
The mist swallowed grass, trees, and wolves alike, spreading outward. In its wake lay a frozen white world. The wolves, naturally, were part of it now.
"Tried imagining a dragon's breath, but it's underwhelming. Hard to control."
Wendigo recalled the mist and approached a wolf, manipulating the cold to extract its head from the ice. He split the skull with a claw and ripped out the parasite.
The thing was blackened and dead, but faint mysticism lingered—more like a spirit's than a shaman's.
Spirits are definitely involved.
"Spirit! Watch out!!"
Hegilson cried in shock. A bear burst from the underbrush, its bulk rivaling Wendigo's. Roots writhed from its eyes—utterly grotesque.
Wendigo turned, catching the bear's swinging paw mid-strike. He could've taken the hit, but saw no reason to.
"Krwaaagh!?"
"Guess I'll have to rip you apart alive."
With a crack, the bear's arm snapped. Wendigo pummeled its torso. Leather tore, blood sprayed, and the bear collapsed vomiting gore—but it twitched on, refusing to die.
Wendigo cracked its skull open. Inside, roots writhed around a seed-like core in the brain.
He pinched the seed with a claw. The roots lashed out, coiling around his arm.
"Noisy pest."
The roots squeezed with bone-crushing force but couldn't even scratch his hide. Wendigo yanked them free and plucked the seed.
Strong mysticism pulsed from the living seed—pure natural energy, odd for such foul work.
"Skadi. Some spirit planted this. Can you track it through the seed?"
"Hmm... It's not direct control—more like embedded commands. Tracking's tough. But the spirit's mysticism? I'd recognize it on sight."
Then the seed was useless. Wendigo crushed it. The mysticism dispersed into the air.
Hegilson watched blankly, then let out a hollow chuckle.
Protect the shaman? With a spirit like that guarding her?
If even he can't handle it, better to accept death.
Something melted away inside him—fear or worry, he couldn't tell.
* * *
His expression's gone kinda slack. Wonder why?
"There—Nidhorn Village. The entrance is a mess, but please understand."
Hegilson guided them with the serene face of an enlightened monk. He'd realized resistance was futile if Wendigo went rogue.
Wendigo noted the shift but let it slide. No malice there—just relief. Good enough.
He surveyed the village. The ravaged entrance confirmed Hegilson's tale: beast blood, severed roots, a half-collapsed palisade. Without signs of life inside, it'd pass for ruins.
As they neared, armed men with fierce glares approached, weapons raised.
Starved, but tougher-eyed than Skadi's villagers.
"Easy, friends! It's me—Hegilson!"
"Oh, Hegilson. Who's that... thing behind you?"
Gazes locked on Wendigo. He was getting used to the fear in their eyes.
At first, he'd puzzled over explanations. Now? He had spokespeople.
"This is Wendigo, the spirit I serve. A merciful one—don't fear."
"H-He looks terrifying, I get it, but he's truly benevolent. Please, lower your weapons."
Skadi spoke flatly; Hegilson half-begged. "Merciful spirit" twisted the men's faces. The words didn't mesh.
How bad have spirits been for 'merciful' to sound that off? Wait—right now, it's a spirit causing their woes.
Wendigo felt a twinge of injustice but understood. After enduring this unknown spirit's mischief, suspicion was natural.
The men hesitated, then lowered arms. Scary spirit or not, Hegilson's word carried weight.
"More respect than expected."
"Haha, I'm a stand-up guy, after all."
Self-praise aside, it wasn't wrong. Why else risk his life fleeing the village? To save its people.
A man who'd stake his life for that was solid. The men still feared, but let Wendigo enter. Blocking him seemed impossible anyway.
Inside, stares converged. A giant in a deer skull? Hard to ignore.
Wendigo read their emotions: worry, anxiety, anger... hope.
Hope in this mess? Someone beat us here?
"Wendigo, strong mysticism from deeper in."
Skadi's words drew his focus. Potent mysticism indeed—scattered, like a shaman's work.
"Looks like a shaman got here first. What's that area?"
"Uh, the granary. If it'd held, we'd have lasted longer... but the grains and fruits rotted overnight. Chaos."
"Let's check it."
Wendigo headed for the granary. Amid the stench of rot, two middle-aged men argued intently.
"The spirit of this land must be punishing us for not serving it. See these rotting roots under the floor? Through them flows a sinister energy..."
"Village Chief Geron, sorry to interrupt, but I brought the shaman. You should greet them."
Hegilson's voice turned the stern-faced man's head. Geron lit up at Hegilson—then gaped at Wendigo.
"Wh-What have you brought?!"
"Well, it's a long story, but...:"
"I'll handle it. I'm Wendigo. This is Skadi, my contracted shaman. Think of me as... spirit-like."
"Spirit" flipped Geron's expression. He'd just blamed spirits for the ruin—now one stood before him.
Geron bowed deeply, careful not to offend.
"This worthless elder greets the incarnation of nature, the great spirit."
"Ruling a village in this harsh forest shows your capability. No need to belittle yourself."
"!"
Geron hadn't expected praise from a spirit; surprise broke through.
His glance at Hegilson got no help.
"Spirit here's more generous and merciful than your average..."
"Just say it straight: unlike those scumbag spirits, I'm decent."
Geron flinched. Beside him, a kindly-faced middle-aged shaman trembled.
The shaman composed himself and bowed politely.
"Ryurik, shaman who devours mysticism, greets the merciful spirit."
"Ah, Spirit. This is the shaman helping our village."
Geron introduced him reverently. He'd aided the fleeing youth, shared herbs and food, scurried about solving the crisis...
Hegilson marveled. Geron, stingy with praise, gushed endlessly.
What a good shaman! Heaven hasn't abandoned us.
We'll pay a price, but with kind shamans and spirits...
Wendigo stared at Ryurik, then stepped closer.
"Devoted to the village, are you?"
"Yes! So miraculous—he pinpointed the cause in one..."
"I see."
Wendigo ignored Geron, slashing with claws wreathed in frost. They whistled lethally toward Ryurik's throat.
"Eh?"