CH174 The Truth in the Folktale
***
The Wendigo, in its death, left behind its Spirit Antlersâoffered to Alex as thanks for releasing its offspring from torment.
Alex smiled as the creatureâs remnant essence faded from existence, its otherworldly presence dissolving into the cold air, leaving only the ethereal antlers cradled in his palms.
âThank goodness the plan worked.â
His bravado faded as he heaved a heavy sigh of relief.
âGood thing I read all those miscellaneous documents back at the Enclave... the law of clichĂ© saves the day again.â
He turned the antlers slowly in his hand, their mist-like glow pulsing gently.
âTo think that ridiculous folktale was actually true.â
He remembered it well. A tattered old diary tucked away in the miscellaneous section of the Enclaveâs Library. Heâd skimmed it while setting up the Rune-Netâone of the many half-useful references heâd casually absorbed and stored in memory.
The diary belonged to a travelling bard. Once a retainer in noble service, the man had abandoned the life in his middle age, choosing to wander the world instead. In his journeys, he gathered talesâsome true, most half-true, many absurdâand traded them for coin and lodgings in village after village.
One such tale stood out.
In a remote hamlet, the bard heard a story about a villager who had rescued a young wounded, humanoid creature from the edge of the woods. The villager nursed the being back to health and, when it recovered, released it back into the forest.
A few days later, the creature returnedâthis time accompanied by a larger, adult version of itself. The villager braced for death, understanding that he had unwittingly come in contact with a young Wendigo.
But instead, the adult Wendigo simply stared and pointed silently at the manâs skull.
Then it left.
Years later, when the villager had a child, the adult Wendigo returned once moreâthis time bearing the Spirit Antlers of a deceased Wendigo. It presented them to the child and vanished.
That child, as the tale went, became the first Warlock ever born in that village.
The bard had dismissed the story, noting it down as a folktale. After all, it was common knowledge that Wendigoes were fiercely xenophobic. Encounters usually ended with blood, not gifts. And Spirit Antlers were sacred to themâmore prized than ancestral heirlooms among human nobility.
The idea of one willingly handing over such a treasure was absurd.
But Alex had noticed something the average reader wouldnât have. In a faint scribble tucked in a corner of the diary pageâsomething he wouldâve missed without the enhanced vision of his Truth-Seeker Eyesâwas a personal note.
A name wasnât given, but the bard hinted at discovering the identity of that child-turned-Warlock. The reverence in his tone suggested the individual had grown into a figure of incredible power and significance.
That entry changed everything for Alex.
It convinced him that the bard had come to believe in the story after allâbut chose to pass it off as fiction to protect the village... or perhaps to discourage idiots from chasing Wendigoes for their antlers.
After all, it was well known:
You couldnât take a Wendigoâs Spirit Antlers by force. They had to choose to give them up.
And they almost never didâespecially not in captivity.
There was no known method to convince or coerce them otherwise.
Until now.
This folktale presented a viable methodâone that, if known, could make humans the Wendigoesâ public enemy number one.
The Bard, who had once worked for nobles, had witnessed the true face of greed among them. He knew just how far the nobles would go to get what they desired.
It wouldnât be long before the method backfiredâturning the Wendigoes not just wary, but actively hostile toward humanity.
So, the Bard buried the knowledge, convinced that anyone pure-hearted enough to use the method properly wouldnât need to be told about it beforehand in the first place.
Seeing Daddy Golden Energy coil around the Wendigo Spiritâs antlers reminded Alex of the tale.
Sensing the grief and fury in the creature, Alex made a decision.
He didnât need to fight itâespecially not if doing so meant risking Udara and Fen against a Wendigo already half-consumed by death.
He could hold out. Surviving until the Wendigoâs soul burned out on its own.
But judging from Fen and Udaraâs reaction to a [Soul Howl] one of the more basic attacks of the Wendigo in its current state, Alex didnât believe it wise to risk a fight with it.
But getting the Wendigo to listen- and give up fighting? That was the real challenge.
The Wendigo believed he was looking at the one who murdered its child. No grieving parentâhuman or otherwiseâwould calmly listen under such belief.
Which was why Alex revealed one of his most powerful cards: Dragon Tongue.
Dragons were reveredâor feared, depending on who one askedâall across the continent of Arun.
Whether intelligent beings or dull monster, all knew better than to provoke a Dragon unless absolutely necessary.
By speaking the Dragon Tongue, Alex forced the Wendigo to hesitate. It had to pause. To think. Heâd evoked the might of a proverbial tiger (dragon) to frighten the forest into silence.
The Wendigo was compelled to consider Alexâs connection to Dragons. After all, the tongue was not something an ordinary being could imitate. It required a Draconic Bloodline, a powerful Spirit, and a tremendous well of mana.
Alex had consumed an Elder Dragonâs Blood Essence and Heart to refine his body and harmonise his two bloodlines. When those bloodlines later fused during his True Name awakening, the leftover draconic essence had been drawn into the fusion.
The result? His new fused bloodline now possessed subtle Draconic traits.
It wasnât a dominant part of him. More like a silent partner. But it was there. Enough to let him skirt the Draconic bloodline requirement.
Add to that his personal identity as a True Disciple under the tutelage of an Ancient Dragonâan identity recognised by the World Consciousnessâit made learning the language much easier.
His Spirit was already of high calibre, leaving his mana pool as the only bottleneck.
Even then, the Dragon Tongueâs cost was steep. Alex could only manage about a dozen sentences before his reserves would tap out completely.
Yes, it was that mana-intensive.
But he didnât need many words to prove his point.
The Wendigo, startled by the display, regained enough clarity to listenâat least partially.
And that fragile moment of understanding was all Alex needed.
What followed next... was a gamble.
**