I was in Seclusion for so long that everyone forgot about me

Section 10, Cursed Ones, Entry 3 — Wendigo

—The Tale

Have you ever heard about the tale of the remote rural village? Of course, you have; after all, it's a common story told to naughty little children to warn them not to go outside at night. But what if I were to tell you that this horror story isn't just fiction? What if I were to tell you that every word is true? Beware of the truth!

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Somewhere, deep within the mountain's spine,

Lies a village caught outside of time.

Lumberjacks, weavers, miners too,

Live simple lives with skies so blue.

They don’t have much, yet wear warm grins—

But behind those smiles, the dread begins.

For even when they laugh and cheer,

There lingers something cold and near.

One day, a young adventurer came,

Chasing rats and a humble name.

An F-rank quest, a tiny feat,

To guard the village's precious wheat.

They welcomed him with open arms,

Promised safety, peace, and charms.

He took their offer, found some rest,

And dreamed of glory, strength, and quests.

But when he turned, with grateful nod,

Their gazes held no joy—just God.

No, not the kind that blesses prayer—

But the kind that weeps in thin, cold air.

Exhausted, he let down his guard,

The moldering door left unbarred.

He sank into that borrowed bed,

While silent snowflakes gently spread.

Though summer ruled the valley floor,

The frost crept in beneath the door.

A blizzard raged where warmth once slept,

And cold across the rooftops crept.

He woke with breath like curling mist,

His fingers clenched into a fist.

A tapping came from window’s pane,

A rhythmic knock—a ghostly strain.

"H-Hello?" he asked the empty gloom,

His voice too small to lift the room.

But silence answered. Only wind

Screamed through the cracks where dark had thinned.

He reached for steel and crept along,

Each step a heartbeat’s echo-song.

Behind—the door began to groan,

And with it, entered ice and moan.

He turned too late. The figure leered,

With bloodshot eyes and grin so smeared.

A tattered thing with claws and fangs—

It lunged, and through the stillness, sang.

In the house nearby, a family hides,

Wrapped in fear, with shuttered eyes.

The mother holds her daughter's face,

And silence cloaks the firelit space.

But then—it taps, that cursed sound,

Like nails that scratch the frozen ground.

A girlish voice, all cracked and weak:

“P-please… it’s cold. I cannot speak.

I haven’t eaten. Let me in.

Just warmth. Just food. I’m pale and thin.”

They hold their breath. Then—panic knocks.

"Please, help me! Something stalks!"

The voice becomes a twisted shriek:

"PlEaSe HeLp MeEeEeEeEeE!" it speaks.

Then quiet falls... a breathless beat—

Until that voice returns to repeat:

“One week. One week. One week,” it says,

In whispers wrong in nights like this.

“One week. Two kids. One adult more.

Two kids. One grown. That is the score.

Do not let me starve again.

Again. Again. AGAiN.”

This is where the tale grows thin.

No one knows what did him in.

No one asks, nor seeks the truth...

Lest they feed the thing its youth.

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—What is a Wendigo, and what do they look like?

A Wendigo is a creature cursed by the world itself. The precise causes of this curse remain uncertain, but historical records have documented several known origins:

• Prolonged, voluntary consumption of the flesh of one’s own kind

• Ingesting the flesh or blood of a deceased Wendigo

• Performing a forbidden ritual designed to induce transformation

• Dying from simultaneous starvation and hypothermia in winter

• Being cursed by a sufficiently powerful entity

Once afflicted, the transformation is immediate and irreversible. The victim becomes a towering, emaciated figure with unnaturally elongated limbs and glowing eyes—most commonly blood-red. Their hair turns matted and bone-white, and their presence radiates a supernatural cold.

This cursed form is not merely cosmetic. A Wendigo experiences an eternal, agonizing hunger and an unrelenting inner cold, regardless of how much it consumes or how close it is to warmth. These sensations never fade.

Wendigos move with eerie silence through snow-covered forests, their long claws dragging at their sides. Despite their massive size—often exceeding ten feet in height—they leave almost no trace. They wander endlessly, driven by hunger alone, immortal and unchanged by time.

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—Threat Assessment

Wendigos are formidable apex predators. Their immense size belies their stealth; they can move silently, even when stalking prey. In terms of raw strength, a single Wendigo is capable of overpowering and tearing apart an entire pack of mountain trolls.

They possess a unique form of internal mana generation, which they appear to channel directly into enhancing their physical capabilities—granting them not only brutal power but also surprising speed and agility.

Additionally, Wendigos are closely tied to weather manipulation. Wherever one roams, snowfall inevitably follows. It remains unclear whether this phenomenon is instinctive or a deliberate magical act, or if it even requires mana at all. Regardless, this trait serves as a valuable early-warning indicator—assuming the region is not naturally snowbound.

Alpha-class Wendigos are believed to possess access to other forms of magic, most of which are described in ancient texts as inherently dark or corrupted in nature.

Wendigos are ranked on a scale from S to SSS. The last confirmed SSS-class Wendigo was sighted over four millennia ago. Even SS-class individuals are exceedingly rare. Under normal conditions, Wendigos are solitary by nature. However, in the event they form groups, their threat level escalates dramatically.

Wendigos despise sunlight and remain dormant within caves or deep shade during the day. Therefore, it is strongly advised to travel only during daylight hours in any region where a Wendigo has been reported.

Above all else, remember this:

If you see one—run. Do not hesitate. Do not fight. Run, if you value your life.

Section 4, Deep-Sea Creatures, Entry 7 — Ninki Nanka

—A Whisper Beneath the Waves

Where mangroves weep and roots have drowned,

The serpent waits without a sound.

With silvered scales and hunger wide,

It stirs the storm, it parts the tide.

Its gaze is death, its cry the gale,

It hunts beneath the moonlight pale.

So heed the waves, and mark the foam—

Or Ninki Nanka brings you home.

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—A Brief Summary

The Ninki Nanka are a feared and ancient clan of aquatic beasts, originating from the now-ruined swamps of Mirbyt Nuan—once a thriving mangrove forest nestled between the human and beastmen empires. Long before the rise of modern kingdoms, this region teemed with life, its tangled roots concealing untold magical secrets. But greed, as always, would awaken that which should have been left buried.

When human prospectors discovered rare arcane crystals beneath the peat, they used powerful magic to drain the wetlands, ignoring the balance they disrupted. Beneath the moss-covered roots and brackish waters, something stirred—an ancient Mana Beast that had slumbered for centuries. What followed was never fully recorded. The final result was devastation: the mangroves withered, the rivers bled dry, and many native species vanished.

Among the displaced were the Ninki Nanka, a once-solitary and peaceful race. The trauma of losing their homeland hardened them. They began to recruit other sea creatures scarred by the war, forming a militant clan bound by grief and vengeance. Their enmity toward humanity was sealed—and their reach soon spread across the seas, rivers, and coasts.

To this day, the Ninki Nanka strike at trade vessels and outposts along the shallows and open waters. Though mankind and other races have established guarded trade routes through known danger zones, even the safest paths are not free from risk. Strangely, the frequency and intensity of their attacks have lessened over recent decades. Whether this signals a change in leadership, a shift in purpose, or a greater threat looming beneath the waves remains unknown.

They are also said to have formed an alliance with the Taniwha—an equally dangerous sea-dwelling force—further cementing their control over the deep. Together, they work to fracture any peace between land and sea.

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—What We Know About Their Appearance

Few who encounter a true Ninki Nanka live to tell the tale, but scattered accounts suggest a creature of immense power and grace—an unnatural blend of serpent, dragon, and phantom.

The original species is believed to be reptilian, reaching lengths of over 300 feet. Its head, vaguely draconic, sits atop a long, serpentine neck. Shimmering scales—silver edged in green—cover its elongated body, said to be so dense and resilient that even S-Rank adventurers’ weapons and spells fail to penetrate them.

Some claim it possesses wings, others say massive fins, used for agile swimming that belies its enormous size. And then there is the gaze—a predatory, gleaming eye said to cause hallucinations, madness, or death. Children in coastal villages are warned never to meet a ripple with a ripple, lest the creature look back.

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—Danger Level

The Adventurer Guild's central records classify the Ninki Nanka as an S+ Tier threat in deep or open waters. They are rarely seen near shoals or shallow regions, though attacks along river estuaries have been recorded.

No exploration vessel carrying elite adventurers has ever returned from a direct hunt, leaving many of their abilities unconfirmed. However, scholars agree that the Ninki Nanka wield ancient weather magics capable of conjuring storms and manipulating ocean currents at will. The sea itself bends to their presence.

As a clan, they rank A-Tier, bolstered by powerful allies such as lesser Hydras and the Coastal Kraken. A direct confrontation is strongly discouraged. If spotted from afar, the only accepted advice is retreat.

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—A Tale from the Deep

Once, a noble expedition set sail from the port of Eldenreach—four trade galleons and a warship at their lead. Their mission: to map and claim a new sea route across the stormlands. For three days, the voyage was smooth. On the fourth, the skies blackened without warning.

Rain pelted the decks, waves rose like mountains, and from beneath the surface, a gleaming green light pulsed like a heartbeat. A cry came from the crows' nest—“Something swims below us!”—before silence fell. The warship vanished first. The galleons shattered like driftwood. No bodies were found. Only fragments of the hulls washed ashore weeks later, etched with strange claw marks and coated in pale, glassy scales.

Now, Eldenreach children leave mirrors on their windowsills—just in case the serpent watches from the tide.