NOVEL WEB Chapter 474: Baby Killer
[Skill: Soul Tongue]
[Description:]
Once, he'd heard someone say all humans spoke the same language until Babel. Still, the Weeping Star found the strange language spoken by his mother to be perfectly comprehensive.
[Effect:]
Soul Tongue is the language of the soul… and the source of all languages. Like those on higher planes, you can speak all tongues—though whether you can comprehend them is up to you.
[Type:] Passive
[Cooldown:] None
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This was actually… a pretty lackluster skill, all things considered.
The creature Damon killed to obtain it had the ability to influence the world with its words.
He remembered it as a particularly ugly son of a bitch.
And somehow the only thing Damon got from it was the ability to understand and speak any language spoken to him.
He couldn't invent a language from thin air. And he couldn't speak a language he hadn't heard. But if someone—human or otherwise—spoke to him in any unknown tongue, he would instantly become fluent.
Useful?
Sure. But not epic.
He could speak to any entity. Man, monster, creature, or horror.
Which came with its own problems.
Annoying little problems, like most of his skills.
His human brain wasn't exactly built for this.
For instance, while animals had a language… that didn't mean they were bright. The info he got from them was often incomplete, misinterpreted, or just plain dumb. Most were too simple-minded.
Like dogs. If he passed one on the street, its words would sound like:
Tail. Tail. Bone. Female dog. Woof. Master!
Squirrels? Not much better. Winter. Nuts. Bugs.
Bugs? Don't even go there.
They chose actions based on simple binary logic—safer vs. not safe. Food or no food. Mate or no mate.
Animals were fine for simple things. But horror creatures and abominations? Completely different problem.
They were often too broken to form coherent thought. And when they did speak, it was pure malicious garbage. Hate. Violence. Nonsense.
There were a few exceptions, of course.
But for the most part, if Damon didn't use this skill for very specific purposes—like interrogating horrors or understanding strange creatures—then it just wasn't worth the mental strain.
Still, it did have perks.
Linguists would die for what he had. And now he could at least chat with Ravenscroft, his pet raven. Though… that bird might be smart, but it sucked at expressing itself.
This squirrel, however…
This little red menace had been watching him from the start—ever since he stepped foot back into the Evil Forest in search of the Wendigo.
He was hoping it had some intelligence. Maybe even enough to tell him what happened to his old enemy.
Keep your friends close… and your enemies closer. If your enemies started winning in life. You destroy them with negativity.
Yeah, that was the full quote.
He squeezed the squirrel in his hand, watching it squirm.
He could tell it was terrified. Honestly, if he saw himself right now, even he'd be terrified of himself.
He activated his Appraisal skill.
Sure enough…
[Scarlet Flying Squirrel]
Fast. Agile. Loves nuts.
Except these particular squirrels love living nuts.Enemy of all men. Can bite through armor. Especially groin armor. Also called testicle collector.
Age: 17 years
Rank: Unranked
Status: Healthy
Damon's eye twitched.
Oh yeah. He'd heard about these things. Their reputation was legendary in very unfortunate circles.
Appraisal was such a weird skill. Sometimes it gave clear info, other times it just spat out question marks or burned his eyes out of his skull.
He was supposed to be asking about the Wendigo.
But he couldn't help himself.
He looked down at the tiny furball in his hand.
"So you've been looking at my nuts, huh? You wanna eat my little— I mean big treasures?"
The squirrel squealed in sheer panic.
Damon heard its desperate shriek as:
"Nut—not!!"
He slammed his hand—and the squirrel—into the tree trunk beside him, rattling the entire ancient tree.
"I'm gonna ask you some questions. You lie—I eat your nuts."
The squirrel squirmed and looked toward a small hole in the tree.
Damon followed its gaze.
"Oh? That's where your stash is, huh?"
He spread his shadow perception into the tree.
What he saw made his expression twist in horror.
"…You little pervert."
Inside the hollow was a nut collection—but not just any nuts.
Testicles.
Dozens.
None human, but clearly the remains of various beast species around the forest.
Huge ones too. A nocturnal stag. A swamp cat. A couple demon boars.
The squirrel had been busy.
It was now trembling in pure terror. Its expression reminded Damon of a nobleman discovering he'd gone bankrupt overnight.
He looked up and whistled.
"Croft."
The raven circling above came swooping down.
The squirrel looked up, eyes wide—like it was seeing an old enemy.
Its next squeal translated clearly:
"Help me…"
Croft landed beside him. Gave the squirrel a sharp glance, then looked back at Damon.
Definitely familiar with the little freak.
Then, without ceremony, Croft hopped to the tree hole, plucked out a fresh blood-stained testicle, and started munching.
The squirrel looked devastated. Utter betrayal.
Damon could've sworn it was crying.
He cleared his throat. This was exactly why he hated talking to animals.
They got too easily distracted.
He lifted the heartbroken squirrel up by its fur, holding it eye-level.
He pointed in the direction of the Wendigo's old den.
"Your neighbor. Where did she go?"
The squirrel hesitated. Then pointed.
To the left.
While squealing: "Right!"
Damon's eye twitched.
Right. Animals didn't know left or right.
"When did she leave?"
It began screeching in a rapid, jumbled string of thoughts. The Soul Tongue skill translated as a confusing mess of instincts, memory fragments, and vague time references.
Still—he got the gist.
The Wendigo had left a few days after Damon killed her children.
The squirrel said something else too. Something that stood out.
Apparently, Damon should be careful.
There's a baby killer on the loose.
Damon blinked.
Then smirked.
"…Yeah. That's me. I'm the baby killer."
He could've sworn its fur lost color when he said that.