The Devouring Knight-Chapter 138 - 137: Marches and Memories

The village was quiet as usual, wrapped in the stillness of early dawn. But something had changed.

Soft amber light spilled onto the dirt paths, lamps now hung from every post and doorway, their glow banishing the gloom that once defined the village’s nights. It no longer felt like a goblin den hidden in the woods. It felt... alive. Watchful.

The walls, once crude, had been reinforced with sharpened stakes and lookout perches. Grokk’s patrols marched with discipline, their heavy footsteps a steady drumbeat through the mist. Monsters that dared approach were either crushed beneath Grokk’s axes or silently picked off from the trees above, Shade’s venomous strikes were as precise as they were brutal. With the two of them working in tandem, the village had become a fortress in the shadows. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Grokk’s body had changed too. Day by day, his frame thickened, cords of muscle layered over his back and chest as he pushed deeper into the Bruteforge Body Cultivation. His roars during training shook the training ground, echoing like distant thunder.

Lumberling had yet to refine the Bruteforge Body Cultivation method. For one, he hadn’t mastered the Ironblood Tempering Scripture himself. And for another, his time had been consumed by something more delicate, more elusive.

Magic.

The path of a mage required more than sweat and repetition. It demanded study, insight, and the unraveling of truths hidden in dusty tomes and flowing energy. Every hour spent with scrolls and meditating on mana flow had drawn him deeper into a world far removed from brute strength.

Then, one morning, the sky stirred.

A sharp cry pierced the silence. A shadow passed overhead, a golden eagle, swift and precise, swooping low over the rooftops before circling twice and landing on the wooden perch outside Grokk’s quarters.

Grokk was already moving. The eagle was one of their scouts, this one assigned to watch the winding paths near the Blackroot Forest’s edge. Usually, these eagles reported migrating beasts or roaming monsters. But this time, the signs were different. This time, it had seen soldiers, marching in formation. An army.

Grokk didn’t waste a breath. He broke into a sprint, the ground trembling under each step as he rushed to find Lumberling.

War was coming again.

...

Inside the stone meeting hall, the air was thick with quiet anticipation.

The captains sat around the worn round table, Krivex, Gobo1, Gobo2, Skarn, Vakk, Takkar, Aren, and the towering guardian Grokk. Shade loomed outside the window, his massive spider eyes catching the sunlight, unmoving yet attentive.

Though none boasted shining armor or noble crests, there was a palpable strength in the room. These were no longer mere monsters or misfits. All of them had grown, refined through training under the Concordia Cycle and Bruteforge Body Cultivation. Three had already reached the peak of the Knight Apprentice level. The rest were closing in fast.

Give them more time, and they might evolve again, into something that even knights would fear.

At the head of the table sat Lumberling, back straight, gaze calm. Across from him sat the elven trio, Vaenyra, poised and graceful; Aurelya, ever watchful with her hand near her hilt; and Thessalia, composed, cold-eyed, already calculating outcomes in her mind.

"It’s been a while since we’ve convened," Lumberling said, his voice steady. "Alright, report what you saw."

Krivex leaned forward. "My Lord, one of the eagle scouts returned. It spotted a marching army. Soldiers, flying the Sengolio banner."

Murmurs rippled around the table.

"Numbers?" Lumberling asked.

"Unconfirmed. I’ve already sent scouts for a closer count," Krivex replied.

Lumberling nodded, unfazed. "Could it be an escaping force? Another band of deserters hiding from the Empire?"

Krivex shook his head. "I don’t think so, my Lord. Their banner, it looked... familiar."

"Familiar how?"

Krivex’s jaw tightened. "It matched the one we fought years ago. The first Sengolio army that entered Blackroot. The one that injured Shade."

The room fell silent.

Everyone remembered that battle, the blood-soaked soil, the fires, the screams. The day Shade nearly died.

Lumberling’s mind drifted back to a noble boy he had slain in that battle. He remembered the young man’s final words, third son of Viscount Gantarel.

"They’ve possibly come for revenge... or to find the boy they lost. But that son..."

Lumberling’s fingers tapped once against the table.

"...is already buried beneath these woods."

"My Lord, should we recall the troops from the second base?" Aren asked, breaking the silence.

"Not yet," Lumberling said. "First, we confirm their numbers. If it’s not urgent, we won’t pull from the second base."

He rubbed his jaw. A Viscount’s entourage usually included a Knight One Stage. But Lumberling no longer feared that kind of power. He could match it now. Maybe even crush it.

"How about we attack them now, Boss? A few elites would do," Gobo1 said, slamming a fist into his palm with confidence.

Gobo2, sitting cross-legged on a barrel and chewing on a roasted mushroom skewer, scratched his head thoughtfully.

"Yeah... this time we fight them one versus many. That way no one can make fun of us for ganging up on a single woman again. My pride still hurts from that."

A ripple of groans and awkward coughs passed through the gathered captains. Most of them had been there, charging valiantly and getting clobbered by a single elf with a terrifying sword and an even more terrifying glare.

Grokk grunted. "She wasn’t even buff."

"She didn’t need to be," Skarn muttered darkly. "She parried my axe with a dagger. A dagger."

Gobo2 held up a finger. "To be fair, it was a very sharp dagger."

"You screamed and played dead," Gobo1 said.

"I was buying time, obviously."

Lumberling sighed. "Focus."

"How long are you all going to talk?" Aurelya cut in, one hand on her hip and an unmistakable look of boredom painted across her face. "Let’s just do what that goblin said. March over there and knock their heads off."

The group turned, mildly surprised, not by the aggression, but by the timing.

Lumberling turned toward her with a faint smile. "You want to join in that badly?"

She tilted her head, lips curling into a grin. "What, you don’t want me around? Afraid I’ll embarrass you again in front of your subordinates?"

"Oh, you mean like how you accidentally elbowed me in the face during sparring?" he replied smoothly.

"That was a counter move," she said defensively.

"That was a flailing panic move," he shot back.

They both chuckled. The others watched as the tension that had begun to build moments earlier seemed to vanish between the two.

"You know," Aurelya said, stepping just a little closer, a spark in her eyes, "I go easy on you because I’m nice."

"You go easy on me because you’re tired after two rounds," Lumberling teased.

She rolled her eyes. "Keep talking. I’ll spar you again tonight and use my off-hand."

"Looking forward to it," he said.

The air between them hung warm for a second longer than necessary.

Off to the side, Vaenyra watched silently. She didn’t interrupt or call attention to herself, but her gaze lingered. She noticed how Aurelya angled her body toward him, how she stood a step closer than normal, how her voice lost its usual edge when she spoke directly to him.

She didn’t say anything, but Vaenyra always noticed things.

Her emerald eyes lingered, just a moment too long, on the two before flicking away, expression unreadable.

After a quiet moment, Vaenyra stepped forward, her voice calm and firm. "We’ll help you fight them. You helped us before, finding Earl Cedric. We haven’t forgotten."

Lumberling turned to her, something in him softening. "Thank you," he said, nodding with quiet sincerity. A genuine smile followed, brief but real.

Vaenyra returned it faintly, her emerald eyes unreadable but thoughtful.

Aurelya gave Vaenyra a glance, brief, unreadable, then crossed her arms and leaned slightly toward Lumberling again. "Well, guess we’re all one big happy war band now."

"Temporary," Vaenyra replied, not missing a beat. "Let’s not get sentimental."

Lumberling exhaled with a small shake of his head.

With their help, it would be a sure victory.

Still, Lumberling knew better than to let confidence dull his caution. Plans had to be made, contingencies drawn, and escape routes considered.

He looked around at the faces, goblins, kobolds, elves, monsters. And yet, somehow, this felt more like a family than anything he’d ever had back on Earth.

Whatever marched toward them... they’d face it together.

....

Thessalia stood near the edge of the war table, watching him.

Lumberling didn’t shout. Didn’t posture. And yet, somehow, the room had bent around him.

Thessalia crossed her arms, frowning.

It’s not supposed to work like this.

She glanced at Vaenyra, who said nothing but watched him with quiet belief.

Then at Aurelya, whose smirk couldn’t quite mask the glint in her eyes.

And then back to him.

He wasn’t supposed to matter.

But somehow, he did.

Thessalia exhaled, slower than she meant to. Her heart shouldn’t have been paying attention, but it was.