The Devouring Knight-Chapter 77 - 76: The Eight-Legged Memory

In the goblin village.

The golden eagle landed, dust puffing as its talons gripped the outpost rail. Its feathers were ruffled from flight, its amber eyes sharp with urgency.

Krivex was already waiting.

He extended his arm. The eagle hopped onto it without hesitation and let out a soft cry. Krivex leaned close as the beast tilted its head, tapping lightly at a leather-bound message capsule strapped to its leg. He unfastened it and quickly scanned the tight, coded script.

His expression tightened.

Without a word, he turned and ran.

...

Inside the command tent, the air shifted the moment Krivex stepped in. The captains, Skitz, Aren, Skarn, Gobo1, and the others, were mid-discussion over patrol rotations when they saw his face.

"What is it?" Skitz asked, standing upright.

Krivex didn’t waste time. "A scout spotted an armed unit in the east quadrant. Not Pentaline. Different armor, different crest."

The room quieted. Aren stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Not Pentaline? Then..."

"Sengolio," Krivex confirmed.

The word hung like a stormcloud. Even the torches on the tent walls seemed to flicker.

Lumberling, who had been seated near the map table, stood slowly.

His calm was a weight.

"Are we sure?" he asked.

Krivex nodded. "Black-tasseled helmets. Scale armor with green enamel. Their movement patterns don’t match Pentaline doctrine. They’re trying to avoid attention. Might be a splinter group that got separated after the last engagement."

Lumberling’s gaze dropped to the map, fingers tracing the forest’s edge.

If the group pushed any farther, they’d reach the village.

"Could be an advanced recon force," Aren muttered. "Or worse, a retreating unit looking to regroup. Either way, they’ll burn villages if they need supplies."

"No," Skitz growled. "They’re not getting near ours."

Lumberling’s voice cut through the rising tension, low but firm. "I’ll confirm it myself."

The captains looked at him in surprise.

"My Lord," Grokk said, "let me go instead..."

"No," Lumberling said, already donning his cloak. "It’s too dangerous to risk anyone else. If it’s a trap, I’m the only one who can survive long enough to report back. But I’m not going alone."

He turned toward the eagle still perched outside.

"The eagle will guide me," he added, then glanced at Skitz. "And I want you with me."

Skitz gave a toothy grin. "Been a while since we crept around together. Just like old times."

"Not exactly," Lumberling said. "Back then, we had nothing to lose."

He faced the others now, his voice rising slightly.

"While we’re gone, I want the army ready. All captains, prepare defensive formations. If anything happens, if we don’t come back in five days, you move the villagers to the evacuation zone and initiate our fallback plan."

A hush fell over the tent.

Gobo1 swallowed hard. "You really think it’s that serious?"

"I don’t know yet," Lumberling said. "But I won’t wait until they’re knocking on our gates to find out."

Aren gave a sharp nod. "Understood. We’ll be ready."

Grokk stepped forward, placing one fist over his chest. "May the wind be with your steps, my Lord."

Lumberling met each of their eyes. Strong. Loyal. Willing to die for what they’d built.

’We’ve come far,’ he thought. ’Too far to lose it now.’

"Then let’s move," he said, his cloak already billowing behind him.

....

Five Days Later

The forest was quieter than usual, too quiet for Skitz’s liking.

Lumberling and Skitz stood beneath a twisted canopy of pines and ash trees, waiting. The moss beneath their boots was damp, muffling their movements. Soon, a figure in light leather armor emerged from the treeline, crouched low but moving swiftly.

Unit Alpha.

He gave a quick salute, fist to chest, before pulling down his scarf.

"My Lords," he whispered, breathless, "just as I signaled earlier, east sector, near the black ravine. We spotted an engagement. Sengolio soldiers... fighting a giant spider."

Lumberling and Skitz exchanged a glance.

"How many soldiers?" Skitz asked.

"Around three hundred," the scout said, his voice steady. "But that’s not the important part."

Lumberling didn’t flinch. "Go on."

"A giant spider was... tearing through them. Fast. Precise. It used the terrain. Trapped a squad near the ridge, led another into a ravine. It knew what it was doing."

Lumberling’s brow furrowed. "A smart spider? Describe it."

The scout nodded, swallowing. "Jet-black carapace. Bigger than any I’ve seen. Easily the size of a siege cart. Eight legs, serrated at the joints. Its eyes glowed blue, not red. Cold. Focused. Almost... aware. Like it was reading the battlefield."

Lumberling’s breath hitched. A familiar tension tightened in his chest.

"But then..." The scout hesitated. "An old man stepped into the fight. Wore heavy armor under a ragged cloak. Broad-shouldered. Straight-edged longsword. No heraldry, no insignia, but his stance was strange. He fought with his left shoulder forward, weight on the back leg. Precision in every cut. Silent, except for one phrase he muttered when he charged:

’A clean blade cuts cleaner fates.’

It didn’t sound like a threat. More like... ritual."

Lumberling’s eyes narrowed. "A Quasi-Knight," he murmured.

The scout nodded. "Soon as he entered, the tide shifted. One swing, he took off the spider’s leg like it was nothing."

"And the spider?"

"Didn’t try to fight back. It used some kind of vanishing skill. Blinked out before the kill shot landed. Just gone."

Lumberling fell silent.

But inside, the name rang again in his mind.

’Shade.’

Still alive.

Lumberling’s eyes drifted to the trees. A memory scratched at the back of his mind, skittering limbs in the darkness, clever web traps, and an eerie silence that used to follow him through the forest during those early days of survival.

A spider with strategy... one that adapted, learned...

Lumberling’s jaw tightened.

"You’ve done well," he told the scout. "Return to the forest and await further orders. Keep low."

Unit Alpha saluted again and slipped into the shadows like mist.

Skitz stepped up beside Lumberling, arms crossed, eyes still fixed on the direction the scout had come from. "So? What’s your take?"

Lumberling’s gaze was distant, thoughtful. "This spider... it sounds familiar. Back then, there was one, strange as it sounds, that volunteered to be my sparring partner."

"A spider volunteered?" Skitz raised a brow.

Lumberling nodded. "Smart one. I called it Shade. We traded moves, when I tried to mimic its vanishing skill, it started mimicking me too. We learned from each other. It was more than just a beast."

Skitz’s expression sobered. "You think it’s the same one?"

"I’m certain. And if it’s still alive after all this time..." He turned to the east, eyes sharp now, voice low. "I need to confirm it."

Without another word, the two of them vanished into the foliage, silent as ghosts.

.....

Meanwhile...

A ring of scorched trees surrounded the cratered clearing. Blood was spattered across torn grass and crushed foliage.

A Sengolio sergeant growled, pacing at the edge of the wreckage.

"Where did that damn spider go!?"

"Sir," a soldier knelt beside a scorched trail of web and blood. "It lost a leg. It can’t have gone far."

"Then find it. It cost us dozens of good men. The young master wants its corpse."

He spat.

"Damned beast. If that knight hadn’t intervened, we’d all be spider food."

The trees rustled.

The air thickened.

Then...

"Over here!"

The voice rang out across the field.

Hidden under a collapsed log, breathing shallow and twitching with pain, Shade clung to life. Its glossy black carapace was cracked. One eye had been slashed, one leg missing, and half its limbs trembled with fatigue and poison. Still, it hissed when the soldiers drew close, dragging its injured body up in defiance.

The Sengolio soldiers raised their weapons. "Kill it now! It’s too dangerous to leave alive!"

Shade screeched.

But it was weak.

Too weak.

Then...

A sharp whistle pierced the air.

Far above, a golden eagle let out a cry, then banked sharply to the east.

Lumberling, crouched on a nearby ridge, rose to his full height as he lowered his whistle.

"They’re here," he said.

"Only grunts though. No aura strong enough to match the Quasi-Knight the scout mentioned," Skitz said, sniffing the air.

"Good. Then we take them now."

With a flick of his hand, Lumberling sent the eagle skyward.

It flew fast, back toward the village, the signal clear: Send the army. Full force. Coordinates attached.

Below, the soldiers closed in on Shade.

One raised a spear.

And then a blur of movement.

Something slammed into the soldier mid-thrust. A blur. A shape. Then, Skitz, grinning beside the dying spider.

"Sorry boys," he said. "This one’s under our protection."

Lumberling appeared beside him, spear spinning once in his grip before pointing forward.

"Anyone touches that spider dies."

The Sengolio troops hesitated, looking between each other. One rushed forward anyway, only to be impaled clean through the gut before he could blink.

The others screamed and charged.

It was over in seconds.

Blades clashed. Skitz weaved between them like a flame, cutting, dodging, laughing like a maniac. Lumberling fought differently now, his movement effortless, like he was dancing through the gaps in the world. Spears found necks. Palms crushed throats.

Twenty-four Sengolio soldiers died on that forest floor.

The last one tried to run.

He didn’t make it.

Lumberling turned to Shade, who was twitching, legs weakly clicking.

Even now, injured, near-death, surrounded by familiar scent, it still lunged at him.

Lumberling caught a leg and gently shoved it back.

"What are you doing, Shade? I’m trying to save you."

Skitz chuckled, wiping blood off his dagger. "Want me to knock it out?"

"No," Lumberling said softly, kneeling beside the spider. "Let it be. It’s just... excited to see me again."

Shade hissed again, more softly this time. Its remaining eyes locked on him. Something flickered inside them, confusion, recognition, pain.

Lumberling placed a steady hand on its injured thorax. "Stay put, will you?"

Shade twitched, then tried to drag itself again.

"I said stay. You stubborn eight-legged bastard..."

Eventually, its movements slowed. Exhaustion took over.

The army would arrive soon.

But for now, Lumberling lifted Shade, slowly, carefully, onto a stretch of reinforced cloth Skitz had laid out. Together, they began carrying their old companion back.

A silent promise carried in Lumberling’s heart:

’You survived alone. Again. This time, you won’t be alone anymore.’

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