The Devouring Knight-Chapter 84 - 83: Where Monsters Bow

The morning air was crisp as they set out on their journey. Lumberling rode at the front, Jen seated behind him, arms wrapped lightly around his waist. He had brought extra horses, he knew he wouldn’t be returning alone.

Behind him, Uncle Drake and Aunt Celine rode side by side, their pace measured and quiet. Uncle Orrin followed next, with Old Man Dan bringing up the rear. The group moved in silence, their expressions thoughtful, each weighed down by the uncertainty of what awaited them beyond the trees.

They carried questions, unspoken, heavy things. And fears, too, quiet but present. But their trust in Lumberling ran deep. Too deep, perhaps. Jen and Old Man Dan had faith in him, unwavering and complete. And if what he said was true... then this wasn’t just a journey.

It was a choice.

A step into something that could change everything.

It took them days to reach the goblin village. The journey itself was calm, no monsters, no signs of soldiers. Only forest and quiet.

But when they arrived, their breath caught.

The village gates were open, wide and waiting.

Before them stood towering figures, goblins, kobolds, even evolved monsters with eyes too sharp and armor too fitted to be anything but military.

And yet... they were organized. Soldiers stood at attention. Wolves watched from the ridge. Boars snorted, their tusks capped in steel. A line of elite goblins and kobolds flanked the path in silence.

Uncle Drake’s hand instinctively brushed his old sword hilt.

Celine stiffened at his side.

Orrin’s throat clicked as he swallowed hard.

But Old Man Dan and Jen stepped forward without hesitation, calm, certain, already accustomed to what stood before them.

Then Lumberling passed through the gate...

And the monsters knelt.

One by one, the captains dropped to a knee. Vice-captains bowed their heads. Soldiers pressed fists to chests. Wolves dipped their muzzles. Even the boars stomped once in practiced unison.

A singular voice called out:

"Welcome home, my Lord!"

Uncle Drake stared, eyes wide. "They can... speak the Pentaline tongue," he muttered in disbelief.

Lumberling offered a calm smile, gesturing for them to follow.

"They’re not just brawlers," he said. "Smarter than most folks give them credit for."

He began the introductions.

"This is Skitz," Lumberling started. "Vice-leader and my right hand. He runs things when I’m away. Smartest one here, my first real ally, and the one who helped build all of this from nothing."

Skitz offered a short, deliberate half-bow. His sharp eyes flicked over Drake and the others, noting every detail. "So, these are the ones who helped my Lord in his early days," he said, then nodded directly at Uncle Drake. "I’ve heard stories about you. You were the first to stand beside him."

Uncle Drake scratched the back of his neck, unsure whether to bow back or salute. ""He helped me more than I helped him. If not for him, I’d probably still be out there wearing armor and chasing orders."

Skitz grinned. "And if not for you, he might still be doing the same."

Lumberling moved to the next. "Krivex. Captain of scouts and head of intelligence. When Skitz and I are out, he keeps the village running. You could say he’s third in command."

Krivex bowed politely. "An honor to meet those the Lord trusts. You have my respect."

Next came a wall of muscle and calm presence.

"Grokk," Lumberling said. "Our village guardian. Quiet, but if someone crosses our gates, he’s the last thing they’ll ever see."

Grokk thumped a closed fist to his chest. "Welcome."

"Skarn," Lumberling continued, gesturing to a boar-riding warrior. "Captain of the boar cavalry."

"Hope you like noise," Skarn rumbled. "Because my boys don’t trot, they thunder."

"Vakk and Takkar," Lumberling said, pointing at two towering kobolds, one brooding, the other grinning. "Militia and guard captains."

Vakk gave a crisp nod. Takkar waved cheerfully. "We’re not twins, just equally good-looking!"

"And Aren," Lumberling added. "Elite squad captain."

Aren nodded curtly. "They bleed, I lead."

Then came the final two, standing slightly too close together, both grinning like they were about to cause trouble.

"Gobo1 and Gobo2," Lumberling said, voice tightening slightly. "Captains of the hunter units. Don’t let the names fool you."

Gobo1 stepped forward, puffing his chest. "I’m the brains."

Gobo2 stepped forward beside him. "And I’m the better-looking brains."

Uncle Drake raised a brow. "Is there a difference?"

Gobo1 gasped dramatically. "Blasphemy!"

Gobo2 held up a hand. "It’s alright, brother. Not everyone can tell greatness apart from goblin charm."

They both bowed with exaggerated flair, nearly tripping over each other.

Laughter slipped through the tension. Even Celine cracked a smile.

Despite the jokes, when they stood straight, their posture shifted, disciplined, alert, ready. They gave small nods and a short greeting in Pentaline tongue, as did each of the captains in turn.

Lumberling turned back to his guests. "They may be monsters, but they’re not savages. They’re soldiers, disciplined, loyal, and mine."

And for a moment, even Drake couldn’t deny it. The discipline, the respect, the structure, it rivaled any human garrison he’d ever seen.

A few steps behind the others, Celine clutched Drake’s arm, her eyes wide as she took in the sight before her, captains and goblin soldiers standing in perfect formation, armor gleaming, weapons sharp, their movements crisp and precise.

"They... they follow him like knights," she whispered, disbelief woven into her voice.

Orrin didn’t respond at first. His gaze swept over the captains, towering, silent, commanding. Each one looked like they could crush him with ease, and he was a Knight Page.

He exhaled slowly. "I’ve seen nobles who couldn’t command half that respect," he muttered. "And he’s not even raising his voice."

Celine blinked, then offered a quiet, almost reverent smile. "He walks... and they follow."

Her voice was soft, proud, and just a little awed.

They expected the stench of beasts, of wet fur and rot. Instead, the air carried the clean tang of steel, the smoky breath of a forge, the sharpness of cedar.

"And this," Lumberling finished, turning to Dan, "is Old Man Dan. Head of agriculture and livestock operations."

Drake’s eyebrows lifted. "Dan? You’re in charge of something here?"

Old Man Dan gave a crooked smile. "You’d be amazed what a hoe and good soil can do when goblins listen."

Then Jen tugged on Celine’s sleeve. "Come on, let me show you."

She and Dan led them deeper into the village. Through clean roads carved from stone and packed earth. Past two-story structures made of wood and mortar, each with slanted roofs and reinforced doors. Irrigation channels flowed clean water. Crops grew in neat rows. There were animal pens, storage silos, even a kiln.

And it wasn’t just functioning, it thrived.

Celine looked around, hand on her growing stomach. "This is more developed than our entire village."

The training field was alive with motion. Elite squads drilled on horseback. Goblins barked instructions. Kobolds ran obstacle courses. Wolves padded quietly through formation drills.

And every pair of eyes that saw Lumberling lit up, not with fear, not with blind subservience...

But with reverence.

They saluted.

They bowed.

They smiled.

Even among nobles, Drake had never seen subordinates look at their Lord that way.

"By the gods," he whispered. "They follow you without question."

Lumberling stood quietly beside him, watching the village move like a living, breathing body. His creation. His home.

Uncle Drake placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes shining, not with awe, but with something warmer.

"So this is what you’ve been building," he said, voice low. "I’m proud of you. Truly."

Lumberling exhaled, just a little. "It wasn’t easy."

"I can see that," Drake said. "But it was worth it."

Behind them, Jen and Celine laughed over something small. Even Old Man Dan looked ten years younger as he explained the irrigation setup to Orrin.

Then Drake looked at Lumberling seriously.

"You’ve got something real here," Uncle Drake said, voice low. "And dangerous. You sure about letting us in?"

"I am," Lumberling replied without hesitation.

Drake’s gaze lingered on the soldiers once more, their discipline, their strength. Then it drifted to the village walls, the farms, the quiet industry humming beneath the surface. Finally, he looked at Lumberling himself.

He stepped forward and clasped the young man’s wrist firmly.

"Then let’s build something worth protecting."

Beside him, Celine nodded with quiet conviction. "If this is what you’ve made... then I want our child to grow up somewhere like this."

Orrin crossed his arms, his grin wide. "You don’t even have to convince me. I’m in. Just point me to the forge or the barracks."

Lumberling’s lips curved into a rare smile.

"Welcome home," he said.

And for the first time since the war reached the forest, it truly felt like the beginning of something new.

As they stood there, a soft clang rang from the forge, smoke curling into the dusky sky. Lanterns flickered to life along the village paths, casting golden trails between homes and halls. Beyond the walls, wolves howled, not in warning, but in greeting. It wasn’t just a camp. It was a home. One built with blood, stone, and something rarer still, hope.

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