Lumberling exhaled and sat back, lost in thought.
"My progress has slowed down a lot," he muttered. "Training multiple skills at once isn't sustainable if I want to grow quickly. I'll have to narrow it down—Pikeman's Art and Concealment. Especially the latter. That'll be my focus moving forward."
Lumberling reviewed his plans in silence, setting a clear goal:
He would level up his Concealment skill before the year ended.
With that in mind, he got out of bed and prepared for the day. A few minutes later, he stepped out of his room—only to find the old man and Jen waiting outside.
"Good mor—"
He was about to greet them when, suddenly, both dropped to their knees.
"We pledge our allegiance to the Lord," they said in unison.
Even the little girl was kneeling properly, her expression serious despite her youthful face. It was clear the old man had made his decision the night before—and had taken the time to teach his granddaughter proper etiquette.
"May we know the name of our Lord?" the old man asked.
"Raise your heads," Lumberling said calmly.
They looked up, meeting his eyes.
"My name is Lumberling," he said, his tone shifting into solemn authority. "I accept your fealty. In return, I offer you my protection and favor. From this day forward, you are my subordinates—trusted and cherished."
The two placed their hands over their hearts.
"By oath, stone, and soul bind. By the ancient words, from this day until my last—I will serve you," they said in unison.
"You may rise," Lumberling replied, offering a rare smile.
"Pack your things," he added. "We leave after breakfast."
"Okay, Brother—uh, I mean, my Lord!" Jen said, beaming.
After a hearty breakfast, the three of them departed from the city.
As they traveled along the dirt road flanked by forest, Lumberling glanced at the old man.
"Just so you're aware... the place we're going to isn't a normal village," he said. "But rest easy—I'm the chief."
"As expected of my Lord," the old man replied with a proud nod. "Already a village chief at such a young age."
"Wow! Brother—I mean, my Lord—you're a real chief? That's amazing!" Jen chimed in, her eyes sparkling.
"It is," Lumberling said with a faint smirk. "But don't be too shocked when you see it."
He paused, then added:
"The village is home to monsters."
The old man froze mid-step, going pale. Even Jen instinctively ducked behind him, gripping his cloak.
"M-My Lord," the old man stammered, "please don't joke like that. My old heart can't handle it…"
"I'm not joking," Lumberling said plainly. "It's a monster village. But I told you—I'm the chief."
The old man's voice dropped. "But… monsters are dangerous…"
"I know," Lumberling replied. "But they won't harm you. I give you my word."
He turned his gaze forward again, eyes sharp.
"You told me before—people are after you. In this village, there are no other humans. No one will find you. You'll be safe."
The old man took a breath, then nodded slowly. "I understand. Then… we'll follow you."
"Don't overthink it, old man," Lumberling said. "Like I told you—I'll keep you safe. And who knows… you might even come to like the place."
The three journeyed onward, with Lumberling sharing more about the goblin village as they walked. The old man listened with interest—especially to the story of Skitz, the goblin who, according to their Lord, was more intelligent than most humans. With his age and experience, the old man knew monsters well. But this was the first time he had heard of a goblin with intellect and loyalty—both directed to a human no less.
Jen, meanwhile, was quietly attentive. As she listened to her Lord talk about monsters so calmly, her fear of them began to wane. After all, if her Lord was their leader, how dangerous could they be?
One week later
As they walked a narrow forest path, Lumberling suddenly stopped. His expression shifted—eyes narrowing toward the trees, trying to pierce their secrets.
"Old man," he said without looking back. "Take Jen and run. Head back a mile the way we came."
"Is something wrong, my Lord?" the old man asked, already tightening his grip on Jen.
"Trouble ahead. I'll meet you in an hour."
Without another word, the old man picked up the girl and hurried down the trail. He knew better than to argue now—staying would only burden their Lord.
Lumberling focused forward, listening intently. Voices. Footsteps. Human. Multiple.
He climbed into a tree, activated his Concealment skill, and drew his bow. From his pack, he dipped the arrowheads in a thin coating of bristle root extract—slow-acting, but enough to stiffen muscles after a few heartbeats. If the shot didn't kill, the poison would make sure they couldn't run far.
Then he waited—silent and motionless—his eyes closed, his ears tuned to the forest.
'One... two... three... thirteen, maybe fifteen?'
As the footsteps grew closer, voices rang out.
"Where the fuck are they? Sam, are you sure they passed through here?"
"I swear, boss. I saw 'em. One man, one old man, and a girl."
"Fan out. Find the girl. Kill the others. If we sell her, we'll be drinking good tonight."
"Heh. Got it, boss."
Even in daylight, the canopy strangled most of the sun. The forest floor was a patchwork of green and shadow, perfect for ambushes. The silence pressed in, broken only by the soft rustle of something—or someone—moving unseen.
Lumberling waited patiently as the men dispersed. When one strayed beneath his perch, he struck.
A flash of steel—a dagger through the neck—a hand over the mouth.
A muffled gasp. Silence.
(You have devoured the bandit's essence. 5 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the bandit's memories and experiences.)
'One down. Thirteen to go.'
Another voice echoed nearby.
"Jong? You taking a shit or something? Hurry up—"
Lumberling dropped silently from the tree and drove his dagger into the second man's chest before he could react.
"What the f—!"
No answer came. Only death.
He moved like a shadow, hunting the scattered bandits, eliminating them one by one—swift, precise, merciless.
Elsewhere in the forest
Five men moved side by side beneath the canopy. The bearded leader halted abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over his shoulder.
"Stop. Something's off," he muttered. "I haven't received any signal from the others."
"Want me to check on 'em, boss?" one of his men offered.
"No. Stay close. We're heading back to regroup."
"Are you sure? I think we're getting close to the target."
"Don't question me," the leader snapped, his voice sharp and final. The subordinate shut his mouth.
"Dole, take point."
"Yes, boss," said the brown-haired man—the same fool who'd first spotted Lumberling's group.
They doubled back, combing the forest for their missing comrades. But there were no signs—no tracks, no bodies, no sounds. Just silence.
"Where the hell are those fools?" the bearded man growled.
"Here."
The voice drifted from above.
A severed head dropped from the treetops, bouncing once before rolling to a stop. A heartbeat later, an arrow whistled down, striking one of the bandits in the throat and dropping him where he stood.
"Shields!" the bearded man barked.
The remaining three formed a tight wall just in time, blocking the second arrow.
He scanned the trees—and then saw him.
Lumberling.
The young man stood atop a branch, calm and steady.
'The power behind those arrows… Knight Page for sure,' the bearded man thought. He wasn't afraid—he was a Knight Page too—but this wasn't what they'd signed up for.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, tone cautious.
"Boss, that's him," Dole blurted out. "The guy I saw with the old man and the girl."
The leader turned to glare at him.
'You idiot. You dragged us into a fight with a Knight Page. That explains the silence—our men are already dead.'
Lumberling leapt down from the tree.
'An archer closing the distance? Strange.' But if the fool wanted a close-quarters fight, better for him.
"Surround him," the leader ordered. "Keep your guard up. Focus on defense."
He charged, shield raised.
Lumberling met him halfway.
CRACK.
The spear tore through the shield—and punched clean through his shoulder.
"AGHHH!" the man screamed, stumbling back in agony. Blood gushed from the wound.
One of his men rushed forward to help.
Too slow. Lumberling's blade carved through the bandit's neck, sending his head flying.
'He leapt in like a hero—and died like a fool. Brave men were often the easiest to kill.'
The two remaining subordinates turned and bolted in terror.
"Idiots!" the bearded man roared. "Raise your damn shields! He's an archer—you think you can outrun arrows?!"
Too late. Two arrows flew. Two bodies fell.
'Running? Smart. A shame they remembered I'm an archer too.'
Now alone and bleeding, the bearded man staggered backward, raising his hand in surrender.
"W-wait! Don't kill me! My brother—he's a gang leader. Kill me, and he'll hunt you down. He won't stop until you're dead!"
"Oh?" Lumberling tilted his head. "Isn't that more reason to kill you?"
"N-no! I'll talk to him. I'll swear it ends here. I've got gold—I'll give you everything I have. Just spare me."
Lumberling paused.
"What's your name? Your brother's? Your gang's?"
"You'll let me go, right?" Fin asked desperately.
"Depends."
"I'm Fin. My brother's Mad Molly. We're with the Iron Fang Brotherhood."
'Iron Fang Brotherhood. Never heard of them. Then again, back in the empire, half the gangs thought growling animal names made them sound tough. Mad Molly sounded like a joke—unless he wasn't.'
"They also call us—"
"Enough. What stage is your brother?"
Fin clenched his jaw, then spat it out.
"Peak Knight Apprentice."
"Hm. Never heard of your gang," Lumberling muttered. "What are you doing in this part of the forest?"
"You—you don't know about the Multan Fortress?"
"No. Why?"