Chapter 112 - 111: Martial Growth

Chapter 112: Chapter 111: Martial Growth Goblin Village – Central Hall, Early Afternoon Stacks of worn books and thick scrolls covered the long stone table. Lumberling stood at the center, leafing through one of the more battered manuals, its corners frayed from age and battle. Around him, several captains and younger recruits waited in hushed anticipation. "These," he said, lifting the manual for all to see, "are the foundations for everything we’ve built, and what we still plan to become." He handed the scroll to Grokk, who took it with a reverence usually reserved for weapons. Skitz, arms crossed beside the table, eyed the stack with mild curiosity. "Never thought I’d see the day we’d be trading blades for books." "You’ll still need both," Lumberling said with a faint smirk. "But now you’ll actually know how to use them." He tapped the stone table. "We gathered these during our mercenary days, some taken from fallen foes, others bought from traders. Spearmanship, concealment, swordsmanship... Knight skill manuals. It’s not much, and some might not mesh well with monster physiology, but there’s still value in them. It’s more than we had when we started." The hall murmured with excitement. "Is it free?" asked a wide-eyed goblin in the back. Lumberling raised a brow. "Free? No. But accessible, yes. We’re implementing a contribution system, missions, training hours, labor. Anyone who puts in the effort will earn reading rights. Even guards and rank-and-file soldiers." He looked toward a pair of young kobolds standing near the doorway. "It doesn’t matter if you’re born with strength or bred for servitude. If you’re willing to learn, then you will learn." A few clapped. Others bowed their heads with newfound purpose. Then Lumberling turned to Skitz, who had begun preparing his satchel near the exit. "Before you go," he said, retrieving a smaller bundle of manuals, "take these. Copies. Same content." Skitz approached with a smirk, the curve of his dagger catching the light as it swayed at his hip. "Well, well... the fruits of our hard work. Let’s not forget who actually earned most of these." He tapped the stack of manuals lightly. "While you were off meditating and poking trees with a spear, we were bleeding for coin." Lumberling didn’t flinch. "And now those coins are paying for something bigger." He pushed the bundle toward Skitz. "The elite squads have already trained with a few of these... but the second base still lags behind. These manuals are seeds, Skitz. Water them right, and make sure they grow." Skitz rolled his eyes but accepted the bundle with a grunt. "Tch. Fine. But don’t expect them to read unless I beat the words into their heads." Lumberling gave a faint smile. "Do what you have to. Just don’t waste the opportunity." Skitz took the bundle and slung it over his back. "I’ll make sure the captains treat them like they’re gold." "They’re worth more than that," Lumberling said quietly. "Gold can’t teach you how to stay alive." As the group vanished into the treeline, Lumberling stood in silence. Then, under his breath, he whispered, "Let’s see who rises next." ..... In the days that followed, the village roared with the sound of training. Steel clashed against wood. Shouts echoed through the valley. With the Earl’s threat hanging over them like a guillotine, even the laziest goblins had begun to move with urgency. No one wanted to be the weak link when the blade fell. Lumberling watched from the training grounds’ edge, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. ’They’re scared,’ he thought. ’Good. Fear sharpens the blade. Let them push. Let them grow.’ But while the others honed their edges through drills and spars, Lumberling walked a different path. Beneath the shade of the mountain trees, where the wind whispered low and the mist clung to the stones, he sat cross-legged, motionless but for the steady rhythm of his breath. ’Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Again.’ He had returned to the Imperial Mindseal Meditation, a spiritual technique focused on mastery of the mind, clarity of thought, and precise control of Qi. "Refine the spirit. Still the mind. Dominate the self," the mantra echoed in his consciousness. It was not easy. His mind was a battlefield, constantly flooded by old regrets and future fears. The faces of the dead. The looming battle with the Earl. But he stayed still, forcing each thought into stillness. One by one. A soft spiral of Qi danced around his chest, responding to his control. His veins no longer pulsed wildly with energy. They flowed like rivers, disciplined, smooth, cold. Hours passed. Then, when his breath steadied and his pulse fell to a warrior’s calm, he reached into the satchel beside him. From it, he pulled a weathered book: The Ironblood Tempering Scripture. Unlike the Mindseal Meditation, this wasn’t a technique of thought or breath, it was of blood, flesh, and pain. A brutal path. And one Nie Fenghun had barely scratched the surface of. Lumberling had inherited the manual, but no teacher. No guidance. ’So be it,’ he thought. ’If I must suffer to learn, I’ll suffer. My body will carry what my mind commands.’ That night, in the empty cave he used for training, he began. With a deep breath, Lumberling stepped into the crude stone tub he’d had the goblins drag into his chamber. The water inside shimmered a sickly green, laced with every poisonous extract and herb he’d gathered from the forest and battlefield. He lacked the proper ingredients the Ironblood Tempering Scripture originally prescribed, mystic roots, soul-scaled serpent bile, flame lotus nectar, none of that existed here. Or if it did, he hadn’t found it yet. So he improvised. He began by soaking his arms and legs in the steaming brew, careful to dilute the mixture at first. Even that much brought a prickling burn, like fire ants chewing at his skin. But pain was part of the path. The scripture says the body must learn to adapt. His gaze fell on the ancient text propped open beside him, its pages stained with water and grime. Method differs, but principle stands: temper the flesh through trial, make the vessel obey. Next, he made a shallow incision on his forearm with a dagger, just enough to bleed. Then he sank deeper into the poisoned bath. The pain was instant and overwhelming. His nerves lit up like fire. It was as if his muscles had been dunked into molten oil, the cuts on his skin screaming as the toxic liquid seeped in. His breath hitched. His jaw clenched so tight he thought his molars might crack. He bit back a scream. ’You’ve endured worse. You’ve survived worse. Pain is just weakness being burned away.’ His vision blurred, and time seemed to slow, but a quiet ping echoed in his mind like a bell struck in the fog. (Poison Resistance experience point +1.) A grim smile tugged at his lips. Hours crawled by. Then came the second phase: repeated strikes to the limbs using a weighted wooden rod, blunt trauma to stimulate marrow growth and skin hardening. He struck his arms, his legs, his back. Over and over. Welts rose, blood trickled down his sides. He collapsed once. Gasping. Vomiting. But after a moment, he sat back up. "Again," he whispered. His breath was ragged. His eyes, focused. "This is the price," he reminded himself. "For a body that doesn’t break." ..... The Next Day Krivex found him limping slightly as he emerged from the cave, wrapped in a crude cloak. "You look like you lost a fight with a tree," the goblin muttered, chewing a stalk of something sharp and bitter. "I won," Lumberling rasped, voice hoarse. Krivex gave him a sidelong glance. "This for that Ironblood thing? Thought you were smarter than that." "It’s working." "You sure? You’re walking like an old man." "I’ll run like a beast soon enough." Krivex chuckled, then handed him a fresh water gourd. "Don’t die before the Earl gets here. I want to see his face when he realizes he’s stepped into a trap." Lumberling drank slowly. The water tasted clean, pure. "No one’s teaching me," he thought. "But I’ll become the teacher. When they look back, they’ll say this is where it began." ..... Goblin Village - Training Grounds - Two Weeks Later The days passed in a rhythm of relentless repetition: body cultivation at dawn, spear forms under the rising sun, and late-night meditation under the stars. But this morning, Lumberling set aside the Doctrine scrolls and body refinement exercises. Today, he had unfinished business, one that required something more personal. Grokk was already outside when he arrived, shirtless and bare-footed, his axes embedded in a tree stump as he practiced his swings. The thick scars across his shoulder and ribs were pale now, fully healed. He moved without strain, each swing clean and precise, a far cry from the wounded gnoll who had once coughed blood at every breath. Grokk spotted him mid-strike and immediately stood at attention. "My Lord," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Is there something you need? You’re usually... busier." Lumberling offered a small smile. "I am busy. That’s why I came, to finish something I started." Grokk’s brows furrowed. "Something left undone?" Lumberling walked past him and sat on a nearby rock, gesturing for Grokk to do the same. The gnoll hesitated, then obeyed. "Grokk," Lumberling began, voice calm but firm. "Your sacrifice, your effort, your loyalty, you’ve proven yourself again and again. I’m here to give you something. Something you’ve earned." "You don’t have to, my Lord." Grokk looked down, his voice quieter now. "This path was my choice. I’m satisfied just fighting at your side." "I know. And I’m not doing this out of obligation." Lumberling leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "I’m doing this because I want you to keep up. But first, let me ask you something: Will you follow me, not just through battle or quiet days, but for as long as our paths stay the same?" Grokk didn’t hesitate. "I’m always at your service." Lumberling nodded slowly. "Then I’ll give you a gift. One that will change you. But you must never speak of it, not to friend, not to kin. Not even in death." Grokk’s expression turned hard, serious. "My lips are sealed, my Lord. Even in death." Lumberling chuckled faintly. "Good. Serious as always." ..... Nightfall - Northern Forests The canopy above was thick, moonlight only trickling through in silver veins. The two shadows moved with practiced ease, one tall and cloaked in black, the other tall and broad-shouldered, gripping twin axes with quiet reverence. Their prey hung in its web above an old stone ruin, a giant spider. Lumberling pointed. "That one. It’s strong enough." Grokk nodded, crouching low. "I’ll cut its legs off. You take the heart." They struck like lightning. Grokk charged first, roaring, axes slashing through webbing and chitin. The spider shrieked, limbs flailing as it tried to escape, but Lumberling was already behind it. He jabbed his spear forward with perfect timing, straight through the spider’s glowing underbelly. The monster collapsed, spasming. Then his skill activated, Essence Devour. A violet thread spiraled out from Lumberling’s chest, latching onto the corpse of the giant spider. But before the energy could fully draw in, he narrowed his focus and triggered a second skill. Essence Weave. A second violet strand emerged, splitting from the first, this one arcing toward Grokk. It struck the gnoll square in the chest. He staggered, eyes widening as the energy surged into him. "Wh-what is this?" Grokk gasped, clutching his ribs. Lumberling’s voice was calm, almost distant. "Essence. Let it settle, it’ll help you grow." Grokk fell to one knee, panting, his body glowing faintly. Veins pulsed along his arms, and his eyes flickered with light. The transfer faded, and the night was silent once more. Grokk blinked rapidly. "I... feel strange. Like I’ve eaten a storm. I saw... memories. Images. The spider’s last hunt. A cave full of eggs. Cold wind..." He shook his head. "That’s normal," Lumberling said as he stepped closer, offering a hand. "Your mind is steady, and your will, stronger still. You’ve always been one of the best at meditation. You’ll ride out the side effects." Grokk took a slow breath, nodding. "They’re not overwhelming. I think I can handle it." "Good. That means your foundation is solid." Grokk grinned, sharp teeth gleaming. "Does this mean I’ll become like you, my Lord?" Lumberling turned toward the darkness ahead. "No. But you’ll become more than you were. And that’s the only direction worth going."