Chapter 13 - 12

Chapter 13: Chapter 12 By morning, Lumberling and Uncle Drake set out again, their destination a small village near Velmora County. Uncle Drake had a close friend there, so they planned to settle for a while. As they walked, Lumberling checked his status window. Name: Lumberling Race: Human Age: 18 Level: 4 Essence Points: 651/3500 Power: 740 Knight Stage: Unranked Active Skills: Beginner Sprint Lv0 (828/1000) (Grants a burst of lightning-fast speed. Consumes a large amount of stamina.) Passive Skills: Essence Devour (Automatically devours the essence of those you kill. Absorbs a portion of their special experiences and memories.) Beginner Spearmanship Lv2 (373/1000) Beginner Swordsmanship Lv2 (0/1000) Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 (168/1000) Beginner Shieldmanship Lv0 (259/1000) Beginner Concealment Lv0 (530/1000) "Looking good... I just hope there are masters in the village I can learn from." With no carriage, the two traveled on foot. Along the way, Lumberling tried to improve his concealment skill, training based on the assassin’s absorbed memories. But he’d hit a bottleneck—his knowledge was too shallow. Thankfully, Uncle Drake, an experienced hunter, shared tips on hiding in plain sight: how to use angles, blind spots, and environmental cover. Lumberling absorbed it all, blending his own scouting experience with Drake’s teachings. Every day, he practiced silent movement over different terrain—stone, gravel, wood—and even tried ambushing Uncle Drake, though he was usually detected. Still, each failure earned him valuable experience points. Days later, while hidden atop a tree during another ambush attempt, Lumberling heard something—movement, followed by a revolting stench. Even with his battlefield-hardened nose, it made him twitch. Then, three creatures emerged from the underbrush. They were humanoid, with tusked, pig-like faces, each about 1.7 meters tall, muscles bulging. One carried a club on its shoulder and a dead deer under the other arm. More emerged, sniffing the air. Thankfully, Lumberling had masked his scent with crushed herbs and grass. The creatures didn’t detect him—but they were heading toward Uncle Drake’s position. Bow ready, Lumberling trailed them silently, observing. Surprisingly, they didn’t attack immediately. One seemed to give orders—their intelligence wasn’t human-level, but it was close. They began surrounding Uncle Drake like coordinated hunters. "This is bad." Lumberling dropped from the tree, replacing his bow with a spear. He used Sprint to close in, charging at one of the creatures before the others could react. The orc turned and swung its club. Lumberling sidestepped and thrust his spear deep into its unarmored side, eliciting a roar of pain. The others charged. Lumberling wounded the first orc’s thigh, immobilizing it, but was forced to take a glancing blow to his arm, which rattled his bones and sent him staggering back toward Uncle Drake. "What are these things?" Lumberling asked, panting. "Orcs," said Uncle Drake grimly. "Forest monsters. Strong ones." "You take the left, I’ll take the leader." "Watch yourself, kid." They split up, leaving the wounded orc unable to join the fray. The orc leader, likely evolved, swung hard. Lumberling blocked, staggered, and retorted with a slash. "Ugh—your breath stinks." Blow after blow, they exchanged attacks. This orc was stronger—perhaps on par with a Knight Page. Meanwhile, Uncle Drake faced another that, while powerful, lacked the finesse of a trained fighter. Eventually, the leader barked out a strange command. The orcs began to retreat. "Coward." Lumberling dashed forward, blade ready. The orc spat a foul substance—Lumberling dodged, but the delay allowed it to flee. Two others moved to intercept him, but he used Sprint again to bypass them. His sword finally found the leader’s neck. (You have devoured the orc’s essence. 100 Essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the orc’s memories and experiences.) (Passive skill ’Beginner Cudgel Fighting Lv0’ has been learned.) But this time, the essence came with something else. A violent, ferocious energy clashed inside him. His nerves flared, and his heart seized in pain. (Warning: Foreign energy detected. Initiating forced expulsion.) He doubled over, vomiting a black-purple mist. The clashing energies in his body tore through his system until finally, the pain subsided. "Ugh... What the hell was that..." Still shaken, Lumberling rushed to help Uncle Drake, who was still locked in combat. Together, they dispatched the final orcs—Lumberling purposefully avoided delivering the finishing blow. "Thanks for the assist, kid." "Yeah... no problem." "You alright? You look pale." "I’m fine. Just... used up too much energy." Drake studied him for a moment. "That orc... may have been evolved. Stronger than usual. Either way, good job. Let’s get out of here—more might be nearby." They scavenged what little the orcs left behind, then moved on. Once they stopped to rest, Lumberling opened his status window. Besides the new skill and 100 essence, nothing seemed to have changed. "Uncle Drake, do monsters like orcs get stronger over time too?" "Yeah. Every monster has a path to evolve—unique to its kind. Orcs? They consume stronger creatures." "Sounds like... they devour to grow stronger. Not unlike me." Drake raised an eyebrow. "You saying humans could follow monster cultivation?" "Not saying we should, just... curious. What if someone tried?" "Well, I’ve never heard of it. Maybe someone’s tried, but humans and monsters are different. Their energies don’t mix. We can’t use their methods—at least, not without consequences." Lumberling nodded, deep in thought. The pieces were coming together. He’d walked the Knight’s path by absorbing Knight essence. But monster essence? It was incompatible. His body had violently rejected it—proof that even with his devour skill, there were limits. He needed to understand those limits. He needed control. That night, while Uncle Drake rested, Lumberling began writing. Not a journal, but a research log—a record of his experiments with essence. Why could he only absorb those he killed? Why only those with strong vitality? What was the purple smoke? What was essence? He didn’t have answers, but he could start collecting clues. Two weeks later, Lumberling waited patiently in the shadow of the mountain forest. He had discovered bear tracks near a stream and spent days preparing bait to lure one in. This wasn’t just hunting—it was an experiment. He had a theory about his devour skill. And today, he would test it. After hours of silence, a brown bear emerged from the underbrush, lured by the scent. Lumberling exhaled slowly and drew his bow. His first arrow struck the bear’s shoulder. A second hit its hind leg. Roaring, the bear thrashed wildly but collapsed under its own weight. Lumberling approached slowly, bow at the ready. The bear lay on its side, panting, life draining with every breath. He knelt beside it, sitting in a lotus position. Eyes closed, he waited. The bear gave one final wheeze... then went still. That’s when Lumberling felt it—that strange, invisible tug. As he focused, a purple string emerged from his chest, snaking toward the bear’s lifeless form. It latched on. The essence began to flow. Lumberling clenched his teeth and focused. He tried to stop it. But despite his efforts, the essence was absorbed into him. "A failure," he muttered. But not a total one. He had felt it—however briefly—respond to his will. He hadn’t stopped it, but he’d slowed it. That meant there was a way. "Baby steps," he said, smiling faintly. "I’ll reach it soon." A month passed. Lumberling continued his experiments, using every opportunity to test and refine his control. And with time and repetition, his efforts paid off. Now, he could control the purple string with focused thought. He could choose whether to absorb the essence—or not. If he refused, the string would disconnect, and after a few minutes, the essence would simply dissolve into the air. More importantly, he discovered a critical limitation: if someone else delivered the killing blow, he couldn’t devour the essence at all. Even when he tried to manually force the string to latch on, nothing happened. It was as if the essence responded only to its slayer—and only to those with the devour skill. That made it clear: the bond between him and the essence was not automatic, but deeply tied to his ability. And that raised even more questions. He shifted his focus to studying essence itself. What was it? Why did it carry memories? Could he separate the pure energy from the toxic monster instincts embedded within? When he absorbed essence from humans or animals, there were sometimes fragmented flashes—emotions, flickers of skill, whispers of thought. But from monsters? The energy came with violence, primal rage, or worse—corruption. Blocking it entirely was inefficient. He needed a way to filter the essence—retain the energy, discard the madness. But testing that would require more subjects. Not just any creature. Strong ones. Monsters with power equivalent to Knight Pages—or actual knights. That wasn’t something he could force right now. It would have to wait. A long-term project. Meanwhile, another mystery gnawed at him: the status window. It wasn’t sentient. It didn’t respond to voice commands or offer advice. It simply displayed his information, like a passive system. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if someone was watching him through it. Was it part of a larger force? A god? A creator? But no matter how far he stretched his thoughts, he always came back to the same conclusion: the window felt... intrinsic. Like his devour skill, it wasn’t foreign or artificial. It was part of him. Not something given, but something he was. A function of his very being. Its origin remained a mystery. But mysteries could wait. What mattered now was progress. He continued documenting his findings each night, compiling everything he had learned—about essence, about skills, about the strange thread that connected him to death and power. Bit by bit, he was learning. And he was nowhere near finished.