Chapter 18 - 17

Chapter 18: Chapter 17 For the next few weeks, Lumberling hunted and trained in the surrounding wilderness. The region was home to various monsters—demonic spiders, gnolls, lizardmen, and kobolds. Among them, only the kobolds were as weak as goblins; the rest rivaled orcs in strength. If not for Lumberling and Skitz, the goblins would’ve been bottom of the food chain. Alongside Skitz, Gobo1, and Gobo2, he hunted for essence and food. The goblins ate well, and slowly, the village began to thrive—even if it still smelled like death warmed over. Lumberling was getting used to it. "Raise your spears! Hit harder! Get into formation—I said get in formation!" Each day, Lumberling trained the younger goblins. Skitz translated his commands as he struggled to instill discipline into the chaos. "You there! Stop daydreaming and train! And you—if you run off again, I’ll break your legs myself!" It was like trying to herd drunk cats. Goblin children were more like unruly brats than soldiers, and he often felt less like a war leader and more like an exasperated teacher. Still, he kept at it. Each day, drills and sparring with Skitz. On quieter days, he turned his attention to the females. "Meat isn’t your only option. You can grow crops. That’s what I’m teaching you today." The goblin women stared at him blankly, heads tilted like confused dogs. Skitz stood by, dutifully translating. "Hah... this might be harder than combat. All right, grab your tools and follow me." The goblins carried primitive shovels, hoes, and sickles—crude things barely holding together. Lumberling considered crafting better ones but had little time. Teaching goblins to farm was just as dangerous as monster-hunting—only louder, wetter, and far smellier. "Hey—that’s not a seed," he scolded, pointing at a squirming grub about to be buried. "That’s dinner. Or a pet. Not a turnip." The goblin beamed proudly. "Wiggly! Good omen!" Skitz translated. Lumberling sighed. "No. Good soil is the omen. You need seeds. Dirt. Water. Patience." All around him, goblins fumbled through the mud. Some sat on the sprouts. Others dug with their hands. The "field" was more stones than soil—but it was a start. A shriek rang out. Grakka, the smallest, had tripped over her hoe and landed in a bucket. She emerged sputtering, covered in water and shame. "Farming is dumb!" she declared, chucking mud at a sapling. "Farming feeds," Lumberling replied. "And food means you don’t have to hunt. And not hunting keeps monsters from feeding on you." That got their attention. "So... we eat ground stuff, no get eaten?" one asked. "Exactly." He knelt, crumbling a clump of soil in his fingers. "It’s not about the dirt. It’s about what comes out of it. Trust. Roots. You grow something long enough... maybe it grows you back." The goblins nodded solemnly, as if he’d uttered sacred scripture. A few resumed digging—slightly more careful now. Grakka planted an actual seed and muttered something that might’ve been a prayer. Lumberling smiled. It wasn’t war. It wasn’t glory. But the green shoots were a kind of hope. And that was enough. Weeks passed. Lumberling helped the goblins build sturdier shelters. "Straw’s fine, but wood is stronger. Watch—like this." He demonstrated with a hammer, crafting a small hut. The goblins tried to copy him. Most failed. Only Skitz managed to follow the basics. "Gather more wood. I’ll teach you—one at a time. Line up." He was patient, repeating himself endlessly. And he would keep repeating, for as long as it took. He also taught them to craft basic weapons from wood and stone. Life was busy, chaotic—but he’d come to enjoy their company. A month later, Lumberling checked his status. Name: Lumberling Race: Human Age: 18 Level: 4 Essence Points: (1970/3500) Power: 791 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 (569/1000) Beginner Swordsmanship Lv2 (0/1000) Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 (307/1000) Beginner Shieldmanship Lv0 (259/1000) Beginner Cudgel Fighting Lv0 (44/1000) Beginner Concealment Lv0 (821/1000) Thanks to Skitz’s Whispering Veil, his concealment skill had improved rapidly. At this pace, he might not even need a manual. "Gue ge che.. (How did goblin training go?)" Lumberling spoke one morning. "Gue ge che..." "Huh? Speak in human, I didn’t catch that." "We just said the same thing," Lumberling muttered. "Damn language." "The goblins are ready for real hunts, my Lord. You trained them well—most should survive." "Good. Let’s test them. Call them out. I want to see how far they’ve come." Leaving Gobo1 and Gobo2 to guard the village, he set off with Skitz and 12 goblins. Using Skitz’s eagle, they scouted prey: six kobolds. Lumberling would not help. This was their test. The goblins advanced slowly—three with shields and clubs, four with darts, and five with spears. The dart throwers struck first. Two kobolds returned fire with arrows, but the shieldbearers blocked them. With the formation set—shields in front, spears in the middle, darts at the back—they closed in. One by one, the kobolds fell. They still had flaws. But they’d learned. They fought together. And they won. Lumberling watched with quiet pride. The goblins retrieved everything—weapons, bodies—then marched back. From then on, Lumberling left them under Skitz’s supervision. He focused on his own training and essence gathering, occasionally hunting with Gobo1 and Gobo2. Two weeks passed. Early one morning, a commotion stirred the village. "My Lord! My Lord! Great news—a goblin has evolved!" Lumberling followed Skitz and found a crowd surrounding a hobgoblin. "Make way! Our Lord is here!" "Gobo2?" Lumberling blinked. "You’ve gotten... bigger." The hobgoblin knelt before him, eyes bright. "Guee gue gee... (I greet our leader. I am grateful to the one who helped me reach this stage.)" "It was your hard work. Good job evolving." Gobo2 suddenly lowered his head and placed a hand over his heart. "Guee gue gee... (I, Gobo2, swear in the name of Shuth’raal to serve Lumberling as my Lord for eternity.)" Lumberling was stunned—but pleased. He’d hoped for loyalty. This was something more. "Guee gue gee... (I, Lumberling, accept you as my subordinate.)" He replied in a goblin language, he’d been practicing the goblin phrase for weeks. To his surprise, all the goblins dropped to their knees and echoed the oath. "We swear in the name of Shuth’raal to serve Lumberling as our Lord for eternity." He turned to Skitz, confused. "Why?" "You treated us with kindness. You taught us, healed us, protected us. You helped us grow. Among monsters, a leader like you... is rare. You are worthy." Lumberling nodded. "Then I accept you all as my subordinates." They cheered. That night, they feasted on roasted meat and celebrated Gobo2’s evolution. Sitting by the fire with the elder goblins, Lumberling asked, "How does your kind evolve? Are there conditions?" "We don’t know the exact ones," one elder said. "But usually, goblins who survive long enough and win many battles evolve." "What comes after hobgoblin?" The elders looked uncertain. "We’ve never seen anyone go beyond that." "What about Skitz?" "I haven’t evolved," Skitz said. "Or maybe... I can’t. I was just born this way. Like a human, but slower." "He is cursed," one elder said. "But it’s a blessing. Our god, Shuth’raal, marked him." "But didn’t your mother die from that curse?" "It’s a blessing for us. A curse for humans. Many monsters are blessed by gods. A cursed Lizardman once ruled our old home. He was... terrifying. We fled here because of him." "How strong was he compared to me?" Skitz hesitated. "Don’t worry. Be honest." "I don’t know for sure. I never fought him. But I saw him defeat an Orc Lord." Lumberling remembered: Orc Warrior = Knight Page Orc Brute = above that Orc Lord = possibly Knight-1 "And the Lizardman beat him?" "Yes." "Could he reach us?" "No, my Lord. That place is far. But... someday, we might be strong enough to challenge him." Lumberling smiled. "We will be." Skitz believed him. The next day, more good news: one of the goblin females had given birth. Lumberling held the wrinkled, ugly creature and felt a strange joy—like a proud pet owner. In the days that followed, seven more goblins were born. Skitz’s eagle also laid eggs, though it meant it couldn’t scout for a while. Lumberling began investigating goblin evolution. He brought Gobo1 with him to every hunt. Yet no matter how many monsters they fought, Gobo1 didn’t evolve. He finally asked Gobo2 what he’d done. "I don’t know. I saw my Lord fight monsters. I wanted to be like my Lord. So I fought and fought... and then I changed." It wasn’t much. But it gave Lumberling an idea. He took Gobo1 on a special hunt. They found two gnolls. "Here’s the plan," Lumberling said. "I’ll attack, then lead them to a trap. You’ll wait in hiding. When I signal, you attack." "Gobo1 understands." He baited the gnolls with arrows, then lured them to a narrow pass. There, he turned, spear in hand. "Gobo1, now!" He killed one gnoll, wounded the other. The injured one lunged at Gobo1. The young goblin stood his ground. "Come here, you monster! I’ll show you the spear move I learned from the Lord!" "Watata!" he cried, jabbing wildly. It was messy. But he was fighting. And Lumberling watched closely—wondering if this would be the moment everything changed... Gobo1 fought with all the fury his small frame could muster, spear lashing out again and again. But then—something strange. ’Where was the Lord?’ His movements faltered. He stole a glance across the battlefield, scanning the chaos. "Did the Lord fall to the gnoll? No... no, that’s impossible!" But the truth stared back at him: the Lord was gone. Vanished. And the gnoll he’d been fighting was nowhere to be seen. "Where are they? Did the Lord really... get taken out?" A chill crept up Gobo1’s spine. Panic bloomed like rot. His grip on the spear trembled as he took a cautious step back from the snarling gnoll before him. His instincts screamed: Run. Run now. He turned—only to find no path, no gap, no escape. The rocky outcrop they had chosen as an ambush point had become a cage. The strategy meant to corner the gnolls had, instead, trapped him. "Run. I have to run. I don’t want to die here..." Like a rat pressed into a corner, he froze—wide-eyed, breath quickening. The gnoll saw its chance. It struck. Razor claws tore across Gobo1’s chest, and green blood poured freely, splattering the stones beneath him. Pain exploded through his nerves, and with it, a surge of raw adrenaline. The gnoll charged again, teeth bared. "I’m going to die." "No! I don’t want to die... I want to evolve—like Gobo2..." Something snapped. Or perhaps—something awakened. Gobo1 let out a roar, primal and furious, as he seized his spear with both hands. "WRAAAHHH! I’m not going to die here! I will survive!" His limbs moved faster now—sharper. The blind flailing of panic gave way to something cleaner, something focused. Instinct aligned with movement. Wild thrusts narrowed into deliberate strikes. The gnoll lunged again. Gobo1 rolled beneath its swing, avoiding the claws by inches, and with a scream that shook his ribs, he drove his spear upward—deep into flesh. The gnoll howled. But Gobo1 didn’t stop. Because in that moment, beneath blood and fear and the shadow of death, he realized something: he could fight. And more than that— he could win. The spear struck true, piercing the gnoll’s gut. It howled, staggered, then collapsed with a final growl. Panting, Gobo1 stood frozen, shaking and staring at the dead beast. Blood dripped from his weapon. Then something happened. A surge pulsed through him—like fire, but colder, deeper. His bones ached, his skin prickled. He dropped his spear, clutching at his chest as a low growl escaped his throat. His muscles tightened, warped, and his body stretched, growing inch by inch before Lumberling’s eyes. Lumberling rushed over but stopped short, wide-eyed. Gobo1’s short frame cracked and popped, reshaping into something larger, leaner, more dangerous. His green skin deepened in shade, and his eyes burned with a strange intelligence. The transformation ended with a final gasp as Gobo1 stood taller, broader—no longer a mere goblin. "...A hobgoblin," Lumberling whispered. Gobo1 blinked and looked at his hands in wonder. "Gobo1... feels strong." Lumberling placed a hand on his shoulder. "You earned this." Gobo1 looked up at him with awe. "Did... did I do good, Lord?" "You did better than good." Lumberling smiled. "You surpassed yourself." They returned to the village with the slain gnoll in tow, and once again, the goblins gathered in excitement. Seeing Gobo1’s transformation inspired renewed energy and hope among the tribe. Two hobgoblins now stood among them, and their Lord’s strength was beginning to take root in the next generation. Later that night, sitting around a campfire as meat sizzled and goblin children clumsily danced in celebration, Skitz sat beside Lumberling. "You’re unlocking something in them, my Lord" he said quietly. "Growth. Change. Evolution." Lumberling watched Gobo1 teaching others how to hold a spear, barking commands like a miniature version of himself. He nodded slowly. "I’m starting to think it’s not just strength that fuels evolution," he said. "It’s will. Purpose." "Then perhaps, my Lord, it is not just goblins who are evolving." Lumberling didn’t reply at first. He simply watched the firelight flicker across the faces of his ragtag army. Tomorrow, they would train again. Tomorrow, they would fight and build. And maybe, just maybe, they would become something the world had never seen. United. Disciplined. Dangerous. And it had only just begun.