Chapter 20 - 19

Chapter 20: Chapter 19 The goblins dragged the tied-up kobolds as they made their way back toward the goblin village. For now, Lumberling let them be. His earlier talk of loyalty had been a scare tactic—meant only to suppress rebellion. In time, he believed they would pledge themselves to him willingly. Patience would be his ally. Takkar, the elite kobold Lumberling had enslaved, led them to the kobold den hidden in the caves. Inside, they found twenty-six children, eighteen women, twelve elders, and ten remaining guards. When the kobolds saw Lumberling holding the severed head of their former chief, a wave of emotion swept through them—grief, rage, and above all, fear. Lumberling left Skitz in charge, assigning him and the goblins to monitor the situation. He returned alone to the goblin village, dead tired, and collapsed into a deep sleep that lasted the entire day. The next morning, Lumberling visited the kobold den again. "Kuekeekee..." Kobolds screeched uneasily as they passed the goblin guards posted near their homes. Tension lingered, but so far, no conflict had erupted. Lumberling had tasked Skitz and the goblins with maintaining order. Integration would be slow, but necessary. "Skitz, bring me Takkar." A moment later, the elite kobold appeared, translating through Skitz. "What do you wish of me, Master?" Skitz relayed. "Tell me about your tribe. Is there a clear hierarchy or structure?" "Yes, my Lord. Male kobolds serve as hunters, diggers, and guards. The females are gatherers. The elders guide the tribe and make important decisions." ’So they’re not unlike humans or goblins. Primitive, but organized,’ Lumberling mused. "Do they listen to you, or to the elders?" "I told them you appointed me as their new leader. Some remain uneasy, but most follow." "Good. Keep them occupied with familiar tasks. Let them maintain their routines." Takkar nodded and left. Lumberling sighed. "I really need to learn kobold language... Why isn’t there a universal monster language?" He glanced at Skitz. "How do you even speak so many languages?" "I learn quickly, my Lord. Goblin, kobold, lizardman, orc—I picked them up through observation." "Yeah, yeah. Talented bastard. Teach me, then—though I barely have goblin language down." Lumberling observed as Takkar delegated tasks to his people. Though many kobolds were still wary of the goblins, they followed instructions and resumed their daily activities. Goblins stood watch, quietly monitoring the den. Later, he followed a group of kobolds gathering food—mushrooms, berries, insects, small animals. ’Omnivores, just like goblins.’ Over the following days, he studied their behavior. One hunting group dug a pit, then carefully herded a stag toward it using subtle coordination. The deer fell into the trap, and cheers erupted. Lumberling chuckled. ’Crafty, cautious, and clever. Just like goblins. Maybe even more so.’ Returning to the den, he spotted something strange. A kobold was offering a strip of monster meat to a goblin guard—clearly a bribe. The goblin glanced around, accepted the offering, and let the kobold slip outside. ’They’re not just smart. They’re manipulative. That could be useful—or dangerous.’ He spent more time watching them, and saw how hardworking and adaptable they were. As days passed, fear gave way to uneasy acceptance. "Skitz, begin taking the kobolds out on hunts. Rotate the groups. Let them learn to work with our goblins—but don’t let them die." "Yes, my Lord." One afternoon, Lumberling sat with Skitz and Takkar, attempting to learn kobold speech. "Kuekekee..." "Ku...ke...kee? Like that?" "No, my Lord. Kuekekee..." "I said the same damn thing!" "Kuekekee... my Lord," Skitz chuckled. Where goblin language was gibberish, kobold speech sounded like a cross between yipping coyotes and hissing rodents—complex, nasal, and sharp. But thanks to the essence Lumberling had devoured, he had fragments of memory that gave him a starting point. With effort, and Skitz’s help, it was possible. "You too, Takkar. Learn goblin language. Human language too, if you can." Takkar began sweating. Lumberling grinned. "Heh. I’m not the only one to suffer." A month passed. Integration improved. Skitz acted as liaison, and Takkar led the kobolds on successful hunts. Trust—uneasy though it was—began to grow. Lumberling began relocating kobolds into the goblin village and started constructing additional housing. One day, Skitz gathered everyone together at Lumberling’s request. "Everyone, gather! The Lord has an announcement!" Old and young, goblin and kobold, soldiers and gatherers—over a hundred of them assembled. Lumberling stood before them, swelling with pride at the sight. "Our village has grown strong," he declared. "This is because of your hard work. All of you." "This is thanks to you, our Lord!" someone shouted. "You made us strong!" "Our Lord is mighty!" He raised his hand to quiet them. "As our numbers grow, I can’t manage everything alone. We need leaders—those who’ve shown dedication and strength." He turned to Skitz. "Skitz, you’ve helped me more than anyone. From now on, you are the Vice-Leader of this village." ’And the one doing most of the tasks,’ he thought with amusement. "It is my honor, my Lord," Skitz replied with a bow. "From now on, if you need something, speak to Skitz first." Lumberling turned back to the crowd. "I’m also appointing four captains to lead our hunters, guards, and warriors. Step forward when I call your name: Gobo2, Gobo1, Takkar, and Vakk." Vakk was one of the elite kobolds that survived. Gobo2 puffed his chest as he stepped forward. "Hehe! See that, Gobo1?" "You don’t even know how to lead," Gobo1 muttered, stepping up next. "Gobo2, you’ll lead ten goblin hunters. Gobo1, you’ll lead one goblin and nine kobolds. Learn their language. Be patient." "I won’t let you down," Gobo1 said firmly. "Takkar, your loyalty and service have not gone unnoticed. You’ll lead ten kobolds to protect our village." "Thank you, my Lord," Takkar said, eyes shining with gratitude. "Vakk," Lumberling said, turning to the last, "you’ve shown great potential. Lead nine kobolds as our militia. Train them. Fight or labor, they’ll follow your orders." "I will not fail you, my Lord," Vakk said solemnly. Each captain would be responsible for training, hunting, and defense. Lumberling also recognized others. "Grakka, your crop-growing has impressed me." "Krenna, your weaponsmithing has improved." "Yikki, your sewing skills are invaluable." Elders were asked to continue teaching the young. When Lumberling returned to the city, he promised to bring books. All in all, the village now numbered 120—including goblins, kobolds, elders, women, and over thirty children. In the following weeks, Lumberling stepped back from direct leadership, allowing his appointees to work independently. Or tried to. "My Lord, where do I hunt again?" Gobo2 asked sheepishly. "I gave you a map." "I don’t know how to read it..." "Hah... come here. I’ll show you again." "My Lord, buhuhu, my tomatoes died..." Grakka sobbed. "I told you not to fertilize them with your dung..." "My Lord, it’s kobold language lesson time," Skitz reminded cheerfully. "My Lord, the goblins are fighting with the kobolds again. How do I settle this?" Gobo1 asked. One problem after another, but Lumberling didn’t complain. Compared to running a construction site, this was familiar ground. He implemented basic rules: Punishments for: Stealing Killing allies Defying orders Sexual violence Rewards: Extra meat Rest days Permission to leave the village Personally built housing He began codifying simple laws—human-inspired but practical. Then came the breakthrough. "My Lord," Vakk reported, holding out a dark rock streaked with silver. "We found this where we dug deeper in the old den." Lumberling inspected it—dense, heavy, metallic. "Excellent. This is silver ore. You’ve done well, Vakk." "I’m honored, my Lord." Plans began to form. He would wait a few more months for the children to grow. Then, mining would begin in earnest. Silver could open doors—trading, forging, and knowledge. Name: Lumberling Race: Human Age: 18 Level: 4 Essence Points: (2904/3500) Power: 910 (Skills: 540, Level: 370) 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 (818/1000) Beginner Swordsmanship Lv2 (0/1000) Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 (437/1000) Beginner Shieldmanship Lv0 (259/1000) Beginner Cudgel Fighting Lv0 (134/1000) Beginner Concealment Lv1 (89/1000) Beginner Dual Wielding Axe Lv0 (1/1000) One morning, Skitz arrived with news. "My Lord, the kobolds and goblins have begun mining." "Keep a close eye on them. These resources are valuable." "Yes, my Lord." Lumberling stood, stretching. "Skitz, I’m leaving the village in your care." "What? Where are you going, my Lord? We will follow—" "No. I’m returning to the human village. I came here to hunt orcs, but... well, things changed. Still, I achieved what I wanted. But there are things in the city that I can’t find here." ’My limits are nearing. Skills are harder to train. I need something new. Something more.’ "If that’s your wish... I’ll protect the village while you’re gone." "I’m counting on it. Grow stronger. Don’t attack humans. Follow the laws. Train your people. That’s the key to evolution." "Yes, my Lord. I will remember." "Also. You’re different, Skitz. I don’t believe that you can’t evolve. Your evolution path may not follow others. Find it. Take risks. Be bold." "I will, my Lord." "Good. Now, gather everyone. I have something to say before I leave." The goblins and kobolds began to gather, forming loose lines in the clearing. Their numbers had grown, yet not without cost. Despite Lumberling’s teachings and strategies—despite assigning captains to lead hunting and scouting parties—the forest remained unforgiving. Its monsters were strong, its dangers constant. Some casualties were simply unavoidable. But death also brought opportunity. Just as one flame flickered out, another rose. A new elite kobold had emerged from the trials, and Lumberling named him Skarn, granting him a place among the captains. Now, the captains stood before him like a disciplined warband. Behind them, goblins and kobolds filled the space with hushed murmurs and eager stares. They looked to Lumberling not as a stranger or a conqueror anymore—but as their Lord. The kobolds had long since pledged loyalty. At first, it had been forced. But over time—after the beatings stopped, after their bellies filled, after they were taught the path to strength—they began to follow willingly. Lumberling stood tall before them. "I’ll be leaving the village," he said, his voice calm but clear. "Not forever—but for a while. Before I go, I want to say this to you all." A silence fell. "Survive. No matter what. Those who survive are the ones who get another chance to grow. I don’t care if you’re weak now. Strength comes in time, if you keep living. When I return, I want to see you stronger. Because I’ll be stronger too." A beat of silence. Then, in unison, the captains and their soldiers bowed. "We will follow the Lord’s words." "Good," Lumberling nodded. "Now—back to your tasks." For the next few days, he prepared for departure. He had always known this moment would come. In quiet hours, he had written a guidebook—its pages filled with rules, problem-solving principles, conflict resolution techniques, and development plans for the village’s future. He taught Skitz how to read it, and entrusted it to him. Their communication wouldn’t be cut off entirely; trained messenger birds would carry news when needed. One morning, Lumberling stood at the center of the clearing. Skitz was perched on a stone, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Gobo1 and Gobo2 stood nearby, shifting from foot to foot. Takkar and Skarn waited at the edge of the circle, silent, still, eyes sharp. "I’m leaving now," Lumberling said simply. The silence stretched long. No one questioned the decision—but no one celebrated it either. Lumberling reached into his pouch and pulled out a black iron key. It was jagged, heavy, more ritualistic than functional. He turned to Takkar. "You’ve earned this," he said. "You’ve led well. Fought well. Taught your kin discipline. You kept your word." He raised the key toward the collar on Takkar’s neck. "I’m removing it." Takkar didn’t flinch. But his throat bobbed once. Click. The collar fell with a dull metallic thud, leaving a faint scar-ring where it had sat. Takkar looked down at it, then slowly at Lumberling. The kobold’s voice was low, gravelled, but steady. "I wore chains since I could walk. First from my own tribe. Then this... collar." "But you gave me something none of them did." "Purpose." Lumberling nodded, unsure what to say. He didn’t need to. Takkar stepped forward and fell to one knee—not in subjugation, but in respect. "I will lead them while you’re gone. Not because I’m bound," he said. "But because I believe in what you’re building." Behind them, Skitz gave a little snort. "Heh. That’s one way to say ’don’t die, boss.’" Lumberling smirked. "Yeah, I got the message." He turned to leave, pack slung over his shoulder. The edge of the village loomed, where the dirt path met the forest trail. A sudden tug on his shoulder made him pause. Gobo2 stood there, clutching a half-eaten root vegetable. His eyes were wide and unusually moist. "You come back?" he asked. "You promise?" "I’ll come back. That’s a promise." Gobo2 sniffed. "Okay. But... if you die... can I be boss?" Lumberling barked a laugh. "Only if Skitz doesn’t kill you first." Behind him, Skitz muttered, "No promises." Lumberling stood and looked over the small crowd—goblins and kobolds who, months ago, would’ve torn each other apart. Now they stood as one tribe. His tribe. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned without another word, footsteps fading into the forest. Skitz watched silently from the edge of the clearing as his Lord’s figure grew smaller in the distance, swallowed slowly by the trees. He didn’t speak. There was no need. He would return. That much, Skitz believed without doubt. Still, something stirred in him—a quiet, burning resolve. "I swear in the name of God Shuth’raal," he whispered to the wind, "I will find a way to evolve." That single vow ignited something within him. Before his Lord, Skitz had thought himself strong. He had power, subordinates, and cunning—more than most goblins ever dreamed of. He had lived by instinct, ruled by fear, and followed no path but his own whims. But now... now he had a purpose. His Lord had opened his eyes to a greater world—one of structure, ambition, and endless horizons. And if he wanted to walk beside that man... he would need to rise far above the goblin he once was. He would evolve. No matter what.