Chapter 22 - 21

Words : 1718 Updated : Sep 17th, 2025

Chapter 22 of "The Devouring Knight" begins with suspenseful moments: Chapter 22: Chapter 21 "In the city I came from, there are establishments called dojos," Celine... Don’t miss it!

Chapter 22: Chapter 21 "In the city I came from, there are establishments called dojos," Celine explained. "They’re usually owned by nobles or wealthy merchants. The idea is simple—they teach combat skills in exchange for gold coins. It’s popular because these dojos have actual Knights as instructors, and the skills they teach are real—high-level, even—depending on how much you’re willing to pay. But they’re expensive. Only nobles and rich merchants can really afford them." "Whoa, Knights teaching the skills themselves? That’s amazing," Lumberling said, intrigued. "Where is this city?" "Novgord. It’s under Gordon County. But are you sure you want to go there? I should warn you now—just enrolling costs a fortune. And even then, it can take years to master a skill. That’s how these dojos trap people. You’ll end up paying a small fortune just to make slow progress." "How much are we talking here?" "One." "One what?" "One gold coin... for just two or three days in the dojo." Lumberling whistled. "That’s daylight robbery." "I told you—" "But I’ve decided. I’m going to Novgord." "What?! How are you even going to afford that?" Celine asked, stunned. Uncle Drake stood up and silently turned toward his room. "Uncle Drake," Lumberling said, catching his arm. "You’re not seriously going to get your savings, are you?" The older man paused, then smiled faintly. "It’s alright, kid. You need this. I can always earn more. But chances like this? You don’t let them slip. Just promise me you’ll pay me back when you’re stronger." "Uncle Drake... I really appreciate that. But I’ve got this. You have a family now—spend your savings on them. I’ll handle the fees myself." Uncle Drake stared into Lumberling’s eyes and saw unwavering resolve. Finally, he nodded with a proud smile. "You’ve really grown, kid." That night, the four of them—Lumberling, Celine, Uncle Drake, and Eldric—talked at length about Novgord: the dangers, the people to avoid, and who Lumberling could turn to if needed. They also discussed trade opportunities. Lumberling had stockpiled monster materials and silver ore, but he needed a place to sell them. Chief Eldric told him about the city of Turpan—a trade hub so open it was practically a legal black market. The Empire clearly turned a blind eye to it, likely because a high-ranking noble owned it. Lumberling didn’t care. He had someone in mind to handle trade: Skitz. With his humanoid features and fluent command of the human tongue, Skitz could pass as human if he hid his ears. He also had the Whispering Veil skill—a concealment ability so strong, it might even fool Quasi-Knights. Lumberling trusted him. He sent a map and message using a messenger bird. Then he spent two peaceful weeks in the village—eating good food, fishing, relaxing under the sun, and spending time with Uncle Drake and the others. It was a well-earned break. When it was time to leave, he said his goodbyes. "Time to resume training," he said to himself. "Three months to Novgord... I should level up my spearmanship before joining a dojo." Meanwhile, in Turpan... The stench hit Skitz before the gates even came into full view—rancid fish guts, singed metal, spiced meat, and the unmistakable tang of sweat and animal dung. Turpan was less a city and more a chaos of commerce stitched together by desperation. Street criers howled in every direction, their voices overlapping like a dozen clashing bells. "Lizardman’s gall! Two drams for a silver!" "Rare Demonic spider’s eyes! One snort and you’ll see the gods!" "Treasure maps! Buyer beware!" The buildings were squat, mostly wood and rust-patched tin, with uneven windows and signs scrawled in four different languages. No guards, no taxes, and no questions. Just trade. Just noise. Just greed. Skitz adjusted his hood, his fangs twitching with anticipation. He’d survived the monster forest and blood-soaked battlefields—he could survive this. A hooded figure moved quietly through the city’s chaotic market. No one questioned him—most wore masks or cloaks. It was Turpan, after all. For several days, he simply observed—studying the people and the flow of trade. Finally, on the fifth day, he stepped into a small merchant’s shop. "How can I help you, sire?" the old shopkeeper asked. "Do you buy silver ore?" the figure asked in a rough but understandable voice. "Yes, we do. Are you selling some?" A fist-sized silver ore landed on the counter. "Estimate the price. If it’s fair, I’ll sell more." The merchant examined it carefully. "Freshly mined, high purity. One kilogram for one bronze coin. You can shop around, but trust me, others will offer less—or try to scam you." "We’ll see." The figure turned and left. He did just that—visiting shop after shop, and confirming the old man’s claim. Some merchants even tried claiming it was worthless stone. In the end, he returned. "Back again?" the old man smiled. "How much are you selling?" "One cubic yard. Next month. If you change the price, the deal’s off." "I wouldn’t dream of losing such a valuable customer. Newly opened mine?" The hooded man’s eyes glinted beneath the hood, and his voice darkened. "You don’t need to know. I sell ore. That’s it." The old man shrank under the weight of the man’s killing intent. "O-of course. I won’t ask again." As the man turned to leave, he added, "I’ll also be selling monster materials. If your prices stay reasonable, this could be a long-term relationship." The merchant watched him go, shaken. ’A Knight Page... and a terrifying one at that. Never seen a such strong killing intent. Best not to cross him.’ Before leaving the city, the man—Skitz—stayed a few more days to ensure he wasn’t followed. But when left, he felt the tail by instinct alone. A shift in footfalls. A silence that pressed too tightly. Someone was shadowing him—sloppy, human, but persistent. He ducked into a narrow alley where a fire-warped iron staircase clung to a wall like a dying insect. With one fluid motion, he activated Whispering Veil. His body flickered, his presence thinning until even the rats beneath the crates ignored him. The pursuer entered a moment later, huffing, hand on dagger, eyes scanning—but too late. Skitz slid behind him like a shadow. He whispered into the man’s ear, "You’re out of your depth, little worm." The man froze, shivered, and sprinted back into the crowd. Skitz let him go. No need to spill blood in public. A month later, Lumberling received word: the first trade was a success. They had sold one cubic yard of silver ore and monster parts for a total of 86 silver coins. The ores sold for 30 silver, and the monster materials for 56 silver. If refined, the ores could be worth four times as much. With that in mind, Lumberling ordered Skitz to buy books—blacksmithing, sewing, medicine—anything useful. He wasn’t sure if the goblins and kobolds could learn from them, but it was worth a shot. Skitz also sent prices on armor. Full leather sets ran 30–50 silver coins. Steel armor cost at least two gold per set—even more for high-quality ones. Goblin- and kobold-sized versions would be cheaper, but a fully armored army was still a distant dream. For now, he prioritized arming Skitz and the captains. Three months passed. Then—at last—it happened. (Beginner Swordsmanship has reached Level 3. Power +144) (You have advanced to the Knight Page stage) The sensation hit like a tidal wave—power surged through his body, and clarity flooded his mind. He understood spearmanship in a way he never had before. This wasn’t just a level-up—it was evolution. Lumberling stared at the notification hovering in his mind, heart pounding harder than it had in any of the dozens of fights he’d survived. Knight Page. For a long moment, he sat in silence, gripping the haft of his training spear, eyes fixed on the soft dirt of the city’s sparring grounds. He wasn’t on a battlefield now. No corpses. No blood. No screaming. But in his mind, he saw it all again—his first kill, the twisted body of a young soldier barely older than his own new face. Even further back—long buried beneath months of violence and survival—he saw fluorescent lights, a blueprint on a screen, a mug of coffee half-full on his desk. "I’ve come far," he murmured, his voice caught between relief and disbelief. And yet, it felt like he’d only just begun. Eager, he opened his status window. Name: Lumberling Race: Human Age: 19 Level: 4 Essence Points: 2904 / 3500 Power: 1054 (Skills: 684, Level: 370) Knight Stage: Knight Page 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 Lv3 (0/1000) 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) ’At last,’ he thought. ’I’m officially a Knight Page. Though, I might match a Knight Apprentice in raw physique. And I can feel it, my level capacity has clearly expanded. Stepping to a new stage really is the key. That’s one goal out of the list.’ By then, he had already arrived in Novgord. It had taken three months to get there, and another month to reach this milestone. "You’re back early," the innkeeper greeted him. "Something good happened today," Lumberling replied with a grin. "Bring me your finest meal—I’m celebrating." After cleaning up, he sat down to plates of steaming meat. "Here you go, extra portions for our young champion," the innkeeper winked. Lumberling dug in. Eating well was the one indulgence he allowed himself—it was his reward. Later, lying on his bed, he reviewed his next steps. During his stay, he had gathered intel. The city had two dojos—originally one, but nobles had demanded a separate one to avoid mixing with commoners. The noble dojo had elite instructors and high-grade manuals. The commoners’ dojo had only three low-level manuals to choose from—spearmanship, bowmanship, and swordsmanship. It was oppression, plain and simple. But Lumberling didn’t care. He had one goal: to get stronger. And even the lowest manuals would be enough.

Chapter 22 - 21

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