Chapter 34 - 33

Chapter 34: Chapter 33 Lumberling called for Skitz and Krivex to discuss the next phase of his plans. "Krivex, report on the nearest monster groups near our village," Lumberling ordered. "Yes, my Lord," Krivex responded promptly. "We’ve located a goblin settlement near the swamp, a group of gnolls in the northeast, a kobold tribe in the east near the Rocky Mountains, and a cluster of lizardmen by the river to the far west." "What are your orders, my Lord?" Skitz asked. "We begin our raids tomorrow. Inform Gobo1 and Gobo2 to prepare their units—we’ll start with the goblins." Among monsters, those who didn’t belong to one’s group were considered outsiders—and potential enemies. Kinship meant little to them. "Understood, my Lord." Later, Lumberling went to check on Jen, who was sparring with a goblin about her size. The goblin, using a stick, was clearly holding back, mindful of how the Lord valued the little girl. "Brother!" Jen shouted as she spotted him. She dropped her weapon and ran to him, leaping into his arms. "I see you’ve found yourself a sparring partner," he said with a grin. "He’s not my match—I’m stronger than him!" she pouted proudly. "Is that so?" Lumberling chuckled. "Go on then, continue your training. I’ll stay and watch." "Okay, Brother!" Afterward, Lumberling and Skitz made their rounds across the village, inspecting each facility to ensure everything ran smoothly. They passed through the sewing workshop where female goblins worked diligently, the barn with the livestock pens, and the garden where Jen’s grandfather was helping the goblins and kobolds cultivate the land. They also checked the blacksmith forge, the armory, and food storage. Afterward, Lumberling laid out plans for the village’s sewer system while Skitz began preparing the necessary materials. "We’ll begin construction after I return from the raid," Lumberling said. "By your command, my Lord." Lumberling pulled out a worn yet carefully preserved book and handed it to Skitz. "Distribute this to the captains. Make a copy for each of them." It was a skill manual for the Pikeman’s Art—not one officially published, but a compilation of Lumberling’s own notes, drills, and insights painstakingly gathered during his time training at the dojo. It contained everything he had learned, broken down into progressive forms and practical application—a teaching tool forged from experience. The manual was technically forbidden from being shared outside the dojo. Lumberling had been warned that dissemination of its contents was a breach of code, possibly even punishable of death. But he had justified the decision in his heart. ’It’s not like I’m giving it to other humans,’ he reasoned. ’If monsters are the ones studying it, no one from the dojo will ever notice—or care.’ Even if parts of the manual wouldn’t translate perfectly to goblin or kobold physiology since it was originally designed for humans, the fundamentals were still solid. Footwork. Reach control. Rhythm. Defensive spacing. If they could absorb even a fraction of it, their battlefield discipline would jump leagues ahead. "Also," Lumberling added, "use it as a reward. Give copies to soldiers who’ve shown exceptional performance. And if any of them can’t read... appoint someone to teach them." Skitz bowed slightly. "It will be done, my Lord." Lumberling returned to his seat, thoughtful. "Something troubling you, my Lord?" Skitz asked, noting the shift in his expression. "The Sengolio Empire has begun its invasion through Multan Fortress. They’re being led by a Knight Stage 4," he said grimly. "That puts them just a step below an Emperor in strength. This isn’t like the border skirmishes of past years. If this escalates, it’ll be a full-scale war. It could disrupt our trade routes and draw attention our way." Skitz frowned. "That place is far from us, but war never stays in one place. We should avoid provoking any humans. And if conscription begins, you might be summoned. It’s best we stay hidden for now." "I agree. For the next few years, we’ll focus on training. Our goal remains the same—we will become the undisputed rulers of this forest." "I’ll follow you anywhere, my Lord." "And I’ll be leaving most of the work to you." Skitz smirked. "As expected." Lumberling stretched. "Let’s spar. We skipped yesterday." They headed to the training grounds for a brief session. Later that evening, Lumberling studied the Shadow Glide manual, then joined Jen for dinner. Afterward, he read from the medical books Skitz had collected, until fatigue finally pulled him into rest. The Next Morning At dawn, Lumberling met with Gobo1, Gobo2, Vakk, and Takkar. Their units were armed and ready, standing in formation with spears, swords, and leather armor strapped tight. "Are your men prepared for the raid?" Lumberling asked. "We’ve been waiting for this, my Lord," Gobo1 said, grinning with anticipation. "Don’t get cocky. Follow the Lord’s orders exactly," Skitz reminded them. "I leave the village to you, Skitz." "Don’t worry, my Lord. I’ll handle everything." He left Skitz to guard the village in case something happens. "Let’s move," Lumberling said. Their first target was the goblin settlement near the swamp. The march was steady and disciplined. Their formation was tight, every unit maintaining stride like a well-oiled machine. The march took nearly a full day before Lumberling’s unit reached the goblin settlement. Hidden deep in the swamp, the crude village was a scatter of leaf-thatched huts and uneven barricades made from branches and bone. "Surround the area. Leave no escape routes," Lumberling commanded coldly. "Yes, my Lord." Takkar moved swiftly, directing his units to fan out and seal off potential exit points. As the goblins spotted their approach, high-pitched shouts rang out, followed by a chaotic volley of crude arrows. The front line raised their shields, blocking most of the barrage, but one kobold grunted as an arrow grazed his thigh. "Hold formation!" barked Gobo1, reinforcing discipline. Lumberling raised his spear. "Advance." They surged forward in formation, smashing through the primitive barricades. Screams echoed as steel met flesh. The enemy goblins fought, but their weapons were brittle, their bodies untrained. Still, desperation birthed savagery. One of Lumberling’s elite soldiers—Karn, a seasoned kobold—was caught off guard when a goblin sprang from a hidden trench, driving a jagged spear into his side. "Karn!" Gobo2 shouted, pulling him back and shielding him from further blows. Blood soaked his armor, but the kobold gritted his teeth and held the line. Lumberling’s eyes narrowed. He had underestimated these goblins’ cunning. They had laid shallow traps around the perimeter, and their formation, while crude, was trying to bait his units into overcommitting. "Push through. Watch the ground. Clear the huts," he ordered calmly. The disciplined strike force quickly regained momentum. Trained units overwhelmed the disorganized defenders, methodically cutting down the resistance. Within the hour, the skirmish ended. Smoke curled from shattered huts, and the survivors knelt or lay in the mud, trembling. Only two hobgoblins had been captured alive. The rest were either dead or had chosen to resist to the bitter end. "I’ll give you a chance to live," Lumberling said in fluent Goblin. "If you can defeat ten of my soldiers without killing a single one, you’ll walk free. Kill one, you die. Lose, you die. Refuse, and you die." "What kind of game is this? Just kill me already, human," the first hobgoblin spat. "As you wish." Lumberling drove his spear clean through the hobgoblin’s chest. (You have devoured the Hobgoblin’s essence. 30 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Hobgoblin’s memories and experiences.) He turned to the second hobgoblin. "And you?" "I... I’ll fight. Let me fight." "Good choice." Lumberling left the captive with Gobo1, Gobo2, Vakk, and Takkar, instructing them to pit their top soldiers against him. It was a system he had established: let captives be sparring tools for elite soldiers. If they survived, they proved themselves—and if they didn’t, his warriors gained valuable combat experience. Either way, loyalty to him grew stronger. A goblin stepped forward, gripping a spear, eyes locked onto the hobgoblin across from him. He was one of Gobo1’s best—trained to be fearless, loyal, and deadly with a spear. But he had yet to prove himself. And evolution, as Lumberling had taught, only came through triumph over stronger foes. Two goblins faced each other. The smaller one wielded a spear, the larger a sword. "Fight," Lumberling commanded. The smaller goblin lunged first, charging with reckless fury. The larger hobgoblin instinctively braced—surprised at his opponent’s aggression—but quickly found his footing. Their weapons clashed in a blur of motion, steel ringing out across the clearing. The smaller goblin used his size to dart around and under his enemy’s blows, looking for openings. But no matter how determined, he was outmatched in strength and skill. A mistake in footwork cost him—he was kicked square in the chest and sent flying backward. The hobgoblin hesitated, glancing at Lumberling, worried he’d gone too far. But when he saw no reaction, he pressed forward to finish the fight. "Stop," came Lumberling’s calm but firm voice. The hobgoblin cursed under his breath, but obeyed, stepping back. "Next," Lumberling said. A kobold stepped forward to take up the challenge. One by one, the strongest soldiers under the captains tried and failed. Despite their armor, training, and spirit, the hobgoblin’s experience and strength proved too much.