Chapter 35 - 34

Chapter 35: Chapter 34 When the eighth fighter stepped into the ring, something changed. This goblin looked hesitant. His stance was unsure, eyes wide with fear—not like the fierce fighters before him. The hobgoblin grinned. This was familiar. Fear. Submission. He could smell the weakness, and it reenergized him. As the match began, he stormed forward, delivering wild, powerful slashes. The smaller goblin scrambled to dodge, unable to counter. A vicious side kick shattered the goblin’s guard and broke his arm. "Aghh!" he cried out, clutching his side. He staggered back, fear rising in his chest. He didn’t want to die—but he also didn’t want to disappoint his captain... or worse, his Lord. Maybe, he thought, if he held on a little longer, the fight would be stopped. The hobgoblin laughed darkly, releasing pent-up frustration with every brutal swing. "Kehehehe, die mongrel!" Slash after slash forced the goblin back, cuts lining his arms and chest. Blood trickled down his body. His instincts screamed at him to run. ’I wasn’t made for this. Why am I even here? I’m not like the others who are fearless, that’s why I always followed orders, did what I was told...’ A downward slash opened a gash across his chest, and in that moment—time slowed. He remembered everything. The strange village where he was born. How unlike other monsters they were—how they read books, trained like humans, and followed rules. He’d always thought their village was special. And it was. He had admired their leaders, trusted his superiors, never questioned anything. ’Is this how it ends? All that obedience, just to die like this?’ Something snapped. ’NO. This is not how it ends. F*ck that.’ The goblin’s eyes blazed with fury. He stood, blood dripping, and looked straight at the hobgoblin. The larger goblin’s grin faltered. That gaze—it wasn’t fearful anymore. It was feral. "YOU DARE LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT?!" the hobgoblin roared and charged. The crowd, which had been murmuring anxiously moments ago, fell into a hush. Even the captains—usually composed—leaned forward unconsciously, eyes locked on the little goblin who refused to fall. Lumberling’s gaze sharpened. ’He’s breaking through... This one might be more than just a survivor. He’s transforming.’ The goblin ducked, letting go of his spear mid-swing. He rolled, grabbed a fistful of dirt and rocks, and hurled it into his opponent’s face. The hobgoblin roared, blinded for a second. The smaller goblin grabbed his dropped spear and lunged. The thrust hit the hobgoblin’s side—not deep, but enough to draw blood. The larger goblin swung wildly, missing as his opponent danced back. Then the stones came. One. Two. Three. They weren’t accurate, but enough hit to matter. The hobgoblin stumbled, groaning. He tried to charge, but another stone slammed into his eye, knocking him off balance. The small goblin circled, keeping distance, wearing him down. The hobgoblin finally collapsed, too weak to continue. Cautiously, the goblin approached. He yanked the spear from his opponent’s gut and thrust it into his chest near the heart. "I WON!" For a moment, no one moved. Then, a roar erupted from the watching goblins and kobolds. "Little goblin! Little goblin!" The chant rose in volume, raw and full of pride—not just for a win, but for what it represented: defiance, growth, possibility. But then— "RAAGH!" The hobgoblin suddenly lurched to his feet with a scream, sword raised. The little goblin turned—too late. "DIE, MONGREL!" CLANG. Another blade intercepted the strike. "It was a good fight," Lumberling said, voice calm. "But always make sure your opponent is truly down." He pushed forward, blade slicing through the hobgoblin’s neck in one clean motion. (You have devoured the Hobgoblin’s essence. 30 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Hobgoblin’s memories and experiences.) The goblin stared, wide-eyed, as his Lord easily dispatched the monster he had barely defeated. "Th-thank you for saving me, my Lord," he stammered, bowing deeply. "You fought well," Lumberling replied. "I’ll be expecting another captain under our ranks soon." The goblin’s chest swelled with pride. "Thank you, my Lord. I won’t let you down." As the little goblin bowed deeply in gratitude, he stole a glance at the others. His fellow warriors, once indifferent or superior, now looked at him with wide eyes and nods of respect. A few even clapped him on the back. For the first time, he didn’t feel like just another goblin. He felt seen. ’Maybe,’ he thought, ’I really do belong among them.’ There were two kinds of evolved monsters in Lumberling’s command. Some, like Gobo1 and Gobo2, were born normal and grew stronger through survival, training, and persistence. Others, like Skitz and Krivex, were exceptional from the start—natural talents with sharp minds and fierce instincts. And now, this little goblin—bloodied, trembling, and still standing—had joined the latter. Lumberling had found another gem. After the battle, the captains began looting the goblin settlement for spoils—but found little of value. Aside from a few monster materials, the crude village offered nothing worthwhile. Once the clean-up ended, Lumberling gave the order to rest for the night. They would march toward the kobold settlement by the Rocky Mountains at dawn. But sleep was hard to come by. Lumberling searched for a place to settle down, but every corner of the settlement reeked with a pungent, acrid stench that clung to his nose and made him grimace. Rather than suffer through it, he decided to put his time to better use. He slipped into the surrounding woods, setting out to train his Concealment skill. His plan? A deadly game of hide-and-seek with the night’s apex predators: wolves, giant bats, and the ever-lethal spiders. The wolves were familiar to him—packs of them had stalked the forest trails before. Though tough, they couldn’t match a captain in one-on-one combat. Giant spiders, however, were a different story. Their strength rivaled even a Knight Page, and their venom was as lethal as their fangs. But the most recent discovery, as Krivex had reported, were giant bats—formidable foes during the night. While slightly weaker than the spiders, their agility and echolocation made them hard to kill. As Lumberling moved silently through the branches, something struck. A massive weight crashed into him mid-air. He felt spiny legs thrashing against him as they tumbled through the air. THUD. They hit the forest floor hard. Lumberling grunted, muscles tensing as jagged limbs clamped onto him. He didn’t panic. With bare hands, he grabbed one of the monster’s legs and ripped it free. A pained shriek tore through the dark. The creature recoiled in agony, its grip loosening just enough for Lumberling to roll free and regain distance. When he turned, he finally saw his opponent. A Giant Tarantula, at least three meters tall, loomed before him—its hulking, bristled legs shifting soundlessly across the dirt. Lumberling narrowed his eyes. "And here I thought I’d be the only one hunting tonight..." he muttered. "Guess not." He drew his spear and dropped into a defensive stance, studying the spider’s movements. The beast let out another shriek, then retreated into the trees, melting into the shadows. Lumberling didn’t pursue. It wouldn’t flee—not yet. He was right. A stream of white silk shot from the dark, narrowly missing him. He dodged sideways and turned, but couldn’t spot the spider’s exact location. Another web-shot came. He avoided it again. Sweat built on his brow—not from fear, but from focus. His senses were sharp, trained to Knight Apprentice standards, yet the spider still escaped his detection. Its stealth was extraordinary. ’So that’s how you do it...’ Rather than track it, he began observing it—studying how it vanished into shadow after each attack. The spider’s movements were fluid, invisible. When he tried to mimic it, adjusting his breathing and footing, he was immediately punished—a sticky web nearly struck him in the chest. "Damn," he muttered, "how are you doing that?" Frustrated, the spider revealed itself and lunged forward. Its claws struck, but Lumberling deflected each blow, avoiding lethal strikes and countering only with forceful shoves. He didn’t want to kill it—not yet. It was teaching him. It was a dangerous game—but one worth the risk. A well-placed kick to its abdomen sent the spider flying into a tree. It recovered fast, shrieked again, and disappeared into the shadows once more. But this time, Lumberling saw how it did it. Not perfectly, but enough to track a faint shimmer—a ripple in the darkness. And so, they danced. For three straight hours, they fought across the forest. The spider, relentless. Lumberling, adaptive. Each time the spider emerged, it attacked with precision and venomous rage. Each time, Lumberling defended and observed—letting it live, letting it teach him. Eventually, the spider faltered. Its attacks slowed. Its frustration grew. It turned to retreat—but as it slipped into the trees, Lumberling was already waiting. ’Even monsters know when to cut their losses,’ he thought. ’Smart beast.’ He emerged from the dark and sliced through two of its legs. "Tired already?" he said, amused. "I was just getting into it." The spider shrieked again, but with fatigue rather than rage. Lumberling raised his spear. "Thanks for the lesson. Hope we meet again in your next life." The spider lunged weakly. He struck downward, plunging the spear through its head. (You have devoured the Giant Spider’s essence. 85 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Giant Spider’s memories and experiences.) Lumberling opened his status window. Sure enough, his Concealment skill had leveled significantly—receiving a full 250 points. That surprised him. When he had hunted giant spiders before, his Concealment skill barely budged. But this one must have possessed a skill similar to concealment. Which gave him skill points. He recalled his theory: Skills below Knight Page level (Lv. 0–2) received 250 EXP from Knight Page opponents. Skills at Knight Page level (Lv. 3–5) received only 125. Skills higher than that... he suspected he would absorb even less. ’Seems like the higher my skill level, the less I can learn from weaker foes. Makes sense—why would a master gain much from a novice?’ He exhaled and looked at the spider’s corpse. "Still couldn’t replicate it... but I’m getting there." He collected the valuable parts—fangs, venom glands, silk—and packed them carefully. These would sell well. He also made a note: Giant spiders were now top priority. Perfect for Concealment training—and deadly enough to keep him sharp. With that, Lumberling made his way back to camp, the night still and the forest quiet once more.