Chapter 36 - 35

Chapter 36: Chapter 35 As the sun began to set, Lumberling led his subordinates eastward. It took them nearly three days of travel before they reached their target. Along the way, Lumberling continued his nightly hunts for giant spiders. He encountered three—only one possessed the Concealment skill—but all provided valuable materials and training. Their journey was smooth. With their numbers and discipline, most forest monsters kept their distance. Eventually, the scouts returned, having located the kobold settlement. But there was a complication—the kobolds had detected their approach and were now on the move, relocating to another area. Rather than barricade themselves in their cave, they chose to flee. Lumberling nodded in approval. If he were in their place, that would have been the wiser option. A large, unknown force advancing without explanation rarely meant good news. "Gobo1, Gobo2, Takkar, Vakk. Bring five of your best soldiers. We’re going in fast." Lumberling made a snap decision. Bringing the full army would only slow them down—and risk losing the opportunity. It was unfortunate the rest wouldn’t have a chance to fight, but precision took priority. The captains quickly assembled their elite troops. In total, a strike force of twenty-five set out under Lumberling’s lead. The scouts had reported over a hundred kobolds in the migrating group—clearly, the enemy outnumbered them. It was also safe to assume they had at least two or three elite kobolds in their ranks. They moved quickly, tracking the kobolds by their trails. Not long into the chase, they were ambushed. Arrows rained down from above. Lumberling, at the head of the group, bore the brunt of the attack. With practiced ease, he blocked and deflected most of the arrows, reducing the danger to his subordinates. "Raise your shields! Take cover in the trees!" The captains gave swift orders. The group scattered and took cover. Lumberling, undeterred, activated Sprint and surged forward. His spear flashed through the air. Seventeen kobolds stood before him—but none lasted more than a few seconds. (You have devoured the Kobold’s essence. 3 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Kobold’s memories and experiences...) (You have devoured the... ) (You have devoured the... ) "You’re late," Lumberling called out as his subordinates caught up. "Battle’s over." "We apologize, my Lord, we were—" "Just kidding," Lumberling grinned. "Let’s keep going." They resumed the chase. Another ambush followed, but this time the captains and their squads joined in. The kobolds fell in quick succession. They reached the outskirts of the kobold group just before twilight. The air was thick with tension as the forest fell silent. "My Lord," one of the scouts reported, "we’ve located their warriors. They’re ahead—looks like they want to negotiate." Lumberling stepped forward. Behind him, the elite units moved like a shadow, forming a tight vanguard. They emerged into a clearing where more than fifty kobold warriors stood waiting, shields raised, spears braced. Three elite kobolds stood at the front—bigger, broader, and more intimidating than the rest. One of them stepped forward. His scales were a dark crimson, and he wore bronze-plated armor over his chest. A deep scar ran across his snout. "I am Tarkhaz, leader of the Ironhide Pack," he growled in the kobold tongue. "Why have you chased us from our lands? What do you want?" Lumberling’s voice was calm but cold. "We come for dominance. The strong lead. The rest submit—or fall." Tarkhaz narrowed his eyes. Behind him, his warriors stirred—some clutching their spears tighter, others exchanging wary glances. A few began shifting their weight, uncertain. One younger kobold, barely taller than Lumberling’s waist, looked to Tarkhaz with fear in his eyes. "Leader," the young one whispered, "they... they don’t look like normal goblins and kobolds. And that human—he’s not ordinary." "Silence," Tarkhaz barked over his shoulder, but a flicker of doubt entered his voice. He narrowed his eyes, clearly on edge. Despite the smaller group, Lumberling’s squad radiated confidence and discipline. Eight evolved elites stood among them, hobgoblins and elite kobolds. It was enough to make him hesitate. He turned back to Lumberling. "Then allow me to speak to your leader. We’re willing to surrender—to serve." "No need," Lumberling replied, flat and final. "You won’t be accepted." Tarkhaz’s teeth clenched. He tried again. "You would throw away warriors ready to kneel?" "There is no place for you in my village." A murmur ran through the kobold ranks. Another elite, a silver-scaled kobold named Rishka, leaned toward Tarkhaz. "They’ll strike. We should leave before we’re wiped out." Tarkhaz snarled, barely keeping his composure. His pride as a leader boiled beneath his calm exterior, but fear slowly crept in. "No," he said, voice wavering. "We fight!" One of the elite kobolds suddenly raised a hand and let out a shrill cry. The warriors tightened formation. But then—something unexpected happened. From behind the kobold line, a thud echoed, followed by the soft whirring of gears. A strange object—metallic, covered in bark and rope—rolled forward on crude wheels. It looked like a small siege device, rigged together with kobold ingenuity. "A trap!" shouted Gobo2. "Formation shift—defensive!" barked Takkar. The device clicked—and exploded. A thick cloud of smoke burst outward, obscuring vision and filling the air with a burning, bitter stench. Several of Lumberling’s soldiers coughed and stumbled. Out of the fog came the kobolds, shrieking war cries, charging with reckless fury. But they were too slow. Lumberling was already moving. With a blur, he dashed through the smoke, his spear slicing through the first three attackers before they even saw him. Behind him, his elite forces surged with practiced precision—hobgoblins holding the line, elite kobolds countering with brutal efficiency. Through the chaos, Tarkhaz fought like a beast, using a twin-axe technique and roaring commands to his warriors. He locked eyes with Lumberling for a brief second, and the clash was inevitable. Their weapons met—spear against axe—sending sparks flying. "You could’ve taken us," Tarkhaz growled, teeth bared as he strained against Lumberling’s strength. "Your men already follow you," Lumberling replied coldly. "Winning them over would be a waste of time—and a future threat I don’t need." They fought for several heartbeats—Tarkhaz striking with brute strength, Lumberling with speed and skill. But Tarkhaz’s technique faltered. A moment later, Lumberling’s spear pierced his side. The kobold leader staggered backward, blood seeping between his claws as he dropped to one knee. Around him, his warriors lay broken or scattered. "I thought... we were the strong ones," Tarkhaz wheezed, defiance giving way to despair. "There’s always someone stronger," Lumberling said quietly. "That’s the truth of this world." Without hesitation, he drove his spear through Tarkhaz’s chest. The leader’s body went still. (You have devoured the Elite Kobold’s essence. 30 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Elite Kobold’s memories and experiences.) As the battle settled, the smoke cleared. Bodies littered the ground. Lumberling had personally taken down most of the enemy, leaving no casualties among his forces. There were a few injuries, but none were life-threatening. "My Lord, what should we do with the remaining kobolds?" Gobo1 asked, referring to the noncombatants—children, females, and the elderly. Lumberling’s gaze swept over the ragged group huddled beneath the trees—wide eyes, trembling limbs, clutching each other in the cold. "Capture the females, children, and infants. As for the rest, I’ll handle them myself." "As you wish." The children, infants, and women would be raised and trained—either as future soldiers or as part of the village’s workforce: miners, farmers, craftsmen. As for the old and dying, Lumberling chose to absorb their essences. Leaving them alive in the wild would be no mercy—it would only make them prey. Better to finish what he started. A few hours later, the rest of their forces arrived. Together, they stripped the battlefield of anything useful and escorted the captives. They also searched the kobold caves but found nothing of value—just ash, bones, and old refuse. Once everything was settled, they began the long march back to their village. As night descended, the group set up camp. Lumberling, as usual, wandered off into the forest alone to train—and to hunt. His target was the same: a giant spider. Ignoring lesser monsters, he moved through the woods in silence, attuned to the darkness. Then, something caught his eye. A shadow hanging from the trees. At first, he moved to dismiss it, until he realized—this was no creature he’d encountered before. Clinging to an overhanging branch like a living wraith, the beast kept its wings folded tightly around its thin, wiry body. Its leathery hide shimmered with dew, and its head—more feral beast than bat—featured an elongated snout lined with needle-thin fangs that glinted in the moonlight. Bristled tufts of dark fur grew in uneven patches along its spine, like charred moss. Then it moved. Unfurling its enormous wings—nearly nine feet tip to tip—it launched into the sky with absolute silence. No shriek. No wingbeat. Just a whisper of displaced wind, and the chill that followed. A giant bat. ’Silent, precise, unseen—if I had wings, maybe I’d be just like you.’ Lumberling narrowed his eyes. Just like the giant spiders, this creature was perfectly built for assassination. Its silent movements and seamless disappearance into the night fascinated him. He immediately gave chase—but after a few hundred meters, he lost it. The bat was fast. The night itself seemed to hide it. Even with enhanced senses, Lumberling could no longer track it. He frowned. Krivex had reported these creatures before but claimed they were weaker than spiders. That was clearly wrong. From what he just saw, this beast might be just as powerful—if not more dangerous. "I’ll have Krivex update the records," he muttered to himself. He resumed his search for giant spiders, but none showed themselves. With nothing more to hunt that night, Lumberling made his way back to camp and finally allowed himself to sleep.