Chapter 37 - 36

Chapter 37: Chapter 36 The next day, a small commotion stirred among the goblins and kobolds. Lumberling approached the gathering, curious. "What’s going on here?" he asked. "My Lord, look!" Gobo2 said, eyes shining. "The little goblin—he’s evolved! He’s become a hobgoblin!" The newly evolved hobgoblin stepped forward. He no longer looked like the scrappy runt from before. He dropped to one knee. "My Lord," he said, voice steady, "I have lived up to your expectations. Please, bestow this servant a name." Lumberling smiled. Gone was the nervous, approval-hungry gaze. What stood before him now was someone steadier—confident not from pride, but from earned self-belief. "In the eyes of your kin," Lumberling declared, "you have shown strength not just in blade, but in resolve. From this day forward, you shall be known as Aren." The name rippled through the gathering like a spark. Murmurs of "Aren..." echoed among the goblins and kobolds. Aren rose and met his Lord’s gaze. "My life is yours to command. I accept this name—and will become one of your sharpest blades." "I look forward to it," Lumberling said, placing a hand on Aren’s shoulder. "We welcome a new captain to our ranks!" Gobo2 announced. A cheer erupted. One by one, soldiers stepped forward to congratulate Aren, their newest leader. Later that evening, the group set up camp for the night. But just past midnight, a sudden cry rang out from the night patrols. "Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" Soldiers leapt from their tents, grabbing weapons and donning armor. Lumberling and the captains rushed out as chaos stirred. A pack of wolves—at least fifty strong—was tearing through the camp perimeter. "Form up!" a captain shouted. "Protect the females and children!" Lines quickly formed. Shields locked. The wolves were fast, vicious, and coordinated. "From here on," Lumberling called out, voice calm but firm, "your task is simple: survive, and kill them all." The clash erupted like a storm. Goblins and kobolds fought with discipline, overwhelming lone wolves with teamwork. Lumberling and his captains moved like reapers, cutting down any beast that came close. (You have devoured the Wolf’s essence. 10 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Wolf’s memories and experiences.) Suddenly, a powerful howl echoed. Twelve Dire Wolves burst through the trees—towering, twice the size of their brethren. At the center loomed an Alpha, eight feet tall, eyes glowing with wild intelligence. Lumberling’s expression hardened. "Gobo1, Gobo2, Takkar, Vakk, Aren, Gorrak, Vrak, Tarnix, Izzek—you each take one. Do not die. If you’re overwhelmed, retreat and pair up. I’ll handle the rest." The captains barked acknowledgments and launched into battle. Lumberling charged first. He rammed his spear through a dire wolf’s skull in a single, brutal motion. (You have devoured the Dire Wolf’s essence. 40 essence absorbed...) Another fell to his spear moments later. The Alpha Dire Wolf intercepted him before he could reach a third. It was faster than expected. Stronger. Smarter. The alpha dire wolf paced, lips curling to reveal yellowed fangs. Then, like lightning splitting the sky, it charged, silent and sudden. Lumberling moved. He slid one foot back, pivoted low, and braced the spear. The wolf veered, its massive body twisting mid-leap to avoid the point, slashing with a forepaw the size of a man’s head. Lumberling ducked, sparks flying as claw met steel tip. He spun away from the lunge, striking the beast’s flank with the butt of the spear. It howled and wheeled around, faster than expected for something so large. Lumberling dodged the snapping jaws at the last second, thrusting forward but the spear skidded off the thick hide along the creature’s shoulder. "Too shallow," he muttered. The wolf lunged again. This time, Lumberling met it head-on. He let the beast come close, too close, then angled his spear low and stepped aside in the final heartbeat. The wolf overcommitted, its own weight working against it. Lumberling twisted, drove the spear upward with all his might, right beneath the ribcage. The tip punctured deep, and the beast screamed. But it didn’t fall. It thrashed, dragging Lumberling with it, the spear embedded in muscle and rage. He gritted his teeth, holding fast, using his whole body to lever the shaft. With a savage twist, he drove the point higher, into the lung, past bone, until he felt something give. The dire wolf staggered. One last growl, then it collapsed with a thud that shook the forest floor. (You have devoured the Alpha Dire Wolf’s essence, 100 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Alpha Dire Wolf’s memories and experiences.) Panting, Lumberling pulled his weapon free and scanned the battlefield. Gobo2 and Takkar had already down their targets. The others were still locked in fierce combat. He gave no orders—only stepped in to intervene when one of his captains looked on the verge of death. With the tide turned, he turned back to the main force and slaughtered the remaining wolves. After an hour, the battle was over. The camp was quiet now, save for the panting of survivors and the distant crackling of torches. Blood soaked the ground. Seventeen soldiers had died. Thirty-three were wounded. Lumberling’s heart weighed heavier than he expected. These were his people—not pawns, but lives he had shaped and protected. "Gather the fallen," he said softly. "We’ll burn the bodies at dawn." When morning came, the fire roared, and all stood in solemn silence. No words were spoken. Only the fire’s hiss and pop broke the stillness. Lumberling stood there longer than the rest, watching the flames consume the last of his dead. Two days later, they returned to the goblin village. Skitz, Krivex, and Skarn greeted them warmly and prepared a feast. As the feast settled into motion and goblins began sharing stories of the raid, Skitz’s sharp eyes drifted toward the battered armor of a few returning soldiers. His expression tightened. Krivex, standing beside him, had already noticed the absence of several familiar faces in the crowd. Skitz stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "My Lord... I noticed Vakk and Takkar had a few men missing from their squad. What happened out there?" Lumberling’s expression remained composed, but his answer was quiet. "Wolves ambushed us during the night. Fifty strong. Among them were twelve dire wolves and one alpha." Krivex’s face darkened. "Dire wolves...?" His hands clenched behind his back. "We didn’t even record them hunting that far south. That’s a failure on my part." Lumberling shook his head. "It was an unpredictable encounter. We lost seventeen. Thirty-three injured." The words hit Skitz harder than expected. His jaw tightened, and he exhaled through his nose. "That many?" he muttered. "And still you returned in order." Krivex bowed his head. "The fault is also ours, my Lord. We should have anticipated the risks of monster groups lurking around our territory." Lumberling met their gaze. "Don’t shoulder what isn’t yours. You trained them well. They fought like soldiers." Skitz didn’t argue, but there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes. "They were ours to protect, too. Next time, we’ll draft a rotating patrol schedule for night camps. I’ll personally train the night sentries." Krivex added, "And I’ll reassess our monster proximity reports. If dire wolves have migrated near the trade routes... we need to prepare." Lumberling looked between the two. "Good. I need you both sharp. We’re no longer managing a band of survivors—we’re leading a growing society." There was a moment of silence. Then Skitz straightened his back. "Then we’ll lead it properly, my Lord." Lumberling gave Skitz full authority over the captured kobolds, sharing his plans and leaving the details to him. There were 46 captives in total: 14 females, 14 young children, and 15 infants. Integrating the females would take time, but the children—like blank slates—could be shaped into future soldiers, workers, or professionals. Later that night, Lumberling bathed, laid in bed, and opened his status window. Name: Lumberling Race: Human Age: 19 Level: 5 Essence Point: 1139 / 7300 Power: 1264 (Skills: 857, Level: 407) Knight Stage: Knight Page Active Skills: Beginner Sprint Lv0 (828/1000) Beginner Hammer Shock Lv0 (51/1000) Passive Skills: Essence Devour Beginner Pikeman’s Art Lv4 (280/1000) Beginner Swordsmanship Lv2 (0/1000) Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 (568/1000) Beginner Shieldmanship Lv0 (259/1000) Beginner Cudgel Fighting Lv0 (245/1000) Beginner Concealment Lv1 (663/1000) Beginner Dual Wielding Axe Lv0 (1/1000) ... Life Skills: Engineering and Construction (Advanced Lv1) Drawing (Intermediate Lv4) Mechanic (Intermediate Lv1) Cooking (Low Lv8) Piano (Low Lv6) Crafting (Low Lv4) Calligraphy (Low Lv3) Driving (Low Lv2) Dancing (Low Lv1) Guitar (Beginner Lv8) Pottery (Beginner Lv7) Sewing (Beginner Lv5) Hunting (Beginner Lv2) Butchering (Beginner Lv1) Tracking (Beginner Lv1) He stared at the windows in silence. His Concealment skill was steadily improving. His nights hunting giant spiders and training in the dark were paying off. He decided: Concealment would be his second main skill, alongside Pikeman’s Art. The next day, he handed the Pikeman’s Art skill manual to Aren. "As the new captain, you will be responsible for training a new special force. Choose only those with talent and potential. For now, Jen will be the only one under your care. No real missions yet—just training." Aren bowed. "Understood, my Lord." And so, the next month passed in relative peace. Each day began with sparring against Skitz, followed by Pikeman’s Art training with Aren and Jen. Lumberling also studied medicine, reading late into the night. Though his knowledge was still rudimentary, it gave him a role as the village’s only healer, and a foundation to build on. At night, he hunted—giant spiders were still common, though the elusive giant bats continued to evade him. He made a note to keep hunting them. Once a month, he and Skitz took charge of trade missions personally—bandit activity had increased, and it was too risky to send anyone else. And though his blade was always sharpened for battle, in those quiet days, Lumberling found something rarer than essence or silver—a rhythm. The pulse of something growing not just strong... but real.