Chapter 38 - 37

Chapter 38: Chapter 37 Three months later. (Beginner Concealment has reached Level 2. Power +120) Lumberling stood over the corpse of a giant spider, its twitching legs curling in on themselves. Out of the dozen he had hunted recently, this was only the second that possessed the ability to blend into the shadows. He wiped his blade clean, his expression pensive. It had taken a long journey deep into the outer edge of the forest to find it. Giant spiders near his goblin village had grown sparse, no doubt driven away—or extinct—due to his relentless hunting. Still, it had been worth it. Thanks to them, he’d managed to push his Concealment skill to Level 2, something that should’ve taken years with standard training. But now... a new wall loomed ahead. He could feel it again—that faint, gnawing sensation that he’d reached the limits of what his current approach could offer. The same frustration he’d experienced in the past. A few more days of practice would confirm it, but he already knew. Lumberling sighed and gazed up at the night sky. The moon shone brightly, casting gentle silver over the treetops. "Guess it’s time to implement the next phase." The next morning, over breakfast with Skitz, Jen, and the old man, Lumberling made the announcement. "I’ll be leaving again." "You’re leaving, brother? Can I come with you?" Jen asked, eyes wide. "Jen, don’t trouble the Lord," her grandfather gently scolded. "I won’t be far," Lumberling assured them with a calm smile. "I’m staying in the forest—but deeper this time. I might still drop by the village from time to time." Skitz frowned slightly. "Are you sure it’s the right time, my Lord? There are strong monsters deeper in." "Don’t worry," Lumberling chuckled. "You know me—I’ll run if I have to." He leaned back in his chair and added, "I’ve cleared out most of the nearby giant spiders. I need them to improve my Concealment. To avoid wasting time traveling back and forth, I’ll set up camp in the deep forest." "How long will you be gone?" Jen asked softly. "Not long. A few months, tops. I’ll be back before the year ends." Skitz gave a firm nod. "The village is in good hands, my Lord." "Contact me through the birds if anything comes up." After preparing his gear—skill manuals, medical books, food, tools, and essentials—Lumberling visited the captains to check their progress. By nightfall, he set out, vanishing once more into the woods. That night, after hours of travel, he found a towering tree with thick, steady branches. "This’ll do." He climbed to the upper limbs and made camp, laying down his bag. Leaning back against the trunk, he gazed up at the stars. "What a beautiful sight." The night sky stretched above him in perfect serenity. His thoughts drifted—back to his old life, back to the first moment he’d opened his eyes in this world. His start hadn’t been easy, but he couldn’t deny it anymore. He loved this world. The endless possibilities. The power. The unknown waiting to be discovered. It was a world where strength mattered, but so did will. A happy life isn’t one without struggle. It’s one with meaningful struggle. He stood up, grabbed his spear, and smirked. "I feel lucky tonight. Let’s go hunting." An hour later, he found one—a giant spider hunched over a pig-sized boar, tearing into its prey. "Hey there, buddy. Up for a little training session?" The spider shrieked as Lumberling struck with his spear. It bit down on the shaft, but he lifted and hurled it sideways, sending the creature tumbling. It vanished into the shadows. Lumberling’s grin widened. "Looks like I hit the jackpot. Another shadow-walker." They fought through the night, tearing through underbrush, scarring trees, and flattening foliage. He made sure not to fatally wound it, extending the battle. The spider was relentless, meeting him blow for blow. Even after hours, it didn’t back down. "You’re one hell of a tough opponent." As the sun crept over the horizon, the spider’s concealment became less effective. Still, it attacked with wild determination. Eventually, Lumberling disarmed it with a powerful slam, knocking it out cold. "Alright, calm down now, amigo. That’s enough for today." He turned and walked away, sparing its life. If the spider had the Concealment skill, killing it now would be a waste. He wouldn’t be able to absorb its skill experience anyway—he’d already hit the skill wall. It was better to keep it alive, let it recover, and train again tomorrow. He could kill others that didn’t have the skill. Back at his tree, Lumberling rested. He awoke under the bright afternoon sun, ate a ration, then pulled out an herbology book. To his surprise, many of the plants described were native to this forest. Note to self: ’collect samples for experiments.’ Four hours of reading later, he stretched and went out hunting again—this time for food. After dinner, he cleaned his spear, sharpening the blade and oiling the shaft. Then came training. Without Skitz around as his sparring partner, progress was slower. With his Pikeman’s Art at Level 4, even focused effort yielded barely a single skill point every two days. Still, he trained. He always would. Near midnight, he returned to the clearing where he’d last left the spider. It was gone—but an hour of careful tracking led him to it, perched atop a tree. He grinned and reached out to tap its leg. "Hey there, amigo. Miss me?" "Kreeeek!" And they clashed again. Days passed. On the third day, they fought again. On the fifth night, as they clashed again beneath the moonlit canopy, Lumberling noticed something odd in the spider’s movement. It was no longer attacking blindly. Its strikes came in new angles, some mimicking his own parries and feints. The creature had started adapting. It was learning—from him. ’Was it copying me?’ Lumberling’s heart pounded—not from fear, but awe. The spider had started dodging earlier, adjusting its rhythm, no longer overcommitting as it once did. Their strange nightly dance, meant as personal training, had become a mutual spar. "You’re not just a beast," he murmured mid-combat. "You’re a fighter." More than once, the spider hesitated. It would rear back, legs twitching, as if weighing its options before lunging again. It wasn’t fear—it was strategy. And Lumberling, for the first time, felt... respect. He adjusted his strikes accordingly, not with full force, but with precision—sharpening both their skills. Each battle became a lesson. And somewhere, quietly, Lumberling admitted to himself: ’I don’t want this one to die.’ .... Lumberling’s Personal Log — Day 18 in the Deep Forest ’The spider didn’t show up tonight. Part of me is relieved. My shoulder still aches from yesterday’s fight—he nearly clipped me with that fourth leg jab. But mostly... I miss the bastard. I’ve started calling him "Shade." Not aloud, of course. That’d be weird. He wasn’t just attacking randomly anymore. Shade started responding to how I fought—dodging earlier, using angles he didn’t use before. Is it possible a monster can learn tactics? Or was I just imagining it, projecting personality where there is none? I don’t think I was. There’s something humbling about this. I came out here to teach myself—relying on nature to sharpen my blade. But it turns out, the wild teaches in its own way. I feel like... I’m not the only one evolving. Wherever you are tonight, Shade, stay alive. We’ve still got more training to do.’ .... But on the thirtieth day, the spider was gone—vanished without a trace. Lumberling searched the area with growing frustration. ’Damn. Guess it moved on.’ That night, as the firelight dwindled and the forest returned to its whispering stillness, Lumberling stood on the branch of his tree camp, scanning the shadows. A breeze stirred. No shriek came. No glint of eyes. But deep in the forest, somewhere beyond the reach of sight, something large and silent crept through the trees—pausing only briefly, as if waiting for a familiar rhythm to return. Lumberling lingered another day, then, deciding not to waste time, began venturing deeper into the forest in search of a new opponent.