Chapter 39 - 38

Chapter 39: Chapter 38 Four months had passed since Lumberling left the goblin village. As he ventured deeper into the forest, he came to understand just how terrifying the wild truly was. Monsters lurked in every corner, each with their own territory—and each eager to feast on intruders. Deep in the heart of a decaying forest, where twisted trees clawed at the sky and sunlight barely filtered through the thick canopy, the air was thick with mildew, rot, and fur. Here, he encountered creatures unlike anything near the village. There were giant rats, the size of bulldogs, weak individually but numbering in the thousands. Their nesting grounds riddled the earth with tunnels. He discovered bear-like monsters—larger than normal bears, with massive claws and thick pelts. They lived in packs, each group dozens strong. One misstep had landed him in their territory, and he barely escaped after being chased. The largest of them, possibly the alpha, had delivered a single blow that left his arms numb despite successfully blocking it. He suspected even the regular ones among them were Knight Page-level threats, but he hadn’t dared to test the theory. ... The encounter with the Rotmite Swarm. It began with a soft hum, barely noticeable against the ambient buzz of insects. Lumberling had just finished skinning a large wolf-like creature when he noticed a patch of his gauntlet bubbling. He looked down. A swarm of rotmites—tiny, black parasites the size of ants—had begun eating through the leather. He cursed and tore the gauntlet off, only to feel a burning sensation creep along his left calf. "Shit." He dove into a nearby creek, submerging himself fully. The icy water bit into his bones, but the rotmites released. He crawled to shore, shaking and breathless. The bite marks blistered on his skin—flesh weeping where the swarm had clung. He’d underestimated how quickly they could dissolve both armor and skin. He lay there on the muddy bank for hours, panting, blood mixing with river water. "I’m not dying to bugs," he whispered through clenched teeth. That night, fever gripped him. Alone in his cave, soaked in sweat and clutching a crude poultice made from bark and wild mint, he passed in and out of consciousness. For three days he remained bedridden. It was the first time he truly thought he might not make it. But he did. When he woke, bones aching, skin mottled with fresh scars, he laughed hoarsely. ’Note to self—never camp near damp soil again.’ Next were the bloodthorn beasts—carnivorous plant monsters resembling vines covered in razor-like thorns. He’d encountered one during rest, narrowly surviving by severing its central stalk in a panicked scramble. The experience prompted him to build a more secure shelter. Eventually, he claimed a small cave just big enough for one. Using nearby trees, he constructed a makeshift wooden door to bar the entrance. The second close call came a week later. He’d been stalking a group of deer when he noticed something odd—moss that breathed. One of the "boulders" ahead suddenly moved. It rose up, revealing shaggy limbs and glowing yellow eyes. A forest troll. It lumbered toward him, eight feet tall and reeking of fungus and old blood. Lumberling retreated instantly, but the creature was deceptively fast. He ducked behind a tree, drawing his spear—but the troll smashed through the trunk like it was dry straw. Splinters rained as Lumberling was hurled backward, hitting the ground hard. His ribs screamed in protest. He rolled just as the troll’s fist cratered the spot he’d been lying. No time for clever moves. No running. He shoved the spear upward with all his might as the troll leaned in. The weapon pierced through the troll’s jaw and into its skull. The troll gurgled once, then collapsed on top of him. Pinned, bruised, and suffocating beneath its bulk, Lumberling had to cut his way out—blade sawing through flesh for what felt like hours. That night, he couldn’t sleep. Every creak in the trees made his hand twitch toward his spear. But nothing compared to the night the shade stalkers came. It was the silence that warned him. The forest held its breath. He stood outside his cave, squinting into the tree line. And then—laughter. Low. Maddening. Echoing from every direction. Like hyenas. When the first stalker lunged from the shadows, Lumberling was already moving. He’d read about them—panther-like predators that phased through trees and attacked in packs. But reading and facing them were different beasts. He killed the first one with a spear to the heart. Then another came. Then two more. He fled. They followed. They hunted him for hours, their laughter ringing in the trees, flashing eyes in the dark. He fought when cornered, bled when outnumbered, and barely escaped with his life. By the time dawn broke, he was limping, his left arm torn open, body covered in slashes and bruises. Only sunlight made them retreat. He collapsed in a sunlit clearing, chest heaving. "I need backup," he said aloud, swallowing blood. "Skitz... should’ve brought you." Even with a body on par with a Knight Apprentice, the forest was relentless. He had nearly died several times, but each encounter hardened him. And it wasn’t without reward—there were far more giant spiders in the deeper woods, and, finally, he encountered the elusive giant bats. These winged predators possessed natural stealth and ambush instincts—perfect models for improving his Concealment skill. What’s more, the number of essence-rich monsters in this part of the forest was staggering. His kills had been plentiful—and his growth, undeniable. Each encounter had taken something from him—a piece of his pride, some of his blood, a few days of sleep—but they had also sharpened him. His movements became quieter. His reflexes honed. His instincts screamed louder when danger crept near. Lumberling didn’t just survive the forest. He adapted to it. And now, he was ready for more. Name: Lumberling Race: Human Age: 19 Level: 5 Essence Points: (7029 / 7300) Power: 1470 (Skills: 977, Lvl: 493) 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 (434 / 1000) Beginner Swordsmanship Lv2 (0 / 1000) Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 (568 / 1000) Beginner Shieldmanship Lv0 (259 / 1000) Beginner Cudgel Fighting Lv0 (245 / 1000) Beginner Concealment Lv2 (0 / 1000) Beginner Dual Wielding Axe Lv0 (1 / 1000) Lumberling looked at the panel and exhaled. "I didn’t even notice... I’m close to Level 6 already." But with progress came risk. "Still, luck doesn’t last forever out here. I should bring in reinforcement." He knew the others wouldn’t be able to keep up. Only one name came to mind. "Skitz. I should’ve brought him in the first place. This’ll be a good challenge for him, too." With two Knight Apprentice-level fighters, survival would become far more manageable—and efficient. He gathered his tools, monster materials he had collected from his hunts, and set off for the goblin village. A Week Later Lumberling stepped through the gates of the goblin village. "Brother! You’re back!" Jen cried out and threw herself into his arms. "I missed you, Brother!" Lumberling smiled, patting her head gently. "How’s your training been?" "I train every day! But Captain Aren never lets me rest..." She pouted as she spoke, and Lumberling chuckled, amused by her complaints. She continued babbling about village life and training, clearly eager to share everything. Soon, the captains and Skitz greeted him, their expressions a mixture of relief and pride. The village had remained peaceful and stable during his absence. After exchanging greetings, he gathered the captains and Skitz for a meeting. "How goes your training, my Lord?" Krivex asked. "It’s going well," Lumberling said. "But I’ve hit another wall. I’ll need more time before I can break through it."