The Devouring Knight

Lumberling, Krivex, Aren, and the sixty-four elite squads gathered in the courtyard at first light. Horses snorted and stamped as saddlebags were strapped down with food and supplies. Armor gleamed where it had been freshly polished, and weapons were checked one last time before being secured. The quiet hum of preparation carried a weight of purpose.

Eldric appeared from the side gate, cloak swaying as he walked toward them.

"I heard you're heading to the nearby cities and villages," he said, his tone calm but carrying an edge of concern.

Lumberling turned, meeting his gaze, and gave a single nod. "We are. Best to know what's stirring beyond these walls."

Eldric hesitated for a breath, then spoke. "Can I come with you?"

Lumberling's brows lifted. "You want to leave the city now?"

"There's a village to the south," Eldric explained, voice steady but softer now. "A friend of mine lives there. I want to see if he's alright… and if the village still stands."

The silence that followed was brief but heavy, broken only by the shuffle of hooves.

Lumberling studied him, then gave a small nod. "Very well. Having you along will make things easier. You know these lands better than most. You'll guide us."

Relief softened Eldric's expression. He placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly. "Thank you."

The final farewells were quick but heartfelt. The captains and soldiers remaining behind offered firm grips and quiet words of encouragement. Even the Baron himself came to see them off, his voice low as he urged them to return safely.

With everything in place, Lumberling swung into his saddle and gave a short command. The column of riders began to move, the gates opening wide to let them through.

They set off at a steady pace, leaving the safety of the city walls behind, the morning sun glinting off steel as their journey began.

The company rode for days, the steady rhythm of hooves and the rustle of armor blending with the wind. The roads were quiet, broken only by the occasional village in the distance or the call of birds overhead. Nights were spent by the fire, mornings breaking with the smell of dried rations and leather straps being tightened.

On the fourth day, a golden eagle swept down from the clouds and circled overhead before cutting across their path. Its cry was sharp and distinct, a signal.

Lumberling raised his hand, and the group slowed to a halt. Eyes scanned the horizon, hands tightening around spears and blades. But as the eagle's signal repeated, Lumberling's expression shifted.

"Not enemies," he murmured. "Pentaline soldiers."

Moments later, dust rose from the far end of the road. Soon, they saw them, an army of over two thousand men, banners fluttering high with the crest of a black crow on silver.

"The Crowhurst house," Eldric said quietly, his eyes narrowing.

At the head of the column rode a knight in polished steel, his armor gleaming like sunlight on water. He sat tall in the saddle, his mere presence pressing down on the air around him. Even from a distance, Lumberling felt it, that sharp weight of strength.

Lumberling leaned slightly toward Eldric. "Uncle Eldric, who is that?"

Eldric's tone carried both respect and a faint sigh. "That young knight is Elandor Crowhurst. A name you'll hear often these days. He was once a sickly boy from Raven Spire, born to a Marquess house but cast aside, mocked because he couldn't even lift a sword. His own kin barely regarded him."

"And now?"

"Now," Eldric said, voice firm, "he's a hero, a knight Two Stage. Barely twenty-two years old. One of the youngest in the empire to rise so high."

Lumberling's eyes narrowed. "A hero?"

"That's what the people call him," Eldric replied. "The emperor's army moves little these days, so others step forward. Men like him. He drives back Sengolio forces, shields cities with handfuls of soldiers, rallies nobles to fight where the empire does not. They call his deeds impossible, yet he's done them."

As the dust drew closer, the young knight's force spotted them. The Crowhurst banners shifted as their formation adjusted, the armored wave of soldiers turning toward Lumberling's column.

The gleam of Elandor's armor led them, drawing nearer with each beat of his horse's hooves.

Some of the elite squad shifted nervously. A few shuddered outright at the pressure rolling from the young knight and the army behind him.

Lumberling's voice cut through the unease. "Hold yourselves. They are not enemies."

At once, the squad straightened, gripping their weapons tighter but forcing discipline into their posture.

The two groups closed the gap until they stood face-to-face. Rows of Crowhurst soldiers halted, dust settling around them, while Elandor Crowhurst himself guided his horse forward.

Lumberling raised his chin, studying him openly. The young knight was striking, blonde hair catching the light, features sharp and noble, his presence commanding. He looked as if he had walked out of the tales sung by bards, the very image of a knight.

The pressure bore down like a mountain, making even Krivex's jaw tighten. For a moment, Lumberling stilled, eyes narrowing.

'Strong,' he thought, measuring the weight of it. Heavy as a storm front, but not unshakable. He'd felt worse from beings who had truly tasted death and clawed their way back. This was power, yes, but not invincible.

Elandor's gaze swept across Lumberling's group, lingering on the goblins, kobolds, and other monstrous figures arrayed behind him. His voice rang out, firm and edged with suspicion.

"Who are you people? And why do you march with monsters at your side?"

A ripple of tension stirred through the squad, but before it could swell, Eldric nudged his horse forward. He dipped his head in respect, his tone measured and polite.

"Young Lord Elandor," Eldric said, voice carrying just enough for all to hear. "We serve Baron Roland of Brightwind. These warriors, though not human bear the Baron's seal of approval. We have papers to prove their standing."