The Devouring Knight

In Drosvain City, the sight of monsters walking the streets no longer sent people scattering. At first, there had been fear, mothers pulling children away, merchants closing their shutters at the sight of fangs.

But over time, that fear dulled. Children were the quickest to adapt, they laughed, pointed, and sometimes even waved at the towering figures in armor. To them, the monsters weren't terrors from the forest anymore, they were guardians.

Two months had passed since they first stepped on this city.

The clang of weapons echoed across the training yard. Lumberling stood with his warriors, their drills sharp and steady. Muscles rippled under rough hide and scarred skin, sweat gleaming as they pushed themselves harder, faster.

The gate creaked open, and a human soldier stepped inside. He stopped dead the moment he caught sight of them. Hobgoblins sparring with axes. Kobold berserkers slamming their weapons against wooden dummies. The air shook with growls and heavy footfalls.

The soldier's breath caught in his throat. He didn't move, didn't blink, as if one wrong step might turn every eye toward him.

It was Skarn who noticed first. The massive kobold turned after finishing a drill, striding across the yard with an easy grin. He brushed past the soldier, accidentally knocking into him with his broad shoulder.

"Sorry about that, pal," Skarn rumbled.

The soldier jolted as though waking from a trance. His voice came out uneven, almost stammering. "B-Baron Roland… is calling for Lord Lumberling. He said… someone wishes to see him."

Skarn blinked, then smacked his forehead with a thick hand. "And you just stood there? Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"I… I tried…" The soldier's lips worked, but the words faltered again as his eyes darted nervously to the sparring monsters.

Skarn chuckled, shaking his head. "Humans. Always freezing up when they see a little muscle."

Turning back toward the training yard, he cupped his hands and bellowed, his voice booming like a drum.

"My Lord! This human says Baron Roland is calling for you. Someone wants to see you!"

The clang of steel faded as Lumberling and his captains turned at Skarn's call.

"Alright, I'll be there," Lumberling said, handing off his spear to one of the goblins nearby.

Gobo2 scratched his chin. "Do you think it's the elves?"

"Maybe," Gobo1 replied quickly. "When they left, they looked like they wanted to come back soon. Could be them."

Lumberling couldn't help but smile faintly at their chatter. But deep down, he knew better. The elves had told him themselves, their homeland was far, and any return would take much longer.

Leaving the training yard, he made his way through the corridors of the keep. When he neared the Baron's office, his steps slowed.

A line of unfamiliar soldiers stood outside. Their armor gleamed brighter than Roland's men, their discipline sharper, and on their shoulders was a crest of a golden eagle. At their side waited a carriage, polished wood and gilded trim catching the sunlight.

'A noble,' Lumberling thought, his eyes narrowing slightly.

As he walked closer, the air shifted. A heavy presence pressed against him, the aura of a seasoned Knight. His brow furrowed. 'Knight One Stage.'

He pushed open the doors.

Inside, Baron Roland sat at his desk, Derrek standing tall behind him. Across from them was a woman.

She looked no older than her mid-twenties, yet everything about her carried refinement. Her eyes were a vivid green, sharp yet serene, like a forest after rain. Midnight-black hair flowed smoothly over her shoulders, framing skin pale and smooth as snow.

Her posture was straight, her hands resting lightly on her lap, each movement measured and graceful. Beauty clung to her effortlessly, the kind that drew attention without trying, not fragile but commanding.

Behind her stood the source of the aura Lumberling had sensed, a knight who appeared to be in his fifties. But Lumberling knew better. The age of a True Knight could never be judged by looks alone, their kind often lived for two centuries or more.

His hair was streaked with gray, his face worn with scars of old battles. He wore thick silver armor, its edges battered with age, and he carried himself like a man who had seen war more than peace. The weight of his presence filled the room.

Baron Roland's expression was calm but respectful. "Lord Lumberling, thank you for coming. Viscount Vaelora here wishes to speak with you."

Lumberling's eyes flicked back to the young woman, surprise flashing briefly across his face.

'Such a young viscount.'

"Please, have a seat," the young woman said, her voice soft, pleasant to the ears, carrying both warmth and poise.

Lumberling took the chair across from her, his gaze steady as she studied him with a small smile.

"I've heard some of your deeds, Lord Lumberling," she began. "The name Duskpire Legion has been spreading. People say a band of monsters roams the roads, cutting down Sengolio soldiers and even pirates." Her lips curved faintly, a smile that was half-amusement, half-curiosity.

Lumberling gave a short nod, neither confirming nor denying. He preferred to keep it that way. Then he leaned forward slightly, speaking with calm respect. "How may I help you, Viscount Vaelora?"

Baron Roland, knowing his directness, stepped in with a small chuckle. "Our friend here wishes to hire your strength. Her territory has been under repeated attack from Sengolio forces. According to scouts, the enemy commands at least four Knights of the First Stage."

"That's right," Vaelora confirmed, her smile fading into something firmer. "Which is why I've come to ask for your aid, Lord Lumberling. I want your legion to help guard my lands against them."

Lumberling's expression didn't shift much, though his mind was already weighing the request. His voice was calm when he asked, "Do the enemy ranks have mages among them?"

The question hung in the air. For a brief moment, the Viscount's green eyes measured him. She lifted her teacup, sipping with unhurried grace before answering. "No. These units are without mages, I can assure you of that."

The corner of Lumberling's mouth twitched faintly. "Good to know. It's not that I would back down even if there were. I just wanted to be certain."

At that, her brows lifted ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through her practiced composure.

"We'll help you," Lumberling said. His voice was steady, but in his chest burned the faint excitement of another huge preys to devour.