The Devouring Knight

Laughter and pride rippled through the group before they eventually dispersed, still grinning.

Skitz lingered, folding his arms as he eyed the remaining corpses.

"So," he said with his usual sly grin, "how about these four Vikings? Should I pick warriors to devour them?"

Lumberling shook his head. "Not today. They're only God-Touched Vikings. Their essence won't be enough to lift the others further."

Skitz raised a brow. "Then you'll take them yourself?"

"Yes," Lumberling replied evenly. "I'll absorb two. You'll take the other two. We strengthen the army, but we need to grow as well. From now on, you and I will start devouring enemies too."

Skitz's grin widened. "Heh. I can live with that."

Without another word, Lumberling slew the first Viking, pulling the essence into his core, then directed the next into Skitz. They alternated until all four bodies were still.

A sudden spark of power jolted through Lumberling. His vision blurred as strange runes flashed across his mind.

(You have gained a portion of Thor's Blessing: Thor's Blessing Lv.0 (1/1000))

(You have gained a portion of Ullr's Blessing: Ullr's Blessing Lv.0 (1/1000))

Lumberling steadied his breathing, letting the divine fragments settle within him. Thor's Blessing was primal, it filled his muscles with thunderous strength, hardened his body against strikes, and produced small lightning in each blow. It resonated perfectly with his Thundering Lunge.

Ullr's Blessing was sharper. His mind sharpened with a hunter's focus, his hands steady with unnatural precision. A god's gift for archery and duels, fitting for Ullr, patron of duels.

Though the blessings were faint, just whispers for now, Lumberling knew, the more Vikings he devoured, the more these fragments would bloom into true divine strength.

But beneath the exhilaration, unease crept in. These weren't just memories of men, these were the fragments of gods. If the blessings were alive enough to grant strength, could they also watch? Could Thor himself stir one day, amused or angered by a mortal feeding on his chosen? The thought sent a cold shiver down Lumberling's spine.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the fear aside. Power was never free. If the gods truly looked down upon him, then so be it. He would carry their gaze the same way he carried everything else.

He exhaled slowly, then turned to Skitz.

"How is it for you?"

Skitz licked his lips, fangs glinting. "Tasty… but still a little short of a full meal."

Lumberling smirked faintly. "We won't walk the Einherjar's path, not fully. But their blessings can still fortify us. In time, when opportunity comes, we'll see how far we can climb."

Skitz gave a low chuckle. "As long as I keep eating, I don't mind the path."

The two shared a knowing glance.

And with that, the day quietly passed into night.

...

The next morning, the training ground pulsed with a different kind of energy. No clang of steel on steel echoed through the air, only the low hum of power, the crackle of elements being summoned and bent to will.

Lumberling slowed his steps, arms folded, as he watched his captains and vice-captains training.

Krivex wasn't the only one who had forged his mana heart, while he had been away, the others had achieved it as well.

Skitz was the first to draw his eye. A ripple of shadow bled from the goblin's hands, swallowing the ground beneath him like ink poured into water.

He moved with practiced ease, his grin sharp as the darkness coiled and shaped itself into tendrils before vanishing again. Chaos and shadow elements, perfect for him, a creature of stealth and deception.

Not far off, Krivex stood with his bow drawn, an arrow of flame flickering to life at the string. The shot loosed, whistling across the yard, only for a burst of wind to twist it midair, driving it into the center of the target. Sparks scattered like fireflies as he nocked another, the mix of fire and wind making his archery as unpredictable as it was deadly.

On the other side, Gobo1 planted his sword firmly into the dirt. The ground shuddered, small stones rising and falling as if bowing to his will.

His movements were steady, unshakable, the earth itself bending to his patient command. Beside him, Gobo2 swept his shield forward, water rippling along its surface before surging outward in a thin, flexible stream.

Where Gobo1 was solid and unmoving, Gobo2 flowed, defensive yet ready to strike back at any moment.

A sudden crack split the air. Aren lunged with his spear, lightning flashing along the shaft, the thrust so fast it blurred. Sparks hissed against the training dummies, and each strike was more precise than the last, a storm contained within a single weapon.

Takkar's laugh rose above the noise. Twin axes whirled in his hands as flames licked the edges, his wild swings leaving streaks of fire in the air. His movements were untamed but fierce, every strike fueled by raw passion.

Beside him, Vakk trained in stark contrast. His axes gleamed with metallic sheen, every swing sharp. His aura was not wild, like a fortress wall with edges too keen to ignore.

At the far end, Skarn bellowed, stomping a boot into the ground. The earth responded in kind, surging upward in waves of dirt and stone. He carried his axes as if they were extensions of that raw, immovable strength, just like the boar cavalry he commanded.

The vice-captains trained in clusters nearby.

Gorrak's hammer slammed down, shaking the earth beneath him. Vrak stood like a wall, his shield shimmering with metallic light that refused to bend or break.

Rogar's spear crackled faintly with lightning, less refined than Aren's, but carrying a raw, dangerous speed.

Karnark sat cross-legged, a soft green aura pulsing around him. Birds perched at his side, their eyes glinting with quiet obedience, and at his command they stirred, moving as one.

Zarn traced patterns in the air, water swirling in his palms. Tarnix and Izzek worked at nearby anvils, sparks and molten energy flying as fire and metal bent to their craft, shaping weapons as if the forge itself had become part of their veins.