The Devouring Knight

Lumberling stood at the center of it all, letting his gaze sweep across them. Each captain, each vice-captain, had awakened to their element. And more than that, their powers fit them, as though the world itself had chosen with care.

He felt pride stir in his chest.

Skitz stepped up beside him, breaking the silence. "My Lord," he said, offering a parchment, neat with his sharp handwriting. "A record of the captains and vice-captains, and the elements they've awakened."

Lumberling glanced over the list as Skitz recited it aloud.

Captains

Skitz - Chaos and Shadow

Krivex - Fire and Wind

Gobo1 - Earth

Gobo2 - Water

Aren - Lightning

Takkar - Fire

Vakk - Metal

Skarn - Earth

Vice-Captains

Gorrak - Earth

Vrak - Metal

Rogar - Lightning

Karnark - Nature (Beast/Spirit)

Zarn - Water

Tarnix - Fire

Izzek - Metal

Skitz folded his arms, satisfied. "All accounted for. They'll be ready when you call for them."

Lumberling nodded, folding the parchment once more before tucking it away.

…..

The sight before him was something to behold. His captains and vice-captains wielded power with growing confidence, though he knew they still had a long road ahead. Compared to the prodigies he had seen in the capital, they fell short, but the potential was undeniable.

None of them had awakened dual elements like the elves, a reminder of how deeply gifted they were in magic. Still, what his people lacked in natural talent, they more than made up for with grit and loyalty. That, to him, was worth far more. Besides he could help them gain other elements.

Footsteps crunched on the packed earth behind him. Lumberling turned just as Baron Roland approached, his robes marked with the weight of leadership. At his side walked Eldric, his sharp eyes surveying the training ground, and Captain Derrek, armored as always, his hand resting idly on his sword hilt.

"Lord Lumberling," Roland greeted, though a smile tugged at his lips. "Or should I call you Baron now?"

Lumberling returned the smile, shaking his head lightly. "Either is fine. Doesn't really matter to me."

Roland gave a soft chuckle, then glanced back toward the training field. "The city has been holding well. Thanks to you and your subordinates, this place has become one of the safest territories compared to the others. And once again…" His expression turned earnest as he inclined his head. "…I thank you for helping us move so many people to the Viscount's lands. Without you, many would not have made it."

Lumberling accepted the bow with a quiet nod. "Do not thank me too much, Baron. Do what you must to keep your people alive. And speaking of that, you should start preparing for the coming days. Recruit more soldiers if you can. Liraeth's knights told me attacks are becoming more frequent."

Roland's brow furrowed, his tone shifting. "Did something happen?"

"I'm not sure yet," Lumberling admitted. "But just in case, prepare your people for evacuation at a moment's notice. Don't wait for the fire to be at your doorstep."

The Baron fell silent for a long moment, his gaze clouded in thought. At last, he exhaled with a deep frown. "I understand. Then I'll have to make preparations immediately."

"Good." Lumberling said, meeting his eyes. "And don't worry. If something happens, we'll stand with you."

Roland straightened at that, the weight in his expression easing just a little. "Thank you once again," he said quietly, sincerity ringing in his words.

Both men turned their eyes toward the training grounds again.

Roland let out a low breath, shaking his head in awe. "Your subordinates are… terrifying," he said, though his tone carried more admiration than fear.

Lumberling's lips curved into a small smile. "They'll grow even more in the future."

With that, he stepped forward, joining his captains at the edge of the field. He wouldn't allow himself to be left behind.

More than a month had passed since he had begun forging his own mana heart, never letting the work stop even while traveling. The process was slow, painstaking, but steady. He knew it would take more weeks before he completed it.

From what the elves had taught, this was only the beginning. Understanding and mastering one's element was the foundation, the key to reaching the first stage of magic, the First Circle. That stage was not simply power; it was proof of true control, of making an element more than just a tool, but an extension of oneself.

As his eyes swept over his captains, earth rising to shield, lightning flashing with deadly precision, fire burning with raw fury, he felt something stir within. They were walking paths few of their kind had ever touched, and he was walking it with them.

...

The days that followed passed in silence for Lumberling. While his captains trained in open fields, sparring and shaping their elements, he shut himself away behind closed doors.

He stripped away distractions, leaving only the rhythm of his breathing, the burn of his blood, and the iron discipline he had carved into his bones.

Every morning began with Mindseal Meditation, his thoughts sharpened into a blade, cutting away noise, anchoring his will so that no foreign memory could ever shake his core.

At night, he drove his body through the Ironblood Tempering Scripture, feeling veins burn and muscles ache as if molten iron poured through them. In between, the constant, steady effort of molding his mana heart, a slow condensation, like gathering storm clouds in the deepest part of his chest.

The work was painful, and unrelenting, but he embraced it. Power never came cheap.

One day, his meditation broke through.

(Beginner Mindseal Meditation has reached Level 2. Power +120.)

(Beginner Ironblood Tempering Scripture has reached Level 2. Power +120.)

The notification flashed across his mind as he opened his eyes. His sweat-soaked tunic clung to his skin, his breathing heavy but steady. A faint smile touched his lips. Another step forward.

Still, the greater task loomed, the creation of his mana heart.

For two more weeks, he sat cross-legged in the sealed chamber, focusing every thread of mana within him. Slowly, painstakingly, he wove it together, pressing against the barrier that separated potential from reality.