The Devouring Knight

"I am," Lumberling said simply. "Even if a Legate shows up, they'll win."

"Don't say that. What if it happens?" Liraeth scolded softly, then tried to cover the edge in her voice with a faint smile.

"Why do you trust them so much?" she asked after a pause, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm worried. If something happens to Heir Arden, it could drag us down with him."

Lumberling shook his head. "I don't trust them." His gaze met hers, "I trust their capabilities… and their luck."

"Luck?" she repeated, her brow lifting.

"Yes." He gave a small shrug. "They carry something extra with them. Call it luck, or whatever you want, it helps them a lot."

Liraeth went quiet at that. For a moment she seemed to wrestle with the thought, before she finally spoke.

"…Then wouldn't it be safer to join their banner outright?" she asked at last, her tone careful. "If they're that capable, shouldn't we throw in with them?"

"No." His answer came firm, without hesitation. "We'll fight alongside them, but we won't tie ourselves to them. Allies, not followers."

She tilted her head. "Why so careful? They're on our side."

"They are," Lumberling agreed. "But I can feel it, because of who they are, they'll be pulled into the worst of what's coming. The empire is already in chaos, and their path will only grow heavier."

Silence hung for a moment as Liraeth thought it over. Finally, she nodded. "Still, we can't ignore them. They've helped us already. We owe them."

Lumberling's lips curved into a faint, tired smile. "Debts won't fall on you. If the time comes, I'll handle it myself. You just have keep your people safe."

She huffed, half-annoyed. "Fine, but don't get reckless."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Lumberling said lightly. Yet even as the words left him, his eyes swept the horizon. He intended to see for himself just how far that so-called luck of theirs could carry them.

.....

The march pressed on, the rhythm of boots and hooves echoing. A day later, sharp cries tore through the sky as golden eagles swooped down. One of the goblin scouts hurried to meet Lumberling and Liraeth, clutching a small tube where the message had been tied.

He bowed quickly. "My Lord, we've sighted the enemy army. They're already on the move."

Liraeth frowned. "Already? Weren't they still supposed to be a day away?"

The scout nodded, catching his breath. "They were. But word is Silas struck their camp the night before and caused chaos. They marched earlier than expected. A message came from Lucian as well, he says the plan will continue as decided."

Lumberling thought for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Then we face them sooner and finish sooner. Pass the word, prepare the soldiers."

"Yes, my Lord!" The scout darted off.

Liraeth turned her horse toward him, her brows drawn together. "So it begins…"

Lumberling glanced at her. "Always stay close to Gordon or Sorrin once the fighting starts."

"And what about you? Can't I come with you instead?"

He gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. "It'll get dangerous where I'm going. I'll be hunting their Knights."

His grin was sharp, carrying both promise and challenge. Liraeth caught the meaning behind it and exhaled, half worried, and half resigned. "Just… don't push yourself too far."

…..

Both of them turned to rejoin their armies, Lumberling's gaze lingering on Liraeth's back as she rode ahead.

After discovering something, he wasn't as worried about her anymore. When he had used his Luck Sense on her, he had been caught off guard, her glow was brighter than Kairo's, who was a child of luck.

That discovery had shaken him, but it also made him realize something important. It meant not every child of luck was a transmigrator or blessed by the divine. Liraeth was proof of that, and yet, fate seemed to favor her strongly.

Now, as war drums echoed faintly in the distance, both armies began to move. Shields locked into place at the front, archers and crossbows lined up in the back, banners swaying above them.

"Hold formation!" Liraeth called. She rode at the center of her force, her twin sword drawn. Gordon, clad in heavy armor, barked his own orders, making sure the infantry advanced in proper lines.

Sorrin, lighter and quicker, rode along the flank, calling for the cavalry to tighten formation and guard the archers. The nobles' soldiers moved, trained and drilled for battles like this.

On the other side, Lumberling's army had no less order, though their strength came from sheer grit and savagery rather than noble training. His captains were already in place, each shouting to their units with their own rough voices.

Krivex, calm and sharp-eyed, raised his bow and signaled his archers. "String and ready! Aim high when the call comes, don't waste a single shot."

Gobo1 smirked as he swung his sword lazily. "Hunters, keep low! We're the fangs waiting for the throat. Don't move till I say!" Beside him, his vice-captain Gorrak slammed his warhammer to the ground, laughing, "Aye, let's smash their skulls when it starts!"

Not far away, Gobo2 lifted his shield and shouted, "Stay behind me! We're the main characters of this battle, so be sure to always follow me!" His men slammed their shields in rhythm, the sound echoing like a drum. Vrak, his second, gave a snort, but was already use to his narcissism.

Skarn and his boar riders gathered at the far flank, the beasts snorting and pawing the ground. Beside him, Karnark stroked the mane of a wolf tied at his side.

Vakk, who had joined Skarn's side, raised his axes as well, his scarred face grinning. His vice, Izzek, stayed quiet, double-checking the edges of the riders' weapons.

The sub-captains rallied behind their leaders, shouting encouragements and readying their weapons.

At the very front, Lumberling sat astride his horse with Skitz lounging lazily on Shade's back beside him.

A few hours later, the horizon darkened with dust and steel.

At first it was only a tremor, a faint vibration in the. Then came the drumbeats, relentlessly rolling across the fields like thunder.

And then they appeared.