The Devouring Knight

The ground rumbled with the march of thousands, each step echoing like a drumbeat of doom. Dust rolled in waves and the shadow of the Legate's army pressed closer with every breath.

Lireath raised her sword high, her voice cutting through the fear choking her retreating troops.

"Stand firm!" she cried, her tone sharp as steel. "This is for our land, for our people! If we fall here, there will be no one left to protect them. So raise your blades, and fight as though your families stand behind you!"

Her soldiers, weary and bloodied, lifted their heads at her cry. Some gripped their weapons tighter, others straightened their backs despite trembling legs. The fire in her tone gave them something to cling to.

At her sides, Sorrin and Gordon stepped forward like pillars of support.

"We'll hold the line with you, my lady," Sorrin said firmly, sword steady at his side.

"Aye," Gordon growled, hefting his shield. "No matter what comes, we stand together."

Lireath's gaze swept across her battered army. "Then steel yourselves. We may not all survive this day, but we will make it one the enemy will never forget!"

A ragged cheer rose up, thin at first, but spreading like sparks on dry grass.

On the other side, Lumberling turned to his own men. Skitz stood behind him, daggers dripping red, Shade looming silent at his side.

"Skitz," Lumberling called out. "Gather the captains and the captured prey. Tell them to meet me there." He pointed toward a cluster of rocks shrouded in shadow, a place hidden from the immediate chaos of the battlefield.

No hesitation crossed Skitz's sharp features. He simply gave a curt nod, then darted off, already melting into the flow of soldiers, his movements quick and precise. Shade followed with quiet menace, clearing a path for him.

…..

On a ridge, a distance away from the main battlefield, Lumberling stood waiting.

One by one, his captains appeared, their armor scuffed and stained from the earlier fight. Skitz and Shade arrived last, dragging bound figures across the dirt. The clinking of chains and muffled groans followed them as they hauled the captured Knights into view.

Gobo2 was the first to break the silence. He scratched his head, forcing a crooked smile.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?"

Skarn gave a low chuckle, his grin wide. "It feels like we're back in the forest. You remember? The same air… the same tension."

Takkar rumbled a laugh, grin flashing. "Hah. The edge of dying or winning… I've missed that."

Their words carried a strange mix of fear and nostalgia. One by one, the captains smiled, nodding in agreement, the weight of their shared past filling the air.

They had crawled from the dirt together, from goblin scraps and kobold caves, to this moment where Knights were their prisoners. From nothing to captains, each scar, each laugh, each risk had brought them here.

Lumberling lifted his hand, breaking the moment.

"Alright, enough drama. We're short on time."

Aren shrugged, his usual calm tone. "Well, you heard the boss."

"Krivex, Aren, Skarn," Lumberling called. "Step forward."

The three captains moved ahead without hesitation.

Shade dropped the prisoners with a dull thud. Seven Quasi-Knights, nine Knight Apprentices, and eleven Knight Pages, bloodied, bruised, and bound. Their eyes burned with hatred, but their mouths were gagged, silencing curses that would have filled the air.

Lumberling's gaze swept over them.

"Considering they were part of the General's army… these numbers are quiet low."

Skitz gave a lazy shrug, wiping blood from one dagger. "Can't be helped. Between Lireath's army and Lucian's group, most of the Knights ended up dead before we could capture them."

"There won't be enough for everyone," Lumberling said, his tone steady. "But we'll make do with what we have." His eyes sharpened, turning back toward the three waiting captains. "Prepare yourselves. You'll be the first to absorb their essence."

The captains' faces hardened, the moment of nostalgia gone. They nodded in unison, stepping closer, ready for what was to come.

Without another word, Lumberling thrust his spear forward. The three bound captives cried out through their gags as the blade pierced clean through their chests. Their struggles went still, their eyes wide in horror as the life drained from them.

Essence poured out like smoke, rushing to Lumberling. He closed his eyes, guiding the flow, splitting it carefully toward the three waiting captains.

Their bodies shook at once. Shoulders tensed, jaws clenched, and their breathing turned ragged as the power forced its way inside.

'Did it work?' Lumberling's eyes narrowed, watching every twitch, every shake, until at last the trembling stilled. The three captains stood firm again… but nothing had changed.

He let out a slow sigh, lowering his weapon. "Not enough. One more time."

He turned toward the next three captives, spear lifting once more when Skitz's voice cut in.

"Hold on, something's happening to Krivex."

All eyes snapped toward him.

Krivex had sunk to the ground, legs folded like a monk in meditation. He didn't move, didn't speak. But his aura… it was swelling. Rising, layer upon layer, steady as the tide.

The others watched in silence. This wasn't like the chaotic, painful transformations of monsters they had seen before. No twisted howls, no violent spasms. Krivex's aura grew in calm waves, as though he stood at the edge of some great understanding.

Heartbeats passed like hours. Then his aura surged higher, breaking past its limits. The pressure weighed on them all, but no one dared interrupt.

Finally, his eyes snapped open.

The dull yellow irises he once had were gone, now replaced by a piercing blue, bright like a clear sky after storm. His body looked the same, but the air around him was different.

A hush fell over the group as they felt it. The unmistakable pressure of a True Knight.

Krivex had become something new, no longer just a Hobgoblin Warmarch, but a Hobgoblin Tyrant, a monster whose power now stood on the level of Knight One Stage.