Two weeks had passed before they finally reached their destination. From a distance, Lumberling saw modest hos and cultivated fields nestled between rolling hills. Before approaching the village, he and Uncle Drake changed out of their armor and into simple traveling clothes. The last thing they needed was to be mistaken for deserters—desertion was a cri punishable by death in the empire.
"Kid, you know what to do, right? From here on, we stick to the story," Uncle Drake said, adjusting his cloak.
"Of course, Uncle Drake. I understand."
They walked into the village, drawing a few curious glances. So villagers gathered, and one of them ran off, likely to call the village chief. Monts later, a broad-shouldered man with long silver-streaked hair approached them. His face was lined with age and sun, but his gaze was clear and calm.
"What brings you to our humble village, gentlen?" he asked.
Uncle Drake offered a friendly smile. "Greetings, sir. We’re travelers from Zyvarics County. Are you the village chief?"
"I am. Na’s Eldric," the man replied. "Is there sothing you’re looking for?"
"We’re looking for a place to settle, Chief Eldric. Our ho was near the border, and with the constant war, we couldn’t stay any longer. I had a friend who once told this village was peaceful, so we ca here, hoping for a new start."
"A friend, huh? That’s rare. Most villagers don’t travel far. Who was it?"
"His na is Orrin. We trained and fought together during his Knight’s path."
Eldric raised his brows. "Orrin? You’re a friend of my brother?"
"That’s right. He saved my life once."
Eldric chuckled. "Didn’t expect him to have friends outside the village. He must’ve t you during that trip to the border years ago."
Uncle Drake grinned. "He never told his brother was a village chief."
"That happened after his journey. But if you’re Orrin’s friend, then you’re welco here."
The conversation flowed easily, and soon both n were laughing like old friends. Lumberling watched, amazed at how naturally Uncle Drake connected with others. Eldric then waved away the gathered onlookers and led them toward his brother’s house.
Orrin turned out to be just as large and imposing as Eldric—muscular, long-haired, and unmistakably a trained warrior. The mont he saw Uncle Drake, they embraced and began exchanging stories like long-lost comrades.
"Drake, you brought a dead man?" Eldric teased.
"Not quite dead. Just a little bruised and tired," Drake grinned.
The three older n settled into conversation, and Lumberling stood awkwardly to the side, unsure how to fit into their reunion. It reminded him of family gatherings back on Earth—uncles bragging about the past while ignoring the younger ones.
Eventually, Orrin turned to him. "So, who’s the kid? Your son? He’s too good-looking to be yours."
"Bastard," Drake snorted. "I was just as handso at his age. But no, he’s not my son. Never had ti for that, not with the army. This kid’s na is Lumberling. He saved my life more than once near the Pentaline border."
A flicker of sothing passed through Drake’s voice—regret, perhaps. His old friends picked up on it.
"I’ll be honest," Drake added. "We deserted. The war wasn’t worth it anymore. I wasted enough of my life chasing glory that was never mine."
Orrin nodded, expression hardening. "I told you to leave that life. We commoners can’t rise—not with nobles hoarding all the power."
"Well," Eldric said with a warm laugh, "you’re here now. You’re both welco. Maybe you’ll even find love in this quiet place."
Later that day, Eldric ordered a small house to be built for them. While it was being constructed, they stayed at his ho. In the following days, Lumberling and Drake helped with daily chores—repairing ditches, cutting firewood, and reinforcing fences.
One early morning, as Lumberling was about to enter the woods for training, Eldric called out to him.
"Off to the woods again?"
"Yes, Chief. I usually train before sunrise."
"Drake ntioned you wanted to walk the Knight’s path. That’s good. Youth should have ambition. Want so help?"
Lumberling hesitated. "Wouldn’t that be a burden? You must have duties—"
Eldric waved him off. "This village practically runs itself. Co on."
’This guy really does whatever he wants,’ Lumberling thought, smiling wryly.
They walked into the forest together.
"What kind of skill are you training?" Eldric asked.
"Sothing focused on concealnt. Lowering my presence."
"Hiding, huh? Useful. I fought so assassins a few years back—nasty bastards. Not sure how they trained, though."
Lumberling blinked. ’You offered help, and now you’re admitting you don’t know how?’
He offered a solution. "How about I demonstrate my skill? Maybe you can tell how far off I am from those assassins."
"Fair enough."
Lumberling climbed a tree and covered himself in leaves, blending in as best he could. He stilled his breath and waited.
Then he heard sothing behind him—a soft rattle.
By the ti he turned around, a dagger was at his neck. Eldric stood there, smiling.
Lumberling leapt back and drew his own dagger. They exchanged a few quick blows—Lumberling fast and precise, Eldric calm and overwhelming. After several clashes, Eldric finally stepped back.
"Not bad. A few more years, and you’ll make a fine Knight Apprentice."
But Lumberling wasn’t listening. He was stunned.
’That aura... it’s the sa as when our Centurion was killed. He’s a Quasi-Knight!’
"You knew I was a Knight Page from the start, didn’t you?" Lumberling asked, catching his breath.
"Of course. I had to be sure. Peace in the village depends on it. But Drake trusts you, and so do I now."
Lumberling sighed. "I’m sorry for hiding it Chief, Uncle Drake taught to be cautious. Also, I’m not a noble. I was born in a naless village. My strength cos from talent and... luck. Uncle Drake can vouch for ."
"Drake taught you well. You pass," Eldric said with a shrug.
"You’re holding back, aren’t you? Your combat skill doesn’t match your movents."
’He noticed?’
"Spearmanship is my forte."
"Two skills at once? Looks like Drake picked up a diamond in the rough," the Chief chuckled with approval. "Want to know how I saw through your level? At a certain stage, you start sensing things others can’t—auras, intent, strength."
’I need to be careful,’ Lumberling thought. ’Quasi-Knights can see through .’
"Would you still teach ?" he asked.
"I will if I have ti. Orrin can help too, though he’s only a Knight Page."
’Even that is rare for commoners,’ Lumberling realized. ’Two powerful warriors in a small village. Strange, but promising.’
A week later, Lumberling felt it.
Progress had stopped.
Despite daily training—repetitions, drills, sparring—his skill levels wouldn’t budge. Swordsmanship. Shieldmanship. Even Sprint. All stagnant.
It reminded him of a feeling from his past life on Earth: hitting a wall. That maddening plateau where effort yielded nothing.
He’d suspected sothing was wrong since killing that Knight months ago. He should’ve gained experience, but he didn’t.
He checked his status:
Na: Lumberling
Race: Human
Age: 18
Level: 4
Essence: 751 / 3500
Power: 744
Knight Stage: Unranked
Active Skills:
Beginner Sprint Lv0 (828 / 1000)
(Grants a burst of lightning-fast speed. Consus a large amount of stamina.)
Passive Skills:
Essence Devour
(Automatically devours the essence of those you kill. Absorbs a portion of their special experiences and mories.)
Beginner Spearmanship Lv2 (413 / 1000)
Beginner Swordsmanship Lv2 (0 / 1000)
Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 (198 / 1000)
Beginner Shieldmanship Lv0 (259 / 1000)
Beginner Cudgel Fighting Lv0 (1 / 1000)
Beginner Concealnt Lv0 (621 / 1000)
"Spearmanship, Concealnt, Bowmanship... those are still progressing. So why not Swordsmanship? Why not Sprint?" He frowned. "Maybe... maybe training alone isn’t enough anymore."
He resud his drills, frustration gnawing at the edges of his focus.
Life in the village was peaceful. The villagers were kind. Threats were rare, handled quietly by Chief Eldric. Surrounded by nature, Lumberling found the peace he needed to train.
Uncle Orrin, it turned out, was always eager to spar. He was fast—so fast that Lumberling often didn’t see the sweep coming until he was flat on his back.
"You’re quick," Orrin said one afternoon, helping him up. "But you fight like soone relying on strength and instinct. No formal training."
"I’m learning," Lumberling panted.
"You’re learning well," Orrin admitted.
"Thanks for today, Uncle Orrin."
"Call anyti. Sparring keeps my old bones from rusting."
They chuckled, but the lightness didn’t last. Uncle Drake ca running toward them, urgency in every step.
"Orrin! Lumberling!"
"What’s wrong?" Orrin asked.
"One of the villagers returned from Sangun. Said the whole place was... massacred. Eldric went ahead to investigate. No word on whether it was monsters or bandits."
"Damn it, why’d he go alone?" Orrin muttered, already preparing to leave. "Drake, hold down the village."
Lumberling stepped forward. "Uncle Orrin, let co with you."
"Out of the question. This isn’t so spar—real blood’s going to flow."
"I can help. I was once a soldier."
Orrin hesitated. "You..."
"Take him," Drake said firmly. "He’s capable."
Orrin gave in with a grunt.
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