During their travels, Lumberling stopped drawing his blade.
The scent of blood had beco a trigger, sharp, primal, impossible to ignore. It stirred sothing inside him, sothing he no longer trusted. So whenever bandits or thugs blocked their path, he stood back.
And Skitz stepped forward.
Without hesitation, without question.
He beca the shield and sword of his Lord, cutting down threats with precision and control. Not because Lumberling couldn’t fight, but because right now, restraint was the harder battle.
Skitz understood that.
And he fought all the harder for it.
.....
One night.
Lumberling and Skitz stood on a cliffside, watching smoke rise from a distant town.
Skitz shifted beside him. "It’s getting worse."
He watched Lumberling from across the campfire. The man hadn’t blinked in a full minute. It wasn’t exhaustion anymore, it was sothing deeper.
Lumberling nodded. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, unreadable.
"But we keep going," he said. "Sowhere... there has to be an answer."
And they disappeared into the road again, cloaks flapping in the wind, hunted by past lives, and chasing the one thing that might save him from them.
....
Four months had passed since they left the goblin village.
In a Tavern on the Border.
The hearthfire burned low, flickering against rain-slicked windows as the tavern buzzed with uneasy voices. Lumberling sat in the corner, his cloak damp with the mist outside. His spear leaned beside him, untouched. He nursed a mug of bitterroot ale, not for the taste, but the warmth.
Skitz sat across from him, eyes sharp and ever-watchful. A hooded cloak concealed his pointed ears, and a simple mask covered the lower half of his face, blending him into the crowd like shadow on stone.
"...I’m telling you, it’s true!" one drunk barked near the fire. "Elandor Crowhurst—sickly lad, couldn’t lift a blade when he was younger. Now he’s Knight 2 Stage! And rising!"
"The sickly one from Raven Spire?" another asked, incredulous.
"They say he’s touched by fate. The house had nearly disowned him, but now—hah! The Marquess is grooming him to be heir again!"
"Bah, I still say Elenya Solwyn’s more impressive," a younger man interjected. "The ’Dawn-Blessed’ of the Sunlit Path. Beautiful, brave, healing soldiers like she’s part divine. They say even plague flees her touch."
"No no, you’re all wrong. Thalia Moorn, that’s the na you should rember." A hushed tone fell over the group. "The ’Veiled Fla.’ She doesn’t heal... she knows. They say the Church believes she sees the threads of fate. Predicts what’s to co."
"Yeah, and I bet she walks on water too," another laughed, trying to dispel the chill in the air.
Lumberling said nothing, but he listened. Carefully.
He had never cared for gossip before. But now... now he was paying attention.
’So the Church nurtures more than blind faith. Magic. Gifts.’ He took note of each na. Each title. ’And here I thought power only ca through skill and steel.’
.....
anwhile, back in the Goblin Village
The village had not grown idle in Lumberling and Skitz’s absence.
Under Krivex’s ticulous leadership and the captains’ relentless drive, the village continued to evolve.
New goblins and kobolds were born. Crude huts beca hos with reinforced walls. Watchtowers lined the palisade, fields blood with golden crops, and the clang of weapons echoed from the training grounds.
Gobo1 and Gobo2 led rotating squads into the deeper forest for drills and live hunts. Aren pushed his elite unit to perfection, sharpening them into a force that could strike like lightning and vanish like mist.
Skarn’s boar cavalry began night drills, galloping silently through the woods under moonlight. Takkar and Vakk constructed watch towers on each side of the outer wall. Zarn, with calloused hands and scraps of salvaged cloth, had even managed to build a humble dical hut for the wounded.
And Grokk?
Grokk had beco sothing else.
Not just a warrior. Not just a slave.
A sentinel.
.....
Midmorning, Goblin Village – Near the Northern Edge
The sun filtered through swaying branches, casting dappled light over the training grounds near the village’s northern watchtower. The air was alive with motion, soldiers sparred, boars snorted as cavalry drills continued, and nearby, a new kind of unit moved through the grass with eerie grace.
Wolves.
Lean, muscular, and larger than when they first arrived, no longer pups, but not quite full-grown either. Their fur shimred in the sun, and their eyes burned with loyal intelligence.
Jen stood at the edge of the field, her wooden training blade strapped to her side. One hand rested gently on the head of Lunira, the Dire wolf female of the pack. The wolf sat calmly beside her, ears perked, eyes alert.
"Go," Jen whispered.
With a low growl, Lunira darted forward. The rest of the pack followed her lead—five strong—moving in a fluid arc around the target dummies set up in the clearing. They didn’t bark or howl. Their movent was silent, purposeful. A formation that Jen and Karnark had been working on for weeks.
"Flank left, then sweep!" Karnark barked from the side, his hamr slung across his back, acting more like a commander than a beastmaster.
At his word, Lunira twisted her body mid-run, looping left, while the other wolves pivoted smoothly to the right. They circled the wooden dummies, fangs bared but disciplined. One wolf lunged, clamping its jaws around a sack of straw ant to represent a fleeing enemy’s leg. Another pinned a second dummy from the side, snout curled in a low snarl before retreating on command.
The goblins watching from the periter clapped and hollered, a mix of amazent and pride.
"Did you see that!?" one whispered to another. "They didn’t need leashes, they listened like soldiers"
"They’re like shadows with teeth..."
Jen whistled sharply once, and the wolves halted mid-motion. Every head turned toward her, tails still, waiting.
She held up a strip of dried at.
"Return."
One by one, they padded back to her, obedient and calm, surrounding her like a protective ring. Lunira rested her head against Jen’s shoulder. The girl scratched behind her ear, grinning wide.
"You all did amazing," she whispered. "I knew you’d learn."
Karnark approached, arms folded, watching with a rare glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "They listen to you better than so of the recruits," he muttered.
Jen bead. "That’s because I talk to them like they’re people."
Karnark smirked, then turned toward a nearby scout squad. "These wolves will be part of the next generation of scouts. Fast, silent, loyal. With them in the woods, no enemy approaches unseen."
Zarn, the dic-turned-commander, passed by and nodded. "Let’s just hope the other units learn to keep up."
Jen looked up at Karnark. "Can we go to the western ridge tomorrow?"
He nodded. "You lead the drill this ti."
Her eyes lit up with pride. Behind her, the wolves sat like statues, calm, waiting, watching.
The future of the village didn’t just wear armor or swing swords anymore.
Sotis, it wore fur.
And followed a girl with a wooden blade and a fierce heart.
....
Late Afternoon
The wind blew hot and dry across the western edge of the forest as Grokk stood at the village periter, axe planted beside him, muscles still from stillness.
He felt it before the scouts could report.
Gnolls.
The earth whispered with the weight of their steps, more than two dozen figures moving through the brush like shadowed beasts. Scarred bodies, patchwork armor, yellow eyes gleaming in the waning sun.
A migrating warband.
The village gates creaked open behind him, but Grokk stepped out alone.
The lead gnoll leader erged, a hulking brute with a bone necklace and rusted cleaver, his presence thick with challenge. His stage was clear: a bruiser equivalent to a mid-Knight Page level. Behind him, spears glead, and snarls filled the air.
"Well, well," the leader growled in the gnoll tongue. "I thought it would be humans welcoming us."
Grokk’s eyes narrowed. "Why are you here? This is not your territory."
"We hunt where prey gathers," the gnoll spat. "This village, built by humans, no doubt. Where are they hiding? Let us help you cleanse them."
His hatred for humans dripped from every word. Humans had driven them from their original territory, forcing them to flee deeper into the wilds. When they stumbled upon this village, fortified, they assud it had to be human-made. After all, what monsters could have built sothing like this?
Grokk said nothing at first. His hand rested calmly on his axe. His collar glinted in the light, and the gnolls sneered at it.
"Ah," the leader laughed. "So you’re a mutt now. A gnoll turned lapdog. Do they chain you at night too?"
The gnolls chuckled among themselves. The one before them, a gnoll ravager, likely equivalent to a Knight Apprentice, was stronger than any of them individually. But they had numbers on their side, and they believed sheer force would be enough to overwhelm this lone traitor.
Grokk’s voice was like steel. "I serve strength. And there is none in you."
The air snapped.
The gnolls surged forward.
The pack charged, but Grokk t them like a collapsing mountain. His axe swept wide, cleaving through spears and skulls. Dust exploded as he spun, driving another to the ground with a thunderous slam.
Three gnolls sward him. Grokk ducked, grabbed one by the leg, and hurled him into the others. Bone cracked. Blood sprayed across the dirt.
Still they ca.
But Grokk did not yield.
A horn sounded.
Arrows flew from the walls.
"Captain Gobo1, flanking right!" a scout shouted from the treetops.
Aren’s elite unit burst from the shadows, spears gleaming. They struck with cold precision, no wasted motion, no hesitation.
"Finally," Grokk grunted, blood dripping from his lip.
Gobo2 appeared with a flying leap, slicing into a charging gnoll. "Didn’t start the party without us, did you?"
"Hold formation!" Aren called. "Push them back!"
Gobo1 and Vrak secured the rear, boxing the gnolls in.
Surrounded, outmatched, their leader bleeding from a gash across the chest, the gnolls broke. Yelping, howling, they scattered into the woods, dragging their wounded with them.
The battle had lasted re minutes.
But it was decisive.
Grokk stood panting at the edge of the field, axe soaked, his body trembling but unbroken.
Krivex arrived monts later, cloak fluttering in the breeze, his sharp eyes scanning the aftermath, fallen gnolls, panting soldiers, wounded goblins being helped by Zarn’s dics.
He walked toward Grokk.
"You fought like a wall," Krivex said quietly. "And the village still stands because of it."
Grokk didn’t answer right away. He simply planted his axe into the ground, arms crossed over his bloodied chest.
"I said I’d protect this place," he said.
Krivex gave a rare nod of deep respect. "And you have."
Then he turned toward the forest, the direction from which the gnolls had fled.
"Our Lord may not have witnessed this," he said, voice low. "But he’ll feel it. When he returns fully... he’ll know. This village is stronger than ever because of all of you."
Grokk said nothing.
But his eyes shone, not with pride, but with purpose.
He was no longer just a ravager in chains.
He was sothing more.
A guardian.
A shield.
And perhaps one day soon... free.
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