One morning, Trask, one of the elite squad, didn’t rise when the others did.
The ditation had ended. The sun was climbing. Yet he sat unmoving, eyes shut, breath so deep it was barely noticeable. A faint tremble ran through his fingers, not from cold or strain, but from sothing stirring beneath the surface.
Lumberling slowed as he passed by, watching quietly.
Then it happened.
A single ripple.
Not wind. Not magic.
Sothing internal, invisible, shuddered inside Trask’s chest, like a dormant string plucked deep in his core. His scales shimred for half a breath, subtle, nearly imperceptible, before returning to their usual rough black hue.
No dramatic glow. No howling transformation.
Just a quiet shift.
Trask’s eyes opened slowly. They were... focused. Sharper than before. He blinked, confused, sniffed the air as if slling the world for the first ti. His claws flexed and clenched, his shoulders rolled. The motion seed heavier now denser. More grounded.
"What was that...?" he muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. "Felt like... a breath from inside."
Lumberling said nothing.
But a faint smile touched his lips.
’It’s starting,’ he thought. ’One spark at a ti.’
.....
The next morning.
Dawn was pale, the dew still fresh on the grass. Mist clung to the training grounds like breath on glass. A cracked training spear lay forgotten by the side, its shaft stained with old sweat.
Skitz stood in the center, cracking his knuckles, a grin full of pointed teeth flashing across his face.
"It’s good to have another bout with you, my Lord," he said. "Been a while since I’ve had the honor of knocking you on your back."
Lumberling rolled his shoulder, his expression calm, but there was a glint in his eye. "Yeah? Don’t go crying this ti. I plan to make you pay for every spar you won before."
The captains ford a loose ring around them, joined by soldiers trickling in with curious eyes and excited murmurs. Grokk stood silently behind the crowd. Jen leaned on her shield. Even Old Man Dan, rarely one to leave his tools, set down his chisel to watch.
The duel began.
They collided like shadows eting fire.
Skitz was fast, too fast for most eyes to follow. He ducked under a strike, twisted, and raked his claws toward Lumberling’s flank. Dust kicked up beneath them. Nearby, a leaf fluttered, caught in the turbulence of their motion.
Lumberling t Skitz’s ferocity with calm precision.
A parry. A sidestep.
A spear spinning low across the ground, then darting up like a serpent’s fang.
The soldiers gasped.
But Skitz matched him, step for step. Sparks flew from claw and shaft.
"I see you’ve grown," Skitz panted, smiling.
"You haven’t seen anything yet."
Then, a change.
Lumberling lowered his stance.
A curve in the shoulder. A drop of the wrist.
Krivex narrowed his eyes. "Wait a minute..."
Lumberling’s spear curved around Skitz’s guard with a flick of the elbow, not a knight’s drill, but sothing wilder. Sothing... primal.
A brutal sweep followed, kobold-style trip.
A sudden leap, goblin feint.
A sidestep pivot, hobgoblin footwork.
"That’s not from the Pikeman’s Art Form," Aren muttered, narrowing his eyes. He recognized the difference, he’d studied the sa manual himself.
Then a sweeping kick followed, low, brutal, and efficient.
More changes.
A flicker of a wolf-pounce. A low spin with his spear dragging through the dirt like a tail about to strike.
One move after another flowed into each other, styles not ant to exist in harmony.
A few soldiers gasped from the sidelines, now realizing they weren’t just witnessing a duel.
They were witnessing an evolution of combat itself.
Grokk’s jaw tightened. He’d seen pieces of it before. But this... this was a symphony of savagery.
Every technique Lumberling used now wasn’t just learned, it was integrated. Like they weren’t separate forms anymore, but parts of a single organism. One rhythm. One doctrine.
"W-why’s he fighting like a different person every few seconds?" Gobo2 shouted, eyes wide. "It’s like he’s possessed by a monster buffet!"
Even Gobo1 had nothing clever to say, just watched with jaw slack.
Skitz tried to keep up, sweat flicking from his brow. His grin had faded, replaced by focused frustration. He was faster, more experienced, he should have had the edge. But every ti he thought he found an opening, it vanished.
Every ti he went for a punish, Lumberling shifted, not just his stance, but his entire presence.
Then ca the end.
Lumberling twisted behind Skitz’s swipe, drove the butt of his spear into the goblin’s gut, flipped it upward, and swept his legs clean out from under him. Before Skitz hit the ground, the spear was already at his throat.
Silence fell over the crowd.
Skitz blinked at the weapon aid between his eyes.
Then he laughed. "You damn bastard... what was that?"
Lumberling let the spear drop. He extended a hand.
"Sothing new," he said. "Sothing mine."
He pulled Skitz to his feet. The goblin clapped dust off his thighs, chuckling through gritted teeth.
"You were never supposed to move like that."
"I didn’t," Lumberling said quietly. "Not before."
The cheers ca next.
Not wild. Not chaotic.
But deep, thunderous applause of fists slamming against chests, spears tapped on the ground, roars of pride and challenge. Soldiers shouted his na. Captains exchanged impressed looks.
They had seen many strong fighters.
But now... they knew.
He was back.
And more than that, he was stronger than ever.
Krivex leaned toward Aren. "He’s caught up. In skill and in strength."
Lumberling’s skill was expected to match that of a Knight Apprentice, while his physique already surpassed that of a Peak Quasi-Knight. But now, with his transford battle style, his technique had finally caught up to his raw power.
Lumberling stood still in the center of the ring. His spear leaned against his shoulder. He wasn’t winded. Wasn’t strained.
For a single heartbeat, he felt it:
His mind like still water.
His breath like steady wind.
His body like stone, not stiff, but grounded.
Harmony.
’I’m whole again,’ he thought. ’And stronger than ever.
Then the thought ca:
’Now that I’ve overco the chaos of devouring... should I try it again?’
A flicker of uncertainty passed through him. His instincts, once unruly, were now dormant. Tad. But not erased.
’There’s no use worrying about it. I’ll control it. Use it properly. Use it for growth.’
The decision settled.
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