The Devouring Knight-Chapter 115 - 114: To Bow Without Breaking

Goblin Village - Dusk

The days bled into one another.

What once was a solitary madness had become a shared ritual of pain.

Lumberling wasn’t alone in his brutal regimen anymore. Grokk, the towering Gnoll Bonehowler, joined him, day after day, night after night, each session a slow grind of flesh, muscle, and will.

They battered their flesh with stone, sprinted until collapse, and soaked in diluted poisons by moonlight. What had begun as reckless self-destruction now had shape. Purpose. Pattern.

And after months of failure, adjustment, and near-death experimentation...

They succeeded.

They forged the first layer of a new cultivation method. Crude. Brutal. Real.

They named it Bruteforge Body Cultivation Path.

Not born of Qi.

Not blessed by gods.

This power was forged, bone by bone, drop by drop.

.....

Lumberling sat cross-legged at his workstation, ink-stained fingers flipping through rough parchment. Notes, diagrams, corrections, hundreds of them. Grokk’s blood had dried on some of the pages.

Across the parchment’s surface, the key principles were laid out in crude but legible script:

Bruteforge Body Cultivation Path - Layer I: Blood Tempering

Focus: Blood, circulation, nutrient flow

Goal: Harden capillaries, purify blood, increase oxygen and nutrient distribution

Method:

Strike conditioning

Poison bath soaks

High-intensity sprints or combat until bodily collapse

Milestone: Blood thickens, turns darker; wounds clot faster; internal bleeding becomes rare.

Lumberling smiled faintly. Grokk had already achieved the milestone, his blood clotted near-instantly, and the gnoll’s tolerance for pain had become monstrous.

Lumberling set down the ink quill and rolled up the parchment. Then he called out:

"Krivex. Come."

Footsteps shuffled outside, followed by the scrape of the wooden door.

"You called, my Lord?" Krivex asked, bowing slightly as he entered.

Lumberling handed him the sealed scroll. "Read it."

Krivex’s clawed fingers unfurled it. "Bruteforge Body Cultivation Path?" he murmured.

Lumberling nodded. "A method born from necessity. Grokk helped prove it can be done. He broke his body for this."

Krivex’s eyes widened. "We can cultivate now? But I thought we needed that energy you mentioned before, Qi, wasn’t it?"

"This doesn’t use Qi. It uses pain. Trauma. Survival."

Krivex looked stunned, then, slowly, excitement bloomed across his face. "This... This is a new path. A real one."

"It’s only the first layer," Lumberling said, his tone firm but not unkind. "We still have much to refine. But it works. And we’ll build on it. Distribute copies to our warriors. From now on, meditation is not enough. Every soldier must train this."

Krivex straightened, already clutching the scroll to his chest. "Yes, my Lord. I’ll also send a messenger to Skitz. The captains will want in on this."

"Good. Grokk proved the concept. Let the others prove their worth."

Krivex grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "They will. This’ll make demons out of them."

He turned and sprinted out into the village night, scroll in hand, already shouting for scribes.

Outside, Grokk sat by the training grounds, quietly wrapping fresh bandages over bruised, swollen knuckles. His blood had stopped leaking minutes ago.

Lumberling watched from the doorway. For the first time in four months, his shoulders loosened.

’One layer down.’

’A dozen more to go.’

But it was a beginning.

And beginnings... were everything.

.....

Weeks passed. The goblin village groaned beneath the weight of transformation.

Every morning, the air rang with grunts, strikes, and cries of pain. Bruteforge Body Cultivation Path had been fully integrated. The soldiers, once soft, barely able to lift proper arms, now trained like lunatics. They slammed themselves into stone pillars, soaked in venomous baths, and sprinted until they collapsed, only to rise again, stronger than before.

Bruised bodies became tempered ones. Cracked bones healed harder. Blood turned thick and sluggish, resistant to bleeding. They were no longer just monsters, they were evolving.

Lumberling sat beneath his usual tree, deep in Imperial Mindseal Meditation, essence threading through his thoughts like stars swimming in dark waters.

Then...

A scream.

His eyes snapped open, blue irises glowing with sudden clarity.

Commotion. Pressure. Fear.

He didn’t hesitate. He sprinted, leaping through branches, a blur across the village until he reached the heart of it, and froze.

Shade was pinned beneath glowing vines, mouth open in a shriek as they constricted tighter.

Grokk lay facedown, a boot pressed on his back, a girl, silver-haired and radiant, holding him down with one hand.

Krivex, Uncle Drake, Orrin, all were kneeling, groaning under an invisible weight. Even the guards and soldiers were on the ground, blades trembling in limp hands.

Lunira and the wolf pack howled and snapped from a distance, muscles tense with fury, but she kept them back, sensing the hopelessness.

Then Lumberling saw them.

Elves.

Thirty-seven of them. All female. All radiating power so intense it crackled through the air like lightning just before a storm. They were ethereal, beautiful beyond reason, their skin aglow, their eyes like gemstones, but beneath that beauty was force, cold and merciless.

And each of them, Lumberling could tell instantly, were warriors.

No... monsters.

Like Jason, the True Knight. No, not just one like him, dozens.

Lumberling’s jaw clenched. His heart raced, but he forced calm into his voice.

"Everyone... stand down! No one moves!"

The tension didn’t vanish, but the soldiers froze, their hands halting mid-draw. The elves turned, eyes sharp and curious, toward the one who had spoken.

Lumberling stepped forward, eyes flicking across the group.

’No warning from the scouts. No sign from the skies.’

’How did they bypass the golden eagles? How did they get here without detection?’

Suddenly, one of the elves, a blonde, tall and statuesque, stepped forward, her voice like honey over a blade:

"#%!&@)*&!"

A strange language, musical and alien. Lumberling blinked, unsure how to respond.

Then, a glow. A magic circle spun into the air from her hand. The runes clicked into place like gears in a divine machine.

"Who are you?" she asked, this time in his tongue.

His eyes widened. ’Translation magic?’

His first time witnessing true magic. And it was beautiful.

But he straightened and responded.

"I am the master of this village. Who are you? Why have you attacked my people?"

The blonde elf scoffed.

"A human? Master of monsters? I suspected as much. Are they your slaves?"

Lumberling’s voice was calm, but hard.

"They follow me. Now then, what brings you here?"

The elf frowned, clearly displeased by his tone.

A sudden pressure rolled out from her, her aura flared, warping the air around her. Mana quivered like struck glass.

But beneath the magic, Lumberling sensed something else, something more familiar.

A Knight’s presence. Controlled. Lethal.

At least Knight One stage.

His knees trembled, legs quaking under the crushing weight of her aura. The air grew heavy, suffocating. Any sane man would’ve dropped to the ground, groveling.

But Lumberling stood tall, barely, stubbornly, refusing to kneel.

Sensing his defiance, the elf narrowed her eyes. Her pressure surged, doubling like a storm breaking loose. The earth cracked faintly beneath him.

He stood firm. The blonde tilted her head, curious now.

"You’re not a True Knight," she said, voice low, almost puzzled.

"Then how are you still standing? ...Who are you?"

He bit back his annoyance, jaw clenched.

’Why does she keep asking who I am? I’m the one demanding answers here, dammit...’

Before he could speak again, another figure stepped forward.

She was breathtaking.

Impossibly flawless, alabaster skin like moonlight on fresh snow, long green hair that shimmered like dew-kissed leaves at dawn. Her face carried a lazy elegance, bored yet regal, as if everything beneath her was just a passing amusement. She moved like a goddess idling through a mortal world.

Lumberling blinked.

She was more stunning than any model he’d ever seen in his past life, too perfect to be real.

"Let’s just wipe them out and take this place," she said, her tone light, almost yawning. "They’ve seen too much."

"But they’re interesting," the blonde countered. "These monsters... they act like trained soldiers. It’s unnatural. And look at the buildings, this is more than goblin filth."

"Maybe the humans built it," the green-haired one replied, voice sharp now. "If you won’t do it, I’ll do it myself."

Across the square, Krivex and the goblin warriors bristled, weapons rising. Shade hissed. Grokk strained against his bindings, muscles bulging.

Tension crackled. The elves turned toward them, hands glowing magic gathering, runes forming.

Then...

"Stand down!"

Lumberling’s voice cut through the chaos like steel drawn in silence.

Krivex froze mid-lunge. Grokk’s growl died in his throat. Even Lunira halted, wide-eyed.

Time seemed to hold its breath.

Lumberling stepped forward, slow, deliberate.

The elves turned their eyes on him, caution etched into their gazes, subtle shifts in posture betraying their readiness. Magic still crackled faintly in their palms. They expected him to fight.

Instead...

He stopped just short of them, and bowed.

A deep, full bow. Not of shame, but of solemn intent.

He wanted to stand taller. Wanted to meet their eyes.

He was a leader. A warrior. He had fought Knights and monsters and buried comrades with his own hands. His pride screamed at him. Every instinct rebelled.

But pride didn’t build homes. Pride didn’t save lives.

So he exhaled.

And lowered his head.

The wind whispered between them, heavy with tension.

Behind him, he could feel his people watching. Holding their breath. Daring not to speak.

His voice followed, soft yet resolute.

"We are not here to challenge you. We have no quarrel with your kind. We only seek to live... to rebuild what the war has taken from us. If my people have caused offense, I offer my apology. But know this, we are not a threat. Just survivors, clinging to what little we have left. If there’s a price for our lives, name it. We’ll give you anything you want. Just don’t destroy what we’ve built."

A wave of disbelief swept through his ranks.

Gasps. Silence.

Krivex’s fists trembled, jaw clenched tight. They had followed this man through blood and fire. Had torn through enemies. Endured hell.

To see him bow... was unthinkable.

And yet, they understood. Against this power, they stood no chance. The lives they fought to protect, everything, hung by a thread.

Across from them, the two elves paused.

The blonde blinked. The green-haired one faltered, lips parting slightly. For a moment, they looked... uncertain.

Like children caught with stones in hand, about to shatter something fragile.

Lumberling’s words had struck deeper than they’d expected. He had spoken not like a warlord, but a man, worn, proud, and pleading.

Then...

A voice rang out behind them.

Silken. Chilling. Beautiful.

Soft and commanding, like velvet hiding a blade.

"That’s enough, Aurelya. You too, Thessalia."

Every head turned.

A new figure stepped into view, each step as graceful as snowfall. And the world seemed to still.

She was the most beautiful of them all.

Tall, elegant, her presence eclipsed the others with ease. Her blue hair flowed like a cascading waterfall, catching glints of light with each sway. Her emerald-green eyes glowed faintly, as if they could peel back thoughts and bare souls.

Her aura was regal. Cold. Controlled. Like a sword forged of ice and starlight.

She didn’t need to raise her voice, her mere existence demanded reverence.

Modest curves shaped her slender frame, her every movement poised and unhurried. She wore her beauty like armor, not flaunted, but undeniable. A cold goddess carved from moonlight and winter.

A hush fell.

Lumberling straightened. Slowly.

He lifted his gaze, and met hers.

Two leaders.

Two storms, locked in stillness.

"We’re looking for a place to stay," she said coolly, her voice calm yet absolute. "We happened to come across your village on the way."

She studied him without blinking, piercing, unreadable. Lumberling already knew she was their leader. So he stood still, listening closely, weighing every word.

Then...

Silence.

She said nothing more.

Lumberling waited.

And waited.

But the silence stretched.

’Okay... now what?’ he thought, throat dry. Her judgment felt like a guillotine hanging overhead, and the blade refused to fall, or lift.

No one spoke.

The air thickened. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, he cleared his throat, awkward and desperate to shatter the tension.

"Ahem. Yes... of course. Do you wish to stay here?" he blurted, then, before he could stop himself, "You’re more than welcome. Our village isn’t much, but while you’re here, please... consider it home."

Still, she said nothing. Just kept staring, silent as winter. As if he was the one supposed to keep things going.

"If there’s anything else you need," he added quickly, "we’ll do our best to provide it."

Another pause. Another stare.

Still nothing.

’What is with this girl?’ he thought, nerves fraying. He fought the urge to scream.

"Ahem... Krivex," he said through a stiff smile, "prepare guest accommodations. Give them... the best we have."

"Huh? Ah.. yes, my Lord!" Krivex jolted as if slapped awake. He turned to the others. "You heard him! Move! Get the best houses ready, now!"

The goblins scrambled to obey, casting wary glances at the still-unblinking elf.

Lumberling turned back to her, gathered his courage, and took a step closer.

"Would you... kindly release my people now?" he asked, voice calm but firm. "They’re... having a hard time breathing."

At last, the blue-haired woman gave the faintest nod.

With a flick of her fingers, the pressure broke like glass.

The vines shriveled and crumbled to dust. Shade slumped to the ground, finally free. The elf pinning Grokk down stepped back, and he gasped, dragging in air through clenched teeth. One by one, the elven warriors eased back, their glowing hands dimming, their posture loosening as they lowered their guard.

Slowly, one by one, Lumberling’s people rose, bruised, breathless, but alive.

"Please," Lumberling said, his voice steady despite the storm beneath his skin. He gestured toward the village paths. "This way... to your accommodations."

The blue-haired elf gave a faint nod and began to walk. Her warriors followed in silent formation, a tide of magic and menace trailing behind her.

Lumberling’s subordinates watched in stunned silence, unable to move, barely able to breathe. Their Lord, their fearless Lord, was guiding a battalion of otherworldly beings straight into the heart of their home.

Grokk leaned in toward Krivex.

"...What just happened?" he whispered.

Krivex blinked, still catching his breath. "I’m not sure we survived... or just delayed dying."

Even Lunira’s fur bristled, her eyes fixed warily on the backs of the retreating elves.

As they walked, Lumberling wiped the sweat from his brow, willing his hands not to shake.

’Great. Inviting magical warlords into our living room. Brilliant move.’

One truth settled into his gut like a stone:

They were no longer alone.

And the game had just changed.