There were 300 soldiers gathered in the camp—317 to be exact.
They were led by six people: four Decurions, Uncle Drake, and one Centurion—the highest-ranking among them—equivalent to a Knight Apprentice, who commanded them all.
Their camp was nestled behind a mountain, surrounded by tall trees. Due to severely limited resources, it barely qualified as a camp. No fortifications, no defenses—just desperate soldiers who had to rely on themselves.
A scout stepped forward and saluted the Centurion.
"Sir, Sengolio troops are heading this way. Their numbers are estimated to exceed a thousand."
Some soldiers' faces paled. Despair crept into a few eyes, while others hardened with grim resolve.
But the Centurion and Decurions remained calm, almost as if they had expected this. After all, they'd stolen from Sengolio's supply convoys. They knew retaliation was inevitable. They'd simply hoped it would come later—not now.
Miraculously, the enemy hadn't attacked for months. But now, their luck had run dry. Reinforcements? A comforting delusion. No help would come. But clinging to that delusion was sometimes the only way to survive.
The Centurion stepped forward and spoke in a firm, resolute voice:
"Soldiers. The enemy approaches, and we—Pentaline warriors—will meet them with all we have. I cannot promise survival or victory, but remember: we are the soldiers of the Pentaline Empire. Our stand will be remembered."
"GLORY TO THE PENTALINE EMPIRE!"
"GLORY TO THE PENTALINE EMPIRE!"
The soldiers roared, their morale rekindled.
'Bullshit,' Lumberling thought, bitterness rising. 'No one will remember us. We'll die here like dogs—unnamed and unburied.'
He knew the speech was meant to boost morale, but the hypocrisy irked him. Still, he understood the situation. As a frequent scout, he had seen how dire things really were. So he trained harder, learned more, prepared for the worst.
And now—the worst had come.
The Centurion, Uncle Drake, and the four Decurions each took command of 50 soldiers. Knowing they couldn't win a direct clash, they would use guerrilla tactics. Familiarity with the terrain was their edge. Routes had been carved for mobility. Traps had been laid. Ambush points mapped.
Their strategy was simple but sharp:
One bait unit: the Centurion would lead 50 soldiers to draw the enemy in.
Three strike teams: led by Decurions, would attack from different angles.
Two ambush squads: Uncle Drake and Decurion Rex would wait in hiding to strike the enemies flanking the main force.
Lumberling was assigned to an archer squad under one of the strike Decurions. His group lay in ambush atop a rocky mountain valley.
'At least the leadership's competent,' he thought, stringing his bow. 'If this works, maybe I won't need to run off on my own.'
His archery skills were below average, but it was the safest method for now. He had coated his arrows in snake venom—an old trick learned from scouts. Even if he couldn't kill, a poisoned wound might do the job.
Soon, the Centurion appeared, running with his bait unit into the valley. Sengolio forces—more than a thousand strong—pursued.
"Look at them flee! Like rats!" a Sengolio soldier mocked.
Then—
Thwip!
An arrow pierced a soldier's skull.
(You have devoured the Infantry Soldier's essence. 5 Essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the soldier's memories…)
(Glory to the Sengolio Empire!!...)
A familiar purple mist drifted into Lumberling. It had been a long time since he last felt that essence flow.
More arrows followed. Lumberling and his fellow archers loosed volley after volley from above. From their high position, enemy arrows couldn't reach them.
However, Sengolio troops quickly formed shield walls.
"Raise shields! Formation!"
The Decurion saw the change and called out:
"Stop! Move to the next position!"
The archers dispersed, moving fast.
Meanwhile, Sengolio's commander issued orders:
"Chase them. You three—take 200 soldiers and wipe them out."
A scout reported to Lumberling's Decurion:
"Sir, 200 enemy infantry are headed this way."
"Good. Tell Rex to move in and alert Uncle Drake. We'll make a stand here. Prepare for engagement."
The Decurion coordinated with Drake's squad. Together, their 100 soldiers would hold off the 200-strong enemy force. When the enemies came into range—
"Archers! Ready… Fire! Fire! Fire!"
After a few volleys, the order to retreat was given. The enemy was baited into following, straight into pre-laid traps.
These veterans aren't just tough—they're smart too, Lumberling mused.
Eventually, the retreat ended. No more fallback points.
"Not running anymore, are you?" sneered one of the Knight Pages leading the enemy group. Frustration laced his voice.
"Soldiers, switch weapons," the Decurion ordered, solemn. They had no choice now.
With 150 enemies and three Knight Pages, they had to hold until Decurion Rex arrived.
"Form up! Formation A! Brace!"
The two forces clashed. Lumberling's arms shook under the sheer force of the charge—but he held. They waited.
Then—the signal.
From the rear, Uncle Drake and his soldiers attacked, catching the enemy off guard.
Now came the counterattack.
Lumberling sprang forward, spear in hand. After countless sparring sessions, his movements were sharp and precise. He killed swiftly.
(You have devoured the Infantry Soldier's essence. 5 essence absorbed…)
Essence replenished his stamina. He felt tireless, nearly unstoppable.
Then—it came. A blur. A warning spike of danger.
He dodged just in time. A Knight Page.
'Damn… I got careless. My actions drew him in.'
He glanced around—Uncle Drake and the Decurion were already engaged. No backup.
'I just need to stall him until help arrives. Let's go!'
The fight began. The Knight Page was fast—too fast. Lumberling relied on his Sprint skill just to dodge. But the enemy pressed on relentlessly.
He misstepped—his back hit something hard. Nowhere to run.
The enemy slashed.
Lumberling blocked with his spear—
CRACK! The blade sheared through and slashed his chest.
"KUAGH!"
He staggered, bleeding.
Feigning agony, he lured the Knight Page into overcommitting. At the last second, he rolled, grabbed a fallen sword, and countered—
STAB!
A clean hit to the thigh.
"Adios, amigo."
'Sprint.' He bolted.
Even wounded, he fought on, picking off stragglers.
(You have devoured the Infantry Soldier's essence…)
His wound began to close. 'One more chance,' he thought. 'If I recover in time… I'll take him down.'
He spotted his target—now engaged with Decurion Rex.
'Perfect. All I need is one strike.'
As Rex clashed with the injured Knight Page, Lumberling circled.
"KUAGHH!"
Lumberling stabbed the Knight Page in the back. The enemy screamed in rage, turning—
Too late.
Decurion Rex drove his sword through his chest.
Not one to miss his chance, Lumberling plunged his spear into the Knight Page's skull.
(You have devoured the Knight Page's essence. 55 essence absorbed…)
'Revenge complete.'
He turned to Rex.
"We should hurry and 'help' Uncle Drake and the others."
Rex nodded, shaken but resolute.
Together, they assisted Drake. With all three united, the second Knight Page fell quickly.
(You have devoured the Knight Page's essence. 55 essence absorbed…)
(Passive Skill: Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 has been learned.)
(Your level has increased to 2.)
Lumberling's heart pounded. 'A new skill… but later. One more left.'
They charged to assist the final Decurion. And with overwhelming numbers, they finished the last Knight Page.
(You have devoured the Knight Page's essence. 55 essence absorbed…)
("Spear is the strongest weapon! I'll prove it to them— here I come!" – Memories of a Sengolio Knight Page.)
The battle was finally over. Lumberling, catching his breath, excitedly checked his status screen.
Name: Lumberling
Race: Human
Age: 17
Level: 2
Essence Points: (130/710)
Power: 144
Knight Stage: Unranked
Active Skills:
Beginner Sprint Lv0 (233/1000)
(Grants a burst of lightning-fast speed. Consumes 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 memories.)
Beginner Swordsmanship Lv0 (362/1000)
Beginner Spearmanship Lv0 (822/1000)
Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 (1/1000)
He'd leveled up.
He could feel it: his strength, speed, stamina—his entire physique had improved. If he fought that bastard Knight Page again, he wouldn't go down as easily. In fact, he might even hold his own.
If he had to guess, he'd match a Knight Page's physique by Level 4. Combat skill, though... that was a different beast. Who knew what level he'd need to match that?
The knight's path wasn't just hard—it was brutal.
Talent, resources, time, and relentless effort were needed just to enter the first stage. No wonder most of the Knight Pages he'd seen were in their thirties or forties. Without his Devour ability, he would've been a nameless grunt forever.
He gained a lot from this battle—but he also realized something else: he had to keep a low profile. Rapid growth would attract attention. Dangerous attention.
"Lumberling!"
He turned his head toward the voice.
"Decurion Rex," Lumberling greeted with a light bow.
"That was incredible back there," Rex said, visibly excited. "At first, I thought you just got lucky killing a Knight Page, but I saw it with my own eyes—you've got real talent."
It felt strange, even overwhelming, to receive such praise.
"I only dared step in because the enemy was already weakened. And Uncle Drake taught me a lot," Lumberling replied humbly.
"No need to downplay it. You've got potential. If we survive this, I'll take you with me."
Lumberling blinked. "Take me...? Take me where?"
But Decurion Rex was already walking away, leaving Lumberling frowning in confusion.
'Take me with him? From the battlefield?
If he could do that, why is he even stuck here?
With that youthful look and strength... something's off.
Better to keep his distance.'