The Devouring Knight-Chapter 107 - 106: The Forest Hunts

Blackroot Forest - Edge of the Southern Glade

A heavy fog clung to the trees, not of nature, but by design.

Smoke bombs hissed in the underbrush, spreading clouds of gray that rolled like ghosts between trunks. Leaves dripped from the early mist, muffling movement. Light barely touched the forest floor.

Then came the first whistle.

Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk.

Dozens of bolts tore from hidden crossbows in a split second, multi-shot salvos from unseen hands. Screams rang out as the front line of the Pentaline soldiers stumbled, shields rising too late, formation already crumbling.

A heartbeat later, the second trap sprung.

Nets burst from above, massive ones, weighted at the ends with sharp metal points, dropping like spiderwebs from the trees. They wrapped around soldiers, pinning limbs, dragging some from their saddles.

Then the wolves charged.

Seventeen streaks of gray and silver, led by Lunira, tore through the scattered front. Fangs flashing. Eyes glowing. They moved without fear, weaving between sword thrusts, striking fast, retreating faster.

Then came the real blade.

The elite squad.

Riding lean forest horses with black-painted barding, they swept in from the ridge, former Duskpire Legion veterans, now reborn as outlaws under a different banner.

They didn’t shout.

They didn’t need to.

Their spears punched through armor. Their sabers struck low and fast. They moved like hunters, not knights. Strike. Fade. Melt into the trees.

Skitz darted between shadows, his blade cutting through tendons and backs unguarded in the smoke. Shade dropped from above, eight legs silent as death, dragging one soldier into the canopy screaming.

Grokk swung both axes like a whirlwind in the second wave, his roar echoing through the valley. "For the forest!"

.....

Jason’s Command Post – Nearby Glade

Knight-Captain Jason Ravenshade crushed a twig beneath his boot as another scout staggered to him, blood running down his arm.

"They’ve taken the western squad," the scout gasped. "Smoke... ambushes... something from the trees grabbed Sergeant Harlan and..."

Jason held up a hand. "I don’t want panic. I want numbers."

The man hesitated. "At least... a hundred thirty lost. Maybe more. Scattered. Some missing."

Jason’s jaw clenched.

"They’re not fighting. They’re hunting us."

He turned to his lieutenants. "They don’t have the numbers. They shouldn’t be able to hold this ground. So how the hell are they..."

Another explosion rang out nearby. Smoke. Screams. Wolves.

Jason’s teeth bared. "Where is that damn Knight Apprentice unit?!"

"Held up. Traps on the east slope. More nets. One of the Quasi-Knights is injured."

Jason exhaled slowly. His eyes burned.

"You think you’re clever," he whispered, staring into the mist. "But you’ll run out of tricks. Eventually... you’ll have to stand."

....

Forest Edge - Third Skirmish Site

Lumberling stood just behind a knot of trees, his spear slick with blood. The forest smelled like iron and smoke. All around him, shadows moved, his people regrouping.

"Damage report?" he asked.

Aren approached, panting slightly, helm under one arm.

"Minimal. Few light injuries. We’ve pulled back all teams. Scouts confirm, we’ve dropped nearly two hundred of their number. They’re rattled. Sloppy."

Lumberling stared into the drifting smoke. Two hundred men dead. He didn’t celebrate it. He couldn’t. Not even now.

"And Jason?"

"Holding position. He’s afraid to advance. Thinks we’ll trap them again."

"Good," Lumberling muttered. "Keep it that way."

He turned to the captains. Skitz flicked blood from his blade. Grokk rewrapped his gauntlets. Lunira was already stalking toward the next flank with her wolves, her fur singed but her eyes unshaken.

"We’ll hit them again in two hours," Lumberling said. "Smaller waves this time. No pattern. I want them paranoid."

"Should we conserve strength?" asked Gorrak.

Lumberling shook his head.

"No. We don’t fight like they do. We bleed them. Until they’re too afraid to march."

His voice dropped lower.

"Let them feel the forest watching."

.....

Jason’s Camp - Later that night.

Jason slammed a gauntlet against a tree, snapping the bark.

"They were just Goblins, Kobolds. Savages. What the hell is this?!"

One of his captains tried to speak. "They know the terrain. And they’re organized. Disciplined. Their riders don’t fight like regular cavalry. They’re ex-Legion, maybe more."

Jason stared into the fire.

"We’ve lost nearly two-fifths of our force."

He turned slowly toward the darkness.

"Tomorrow... we press harder. Force a stand. Burn a path if we have to."

His voice dropped to a growl.

"I want their leader. I want to crush whatever myth they think he is."

.....

Just Before Noon

The forest groaned with pressure.

Birds fled the treetops in frantic clouds. Hooves thundered. Armor clattered. Smoke from earlier skirmishes still hung low, a ghost of the forest’s defiance.

But this was no ambush.

This time, the Earl’s army marched as one, a single, unified force with banners raised high and steel gleaming in the filtered sunlight.

Their formation was tight. Calculated. Every captain and commander pulled to the front.

They weren’t hunting anymore.

They were coming to crush.

On the other side, along the ridges and within carved trenches, Lumberling’s forces rallied. There would be no more delaying. No more retreating.

The enemy had consolidated into a single formation, tight, disciplined, unshakable. Tricks and traps had lost their edge. Now, they would have to meet them head-on.

This... was the stand.

A low howl echoed through the valley.

Then it began.

...

Two armies faced one another across the battlefield. One clad in polished steel and noble colors, the disciplined force of Earl Cedric Ravenshade. The other, a motley alliance of humans, goblins, kobolds, and wolves. Monsters, by the world’s measure.

And yet, they stood united.

The elite squad mounted on horses and armored mounts. Guard units braced with shields and grim faces. Scouts, cloaked in foliage and shadow, poised like daggers ready to strike. The recruits, young, wide-eyed, but steady in their fear. And above them all stood the leaders, hardened by fire and choice.

At the ridge, a single horn cried.

A signal.

Lumberling lowered his hand.

And the forest thundered to life.

Steel against steel.

Man against monster.

.....

From the canopy’s edge, Shade dropped like a shadow turned solid. His obsidian carapace shimmered in fractured sunlight. Eight limbs struck the ground with terrifying grace.

Before him, a Quasi-Knight in silver armor turned with narrowed eyes. "Monstrosity," he spat. "Let’s finish this abomination..."

Shade didn’t wait.

Whumph! A foreleg cracked the ground where the knight had stood. Webbing erupted outward, snapping the legs of the nearest Knight Apprentice mid-sprint, pinning him in a cocoon of shrieks.

The second Apprentice charged, sword arcing toward Shade’s flank...

But Shade rotated on razor limbs. Crack. The man hit a tree, his body folding.

The Quasi-Knight roared, aura blazing. "You filth!"

Their blades met. Sparks flew.

It was not battle.

It was extermination.

....

Skitz flitted through trees, near-invisible, a ghost among the living. Ahead, a burly Quasi-Knight with a cruel glaive barked orders. A young Knight Apprentice flanked him, nerves fraying.

"Flank and corner him..." the knight began.

Too slow.

A flicker. A gleam. The apprentice howled, clutching a bleeding thigh.

Skitz vanished.

"You’ll have to do better than that," came a whisper, behind them.

The Quasi-Knight spun. Steel swept wide, empty air.

And then a sting. Skitz’s dagger slipped under the knight’s shoulder guard. Not deep enough to kill. Just enough to weaken.

The dance began.

He toyed with them.

Because death was only fun when earned.

....

Grokk thundered forward, both axes raised. The earth seemed to shift beneath his charge.

Two Knight Apprentices braced. "Together!" one shouted. "Bring him down!"

They tried.

The halberd swung wide, Grokk’s axe knocked it away with a clang. The second axe crashed onto the swordsman’s shoulder. Bone cracked. Blood flew.

The halberd knight tried to duck and thrust low.

Grokk twisted, bellowing, and slammed his knee into the man’s stomach. The knight folded like cloth.

Breathing hard, Grokk stood over them, eyes wild, chest heaving.

"Next."

.....

Spears twirled.

Aren and Gorrak moved in tandem, sharp, efficient, relentless.

"This one’s mine," Aren muttered.

Gorrak smirked. "Race you."

Their opponents struck, Knight Apprentices, coordinated, trained. One went low, trying to catch Gorrak’s leg. The other circled behind Aren.

Wrong move.

Gorrak’s hammer swept wide, crunching bone. Aren spun, deflecting a blade with his shaft, then jabbed with brutal precision. Spear met throat.

They didn’t speak again.

They just hunted.

....

Trask, Rogar, Karnark – The Line Holders

Three veterans.

Three shields.

A wedge against the storm.

Five Knight Pages thundered toward them, blades flashing.

"Hold!" Trask bellowed.

The impact hit like a landslide.

Trask reeled from a shoulder strike, but turned it into an elbow to the jaw. Rogar took a step back, then surged forward with a shield bash that sent a knight tumbling. Karnark stabbed low, catching a shin, drawing a scream.

Steel clanged.

But the line held.

.....

Two elder warriors stood back-to-back.

A cocky Knight Page sneered, "They sent grandfathers?"

Orrin cracked his neck. "That’s what I said."

The fight was clean. Precise. No wasted motion.

Drake jabbed low, clipped a knee. Orrin slashed a wrist. The second Page lunged, only to be caught in a net of timing.

"Still got it," Drake grunted.

"Barely," Orrin replied, wiping blood off his blade.

....

Lunira, larger now, eyes gleaming with a knight’s clarity, growled low.

A lone Knight Page met her, sword up, fear creeping in.

She lunged.

One swipe shredded his guard. He swung, too high.

She slipped under, bit his leg, yanked him down. He screamed.

She ended it with a twist of her jaws.

Across the Battlefield

Smoke rose.

Steel clashed.

Blood soaked the mossy soil.

The elite squad, veterans of Duskpire, struck hard, shattered formations, then melted away, luring foes into fresh traps. The guard units formed walls, holding the ridge with shields and raw defiance. Scouts swept the flanks, harrying messengers and slitting throats. The wolves struck like thunder, Lunira at their lead, jaws red with victory.

The forest burned at the edges.

But the heart of it held.

For every soldiers that fell, time was bought. And that time would decide everything.

The forest held its breath, waiting to see which side would bleed into its roots.

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