The Devouring Knight-Chapter 116 - 115: Not Your Enemy

Village path - Late afternoon

The elven visitors trailed behind Lumberling, their keen eyes scanning every corner of the village. They passed terraced fields where goblins and kobolds worked side by side, stone-and-timber homes standing tall with smoke curling gently from their chimneys. Curious eyes peeked from behind shutters, goblin children, kobold craftsmen, even a few humans.

The blonde elf scoffed quietly, casting a glance toward the blue haired elf before stepping forward. "Hey, human. Who built all this?"

Lumberling turned to her, calm and steady. "All of us. I taught them the basics... but they built it with their own hands."

She swept her hand across the view. "The irrigation system? Animal pens? Chimneys on multi-story houses? This isn’t the work of savages."

"Irrigation was my design," he said plainly. "The rest, they adapted, improved. They learn fast."

She raised an eyebrow. "You’re telling me they did this? Monsters?"

Lumberling met her gaze without flinching. "Believe it or not, you’ll see it for yourself."

Her skepticism lingered, until they passed a group of goblin and kobold children. They looked up at her, wide-eyed and curious, their gazes unclouded by malice. Something shifted in her expression.

Just a little.

She believed him.

A little.

The green-haired elf tilted her head, inhaling slowly. "Strange... the air doesn’t reek. No rot. No blood. Very un-monsterlike." She paused, eyes narrowing. "It smells... clean. Like home. Like the forests."

Lumberling gave a quiet nod. "We don’t poison the land. And they’ve learned hygiene, over time."

A hush settled over the group as they walked, the elves taking in the gentle rhythm of village life, goblins tilling fields, kobolds carrying firewood, human children giggling with their inhuman playmates.

It was peaceful here. Too peaceful. Nothing like the war-torn world they knew.

Then, without warning, they froze.

All of them. Mid-step. Eyes fixed ahead.

Lumberling turned, following their gaze, and his breath caught in his throat.

Across the square, laughter danced in the air.

Celine was chasing Jen around a drying rack, mock-scolding her. Between them stood Sylra, expression distant but calm, her silver hair catching the breeze.

And in that instant, it hit him like a blow to the chest.

’Of course. How could I forget? Sylra... she’s an elf.’

"Your Grace... isn’t that..." the blonde elf started.

But she was already too late.

The blue-haired elf surged forward, voice cracking with disbelief.

"SYLRA!"

Her voice cracked through the stillness like thunder.

Sylra, who always stared at the world with lifeless eyes, looked up. Just for a moment.

And in that fleeting instant, something shifted.

Her gaze, usually dull and hollow, widened. Recognition flared.

"Vaenyra...?" she whispered, voice brittle, like something long broken trying to remember how to feel.

But the light vanished as quickly as it came.

Her head dipped.

Her eyes dulled once more into that cloudy gray, sinking back into the void.

Vaenyra reached her in two stumbling steps, breathless. She pulled Sylra into a fierce embrace, arms trembling as they wrapped around the frail figure.

For a heartbeat, Sylra stiffened, her shoulders jerking slightly, breath catching in her throat. A flicker of something flashed through her eyes, fear, memory, recognition, then it vanished, swallowed by the fog that clung to her gaze.

Her fingers brushed along Sylra’s skin...

And stopped.

Scars.

Old burns. Faded whip marks.

She froze.

"W-what... what happened to you?" she breathed, voice barely audible.

Then something shifted in the air.

It thickened, oppressive, crushing. Like a storm rolling in on all sides at once.

Mana rippled outward like a tidal wave.

The wind stilled. The leaves froze mid-rustle. Every living creature within reach fell silent.

Vaenyra didn’t scream.

But her rage spoke in the silence.

It wasn’t just a mage’s presence, it was also the unmistakable weight of a Knight’s aura. A rare and terrifying blend.

Lumberling’s eyes narrowed. ’Again...? That’s the second one. But weren’t they supposed to be mages?’

He stumbled back a step, shielding his face as the pressure bore down on him like a mountain. His legs trembled. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

Celine clutched her chest, gasping for air. Jen whimpered, falling to her knees. Even Vaenyra’s elven subordinates staggered beneath the weight of her fury.

And still it grew.

Lumberling clenched his teeth and forced his legs to move. Every step was like wading through water made of stone, but he pressed forward.

When he reached her, he laid a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Stop," he said, voice strained. "You’re hurting them."

He pointed at her.

To Sylra, quivering, eyes wide with fear.

To Celine and Jen, clutching each other, faces pale, tears on their cheeks.

The elf flinched. She turned slowly, and for the first time, truly saw them.

Lumberling’s face was drained of color, sweat lining his brow. But he stood tall. Unshaken.

"Brother!" Jen whimpered again.

He stepped in front of them, shielding them with his body as the crushing aura finally began to fade.

Silence settled once more.

But it was a different kind of silence now.

One full of questions, pain, and the echoes of a bond shattered, and now, perhaps, beginning to mend.

Vaenyra stared at Sylra again, and her fury faltered.

More elves arrived, quiet, somber. One gasped softly. Another wept at the sight of Sylra’s empty gaze. One dropped to her knees, clutching her chest, grief overwhelming her.

Lumberling stepped forward, raising a hand cautiously. "It wasn’t us who did that to her," he said quickly, sensing the simmering storm. "When I found her, she was already like this."

Several of the elves turned toward him. Suspicion burned in their eyes. Rage threatened to ignite.

"If you don’t believe me," he said, calm but unwavering, "ask her yourself, or speak to anyone in the village. None would dare lie to you, not with your strength. We pulled her from a noble’s grasp not long ago. Everyone here knows the truth."

The distrust didn’t vanish. Their glares remained, sharp, accusing. One of them took a step forward, fists trembling.

Then Jen stepped up beside him. Her voice trembled, but she stood tall.

"It’s true. My brother saved her. From the nobles!"

That stopped a few of them.

Celine followed next, her breathing still shallow from Vaenyra’s earlier outburst. But her voice rang with conviction.

"They were mercenaries once. The Duskspire Legion. You can ask anywhere, their name carried weight. But he gave it all up."

Celine’s voice trembled as she pointed at Lumberling, her hand unsteady.

"He broke the contract of their job. Threw away the name they built. All because he saw her suffering. And he chose to fight... even if it meant war with an Earl."

Her voice rose, firm now, raw with emotion.

"He stood against the noble who claimed her, faced down an army without ever thinking of surrendering her. We lost good men in that fight. So don’t treat him like your enemy!"

Silence fell. Even the wind stilled.

The blonde elf took a step forward, fists clenched, but blue haired elf’s voice stopped her cold.

"Stand down."

A single command, and the tension in the air shifted. Even rage obeyed her.

Lumberling placed a steady hand on Celine’s shoulder, offering a faint smile and a subtle shake of his head. That steadied her. He understood, the elves were caught in an emotional storm. Then he spoke, calm but with a sharp edge.

"I once trained at a dojo in Novgord City, I saw her in a black market, chained, a slave, sold like cattle. Then... seven months ago, during a mission, I found her again. Caged. Branded. Marked as ’Property of a noble.’"

The blue-haired elf’s voice barely rose above a whisper, but it sliced through the air like a blade.

"A slave?"

Lumberling nodded, solemn. "Yes."

Her hands curled into fists. Mana surged to her knuckles, warping the air with pressure.

"Who did this?"

"I don’t know who sold her first," he said, steady. "But the one who claimed her, Earl Cedric. That’s the name I heard. I don’t know everything. But he’s the one who kept her."

"She is not someone’s property!" Vaenyra screamed.

Mana cracked from her skin like lightning. Trees bowed. The wind recoiled. Even the birds fled, sensing her wrath.

"I know," Lumberling said quietly, unwavering. "She never should’ve suffered. If it’s justice you want, I’ll help you. I’ll send word to my people. They’ve tracked him before. It may take time... but I swear, we’ll find him. You’ll have your justice."

The gesture settled her, if only for a moment.

She knelt beside Sylra, her fingers gently tracing the old scars on her friend’s cheek.

Her voice quivered, low and burning.

"I’ll make them pay."

Behind them, Jen clutched Lumberling’s sleeve.

"Who... are they?"

He stared ahead at the two figures, one broken, one burning with wrath.

"I’m not sure," he murmured. "Maybe family. Maybe more."

With a heavy breath, he turned and gestured, leading the group toward their living quarters.