The Devouring Knight-Chapter 79 - 78: Rhythms of War

A Few Minutes Earlier...

Lumberling crouched behind a moss-covered outcrop, a smirk pulling at his lips. Before him, a full view of the Sengolio camp stretched out like a feast waiting to be served.

Krivex knelt beside him, silent and focused. The other captains waited behind them, units hidden in the trees.

"All units in position," Krivex whispered.

"Good," Lumberling said. "We move now."

He turned to the others, voice low but charged with intent.

"Krivex, begin with the archers. Target the supply tents and food stores. Set them ablaze and draw their attention. Aren and Vakk, deploy the wolves and your elite squad from the northern flank, don’t charge yet, let the smoke cover your approach. Skitz and Takkar when the wolves rush, you hit their right side. Use nets to disrupt the shields. Skarn, Gobo One and Two, boars with me. We’re punching straight through the middle."

"And what about the crossbows?" Krivex asked.

Lumberling smiled. "As soon as the smoke’s thick, have them unload everything. Focus fire on the commanders."

They nodded.

"Let’s make some noise."

.....

Moments Later

The first volley of fire arrows streaked through the air, arching down on the Sengolio camp like stars falling from heaven. Tents burst into flames. A blaze danced across dry wood and canvas.

Then, bang! bang! bang!

Smoke bombs detonated from multiple directions, choking vision and clouding formation lines.

From the fog, arrows whistled, striking legs, shoulders, exposed necks.

Then the forest howled.

Wolves burst from the mist, with Lunira at the front and Karnark close behind, lean, long-limbed, and silent. Armored goblin riders clung to their saddles, striking like lightning, isolated sentries fell before they vanished into the smoke.

On the eastern front, the evolved boars charged, tusks gleaming with iron caps, eyes bloodshot with fury. Their riders held spears and multi-shot crossbows, unleashing volleys as they surged forward.

"Incoming beasts! Brace yourselves!" a Sengolio officer cried, but too late.

The net launchers fired, thick, weighted cords entangling the front lines, pinning shields and tripping feet.

Then came the impact.

The boars slammed into them like living battering rams, crushing the disoriented infantry.

"Break ranks! Fall back! Form a line!"

Another squad was caught by a rain of bolts from multi-shot crossbows, peppered like porcupines before they could react.

In the chaos, Lumberling led his charge through the center, spear twirling in his grip. He struck with brutal efficiency, knees, throats, eye sockets. He fought like a shadow with weight, vanishing between strikes and reappearing behind foes.

He ducked low as a blade swept past, then drove his spear through the opening in a commander’s breastplate.

"Push through!" he called. "Cut their command!"

Skitz was beside him, laughing like a madman, flipping and rolling through openings in the shield walls, daggers flashing.

Krivex’s archers supported from above, loosing arrows in rapid succession.

"Fall back to the central line!" a Sengolio lieutenant shouted.

But the goblin and kobold wave pressed harder.

"We need to regroup near the command tent!" one officer shouted.

"No!" another barked, wild-eyed. "We fall back, form a perimeter around the noble! Orders be damned, we’re not dying for a brat who can’t hold a blade!"

Their voices clashed louder than steel.

Nearby soldiers hesitated, unsure who to follow.

The old knight saw it all, the cracks forming, not in armor, but in discipline.

And that terrified him more than the enemy’s blades.

Sengolio soldiers scrambled in confusion.

Smoke. Screams. The sharp tang of iron and fire. The clash of old training versus a new kind of war.

A war from the forest.

A war they never expected.

.....

Aren gritted his teeth as a Sengolio lieutenant closed in, their blades locking with a harsh metallic shriek. The meditations had steadied his hand, but not his lungs. He was pushing too deep, too fast.

"Hold the left!" he barked, knocking the enemy’s sword away with his spear haft. "Form ranks! Rotate out the injured!"

Behind him, Gobo1 slammed his shield into a soldier’s chest, while Gobo2 carved open the gap with a brutal thrust. For a moment, they held strong.

Then, an explosion of flame.

A hidden alchemist squad hurled two firebombs over the trees. They smashed into the goblin ranks, engulfing five in fire. Screams tore through the smoke.

"Ambush!" Gobo2 shouted, pulling a burning soldier from the line.

The formation broke.

And in that moment, Sengolio cavalry burst from the east, charging with lowered lances.

"They’re breaching!" Aren yelled, planting his spear and bracing.

He held, but barely. The enemy crashed through their line like a hammer through glass. Gobo1 was knocked flat, blood spilling from a gash along his ribs. Gobo2 lunged to cover him, sword flashing with desperation rather than technique.

Just ahead, a goblin lay face down in the mud, an arrow buried between his shoulder blades. Krivex froze for a breath, he recognized the scrap of red cloth tied around the fallen soldier’s wrist. One of his first trainees.

He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing.

"No time," he whispered to no one, and loosed another arrow.

But his hands shook for the next two shots.

Then, roars from the north.

Takkar and Vakk arrived.

Vakk was focused, striking with brutal, efficient arcs of his twin axes, decapitating two soldiers in a breath. Takkar, on the other hand, was a storm. He didn’t stop to check ranks. He didn’t flank. He charged, eyes wild, axes spinning.

"Takkar, wait!" Vakk shouted.

Too late.

Takkar barreled forward, and got impaled.

A lance punched through his side. He didn’t fall, but he staggered, blood pouring down his leg as he hacked the attacker in half.

Vakk roared and leapt in to cover him, blocking a blade meant for his brother’s throat. "Fall back! You’re bleeding out!"

"I’M FINE!" Takkar roared back, but he wasn’t.

...

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From the western ridge, Skarn’s boars thundered in, their tusks gleaming, their riders howling.

The Sengolio cavalry turned, too late.

Skarn was a wall of flesh and fury. He rode the largest boar, now plated in bone-reinforced armor. He didn’t bark orders. He didn’t yell. He charged.

Hooves tore through soil. Spears shattered against tusks. Skarn’s boar slammed into a mounted soldier, flipping both horse and rider into the air like ragdolls.

"East flank is ours!" Skarn bellowed.

"Hold the line!" a Sengolio commander roared, slamming his sword against his shield.

Three lieutenants echoed him, and within seconds, the remaining squads formed a tight phalanx, shields locking, spears braced forward in a wall of cold steel.

The next wave of boars hit the formation like thunder, and bounced off.

Skarn’s mount reared with a frustrated bellow.

"Bastards finally remembered how to fight," he muttered.

But then a crossbow bolt hissed through the smoke, catching one commander in the throat. The formation wavered.

And then it broke.

Within seconds, the Sengolio push crumbled.

Aren pulled Gobo1 to his feet, the goblin groaning from his injury. "You alright?"

"I will be," Gobo1 said through gritted teeth.

"Good," Aren muttered, lifting his spear again. "Because it’s not over."

Smoke curled above them. All around, the forest war raged on.

....

Beneath the layers of cloth, web, and poultice... something stirred.

The crack of steel. The smell of blood. The pressure of war, it all trickled through Shade’s ruined senses like vibrations in a web.

Its eyes fluttered open, dim and unfocused.

Pain.

Then... memory.

A clang of spear.

A rhythm. Familiar.

Scent.

Him.

The one who spun like wind.

Who never feared.

Shade’s mandibles twitched. Legs scraped weakly against the sled.

Not to flee.

Not to fight.

To move.

To join the rhythm again.

Its broken body could not stand. But inside the cracked carapace, the hunger to fight beside him flared like fire inside a hollow log.

A memory stirred, deep and primal, not of words, but of sparring limbs and spinning blades.

The battle called.

Shade hissed low.

And though its body would not rise...

Its spirit already had.

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