The Devouring Knight-Chapter 88 - 87: The First Hunt of Duskspire

The air inside the Guild Hall had shifted since Duskspire registered.

Where there was once low chatter and rough laughter, now there was silence at their backs. Mercenaries gave them space, not from respect, but caution. No one stands too close to men who crushed iron with bare hands.

Lumberling and Skitz stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the job board.

It stretched across the entire north wall, packed edge to edge with parchments, some yellowed with age, others still fresh with wax. Stamped seals, crimson signatures, scribbled pleas, and bold commands were nailed into the wood like a tapestry of desperation.

The ink smelled fresh.

The blood on some still darker than dry.

JOB BOARD – GUILD HALL

’Frontline soldiers needed – Viscount Halwin’s 3rd Army – South Bastion defense.’

’Caravan guard needed. High pay. Dangerous roads. Must tolerate noble company.’

’Assassination request – Sengolio commander spotted behind lines near Farsong River.’

’Reclaim village of Bellmere from deserters. Confirmed hostile.’

’Eliminate monster threat – Shadow Jackals near Willowshade. 100+ targets.’

’Private army recruitment – House Thalric. No questions asked.’

"Plenty of filth to clean up," Skitz muttered, eyes scanning rapidly.

Lumberling didn’t respond. He simply stepped closer, reading each one with quiet calculation.

Too visible. Too political. Too long-range.

They weren’t here to win favor with nobles. Not yet.

"We avoid contracts that tie us to a noble house," Lumberling said under his breath. "Too many eyes. Too many strings."

Skitz nodded. "Which leaves monsters... Sengolio army, or bloodied deserters."

Lumberling’s gaze landed on a parchment near the bottom. Slightly torn at the edge. Overlooked by most.

The wax seal was cracked. The ink faded.

But the details were clear.

Target: Shadow Jackals

Location: Willowshade Outskirts – East Silvergrove County

Details: Confirmed over one hundred. Sightings consistent with coordinated pack behavior. Multiple trade routes compromised. 19 confirmed civilian deaths.

Village militia overwhelmed. No reinforcements from local lord.

Urgency: High. Pay: 500 gold coins

"Shadow Jackals," Lumberling murmured.

Skitz raised a brow. "Thought they were just a myth."

"They’re not," Lumberling replied. "They’re born from cursed soil. Travel in absolute silence. Eyes like glass. They isolate prey, then drag them into the dark. Fast. Precise. No howls. No warning."

Skitz clicked his tongue. "Lovely creatures."

He leaned in closer, reading the rest.

"No military ties. No noble contracts. Just a village crying for help." He smirked. "Sounds like our kind of mess."

Lumberling’s gloved fingers hovered over the parchment only a second longer before he tore it free from the board with a clean snap.

The ripped edge fluttered slightly in his grip as he turned.

Skitz fell into step beside him without needing a word.

Across the guild hall, eyes tracked them as they approached the front desk.

The receptionist, a sharp-faced woman in a burgundy vest, looked up from her ledger. Her fingers paused mid-scratch, and her brows lifted slightly when she saw the contract in Lumberling’s hand.

"You’re claiming that one?" she asked, voice professional but tinged with surprise. "Shadow Jackals? You’re aware it’s marked high risk. No support from local lords. Full liability falls on the squad."

Lumberling placed the parchment on the counter, firm and final. "We’re aware."

Her eyes narrowed. "And your group?"

"Duskspire Legion."

Skitz leaned forward just enough to offer a smirk beneath his hood. "We just registered."

The receptionist gave a skeptical hum, then took the parchment and logged the details with quick strokes of her quill. "If you survive this one, you’ll earn more than coin. This contract’s been collecting dust. Nobody else wanted to touch it."

"That’s why it’s perfect," Lumberling replied.

She gave a sideways glance at the two of them. All black armor. Hoods. Covered faces. An aura that made the other mercenaries edge away.

She handed back the lower half of the contract, a stamped copy for their records. "It’s yours. Payment confirmed upon successful verification. Ten percent bonus if you clear the den."

"Understood." Lumberling took the slip and slid it into his satchel.

Skitz turned on his heel first, cloak flicking behind him. "Time to hunt shadows."

Lumberling followed, his steps unhurried but full of weight. As they exited the guild, the murmurs picked up behind them again, but none dared follow too close.

Outside, the sunlight had turned golden, starting its descent toward dusk.

Lumberling looked toward the treeline in the far distance, where his hidden squad waited beyond the city’s edge.

He exhaled slowly.

"We move before nightfall," he said aloud. "Prep the squad. This is where it starts."

.....

The village of Willowshade was quiet when they arrived, too quiet.

The houses were sturdy, timber and stone, but smoke rose from only half the chimneys. Doors were bolted. Even the livestock pens looked half-empty. Fear lingered in the air like fog.

Lumberling and his group rode in formation, cloaks drawn, masks in place. Sixty-five cloaked figures on horseback, their presence a silent declaration. Not quite human. Not openly monstrous. Just... unknown.

At the edge of the central square, two figures waited.

An older man with a tired face and fraying robes, clearly the village head.

Beside him stood a soldier, upright and armored in deep green-and-steel. His posture screamed military. His left pauldron bore the county’s sigil: a silver willow on a black field. His gaze never left Lumberling as they dismounted.

"You must be the mercenaries from Greyvale," the village head greeted, stepping forward with hands clasped together. "Duskspire, was it?"

Lumberling nodded. "I’m the commander. Call me Lux."

Skitz gave a faint cough behind his mask, suppressing a smirk at the name Lumberling had chosen for external use.

"And these are your men?" the village head asked, eyeing the masked figures behind him.

"They are," Lumberling said. "We’re here for the jackals. I’d like to speak to whoever has the most recent reports."

"That would be Captain Halric," the head gestured to the man beside him.

Halric gave a stiff nod, eyes still sweeping the ranks behind Lumberling. His senses prickled. Something felt off.

Too still.

Too quiet.

Even the horses didn’t shuffle.

He stepped forward. "They’re disciplined," he admitted. "But I’ve served in three border wars. I’ve fought alongside mercs and soldiers alike. And I’ve never felt this kind of pressure coming off a squad."

Then, bluntly, his voice cutting through the morning air:

"Are they monsters?"

The question hung in the space like a blade, sudden and sharp.

The village head turned in surprise. Skitz’s hand twitched by his belt.

But Lumberling didn’t flinch.

He met Halric’s gaze calmly. "Yes," he said. "They are. And they all belong to me."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Halric blinked.

The village head stiffened.

Monsters enslaved? Tamed? Controlled? It wasn’t unheard of in the Empire. But a full unit of them? Armed? Mounted? Cloaked and masked like elite soldiers?

And they called this man commander?

Halric looked over the squad again, this time differently.

He still didn’t trust it. But power was power.

"...As long as you can do the job," Halric said slowly, "I don’t care if you command ghosts."

Lumberling dipped his head slightly. "We’ll do it."

The village head cleared his throat, eager to steer the conversation away. "We’ve had six attacks in the last two weeks. Mostly at night. Livestock taken. Two guards killed. Five civilians missing."

"Patterns?" Lumberling asked.

"They hunt in silence," Halric replied. "Never howl. Just shadows in the mist. They encircle the village and strike from different angles. Always coordinated. Always clean."

"They’re not just beasts," Skitz murmured from behind Lumberling. "They’re tacticians."

Halric gave a grim nod. "Exactly."

Then the village head hesitated, glancing at his captain. "There’s one more detail."

Halric’s jaw tightened. "There’s an Alpha."

Lumberling’s eyes narrowed. "How strong?"

"We don’t know," Halric admitted. "It doesn’t show itself. But tracks... the damage... It’s bigger than the others. Smarter, too."

"They’re not hunting for food anymore," the village head added quietly. "They’re testing us. Watching."

Lumberling took in the information, eyes scanning the treeline beyond the village.

.....

The golden eagles flew high over the mist-veiled forest, silent shadows against the late afternoon sun. Lumberling stood at the edge of the treeline, watching through narrowed eyes as one eagle circled back low and dropped a small cloth marker.

They’d found them.

"Pack is roughly three kilometers northeast," Skitz reported, eyes still tracking the birds. "Spread wide. Looks like a feeding ground. Fresh kill nearby."

Lumberling nodded once. "They’re resting."

He turned, the Duskspire elite already assembling behind him.

Before he could speak, heavy boots crunched behind him.

"Commander Lux," called Captain Halric, stepping forward with the village head in tow. "You don’t have to face them alone. We have walls here, let them come to us. We can reinforce you, trap them inside the perimeter. You’ll have our archers too."

The village chief nodded hastily. "Our defenses may not be grand, but they’re strong enough to buy time."

Lumberling’s gaze remained on the forest. "Time isn’t what we’re after."

Halric stiffened. "You’d rather fight out in the open? With a pack that large? At least let me send men with you."

"No."

The refusal was sharp but calm.

He finally turned to face them.

"If the Alpha is what I think it is, Knight Apprentice level at best, then this village would’ve already fallen if it were stronger. You’re lucky it’s testing you, not leading a true hunt."

"And if you’re wrong?" Halric challenged.

"Then your walls won’t save anyone," Lumberling said flatly.

That shut them up.

A tense silence followed, then Skitz stepped up beside him.

"We’ll handle it."

Lumberling gave a small nod of thanks. Then turned to his squad.

"Mount up. Form two flanks. Eagles will lead. No mercy, no delays. We strike hard, we end it faster."

Masks were pulled down. Weapons drawn. The forest swallowed them whole.

.....

The clearing where the jackals fed stank of rot and fresh kill. Bones picked clean. Tracks in the dirt, large, deep, clawed.

The shadow jackals were already beginning to stir when the eagles circled overhead and let out sharp cries.

Too late.

A spear whistled through the dusk air and pierced the neck of the first jackal that looked up.

Chaos followed.

From every side, the Duskspire Legion descended, cloaks flaring, weapons singing. Not like mercenaries. Not like men.

Like predators.

Aren led the first charge, spear dancing with brutal precision. He ducked low beneath a leaping jackal and drove his weapon through its chest.

Gorrak’s hammer shattered ribcages, every strike a quake in the ground. Rogar moved like a phantom, his twin-bladed spear spinning in arcs that left nothing standing.

Trask was the most terrifying of all.

Eyes glowing like coals, the Kobold Berserker tore into the jackals with twin swords, his movements reckless, but impossible to stop. When he struck, he howled, not out of rage, but focus. Controlled fury. A storm contained in skin and scale.

And Skitz, silent, graceful, moved like a phantom, slipping between enemies, daggers finding throats and hearts before shadows could blink.

The jackals tried to adapt.

They failed.

And then it appeared.

From the opposite ridge, stepping into the moonlight with barely a sound, came the Alpha.

Larger. Its fur slick like ink. Eyes like dying embers. Two curved fangs jutted from its mouth. Its aura was different. Measured. Not wild. Intelligent.

Knight Apprentice level, just as Lumberling predicted.

It howled once.

And charged straight at him.

Lumberling didn’t blink. He stepped forward, spear spinning once into his grip.

The Alpha moved fast, a blur, claw sweeping low.

CLANG.

Spear met fang. Wood and steel ground against bone. For a moment, they locked, then Lumberling sidestepped and drove his elbow into the beast’s eye.

It recoiled, but only slightly.

Too smart for a beast.

But not smart enough.

From the side, Skitz came in low, sword gleaming. The Alpha twisted, bit down, but Lumberling was already on its flank, driving his spear into its ribs and pinning it.

Aren surged from the rear, planting his spearhead deep into its neck.

It thrashed once.

Twice.

Then it collapsed.

Dead.

Lumberling pulled his weapon free and stepped back, breathing steadily. Around them, the remaining jackals had already been butchered by the squad.

None remained.

The battlefield was still.

The stars overhead blinked into view, watching the carnage below. eighty-seven jackal corpses. Two dozen more had fled into the forest, wounded and leaderless. They wouldn’t survive long.

Lumberling stood over the Alpha’s corpse.

The beast’s lifeless form still radiated a fading pressure, its twisted fangs bared even in death. The battlefield around them was quiet now, broken only by the rustle of wind and the low shuffle of regrouping soldiers.

A thin violet thread shimmered into existence, stretching from his chest to the Alpha’s.

Essence Devour.

The link pulsed, and the wild, heavy essence surged into him, thick with bloodlust and primal fury. It clawed at his mind, violent and chaotic. But instead of taking it in...

He let it go.

He turned to Aren, who stood nearby, breathing hard, spear still dripping with black blood.

"You’re taking this one," Lumberling said quietly.

Aren blinked. "What? But you’re the one who killed it."

Lumberling shook his head once. "You need the edge more than I do."

Before Aren could protest, A second thread unraveled, this time from him to Aren.

Essence Weave.

The energy twisted, shifted, and redirected, flowing like liquid fire into Aren’s chest.

Aren inhaled sharply, his body tensing as the foreign strength flooded him. His knees buckled slightly, but he stayed upright. Steam curled from his shoulders. Muscles strained. His eyes flickered with light.

Behind them, Skitz crossed his arms and smirked. "Are you sure that’s safe? Might blow the poor guy’s head off."

Lumberling gave a faint smile. "He’s been training. Meditating. Sharpening his mind. He can take it."

Then, more serious: "And I need him stronger. I need all of us stronger. The next fights won’t be this easy."

Aren exhaled slowly, the glow fading from his skin.

"I can feel it," he said hoarsely. "Every nerve is burning."

"Good," Lumberling said, eyes already scanning the horizon. "Then you’re alive."

The rest of the squad gathered the bodies for burning, making sure no trace remained for scavengers or curious eyes.

By morning, the jackals would be nothing but ash.

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