The next day, battle resumed. Lumberling again used the frontliners as cover, inching closer to the wall while loosing arrows. Bodies dropped from above, arrows rained from the sky, and the climb began.
"Do I really have to go up there?"
The wall loomed thirty meters high. Arrows, boiling oil, falling bodies—all greeted the climbers. Even reaching the top meant facing tight enemy formations ready to skewer anyone who arrived. Without Knight-level power or coordination, it was suicide.
Just as he was about to pull back and wait out the carnage, a dreadful sensation struck him. A cold, heavy aura pressed down on his back. His heart raced, and his breath shortened.
'Am I being watched?'
He didn't dare turn around. Instead, he blended into the crowd and began climbing. And the suffocating pressure faded.
"Coward... Did you think you could run away?"
The voice belonged to a Battalion Commander. From the wall, he'd noticed a peculiar soldier loitering about, sometimes firing arrows but never committing. Irritated, he released his aura in warning.
Lumberling sighed as the pressure vanished.
"What the hell was that?! A Knight? Shit, I should level up my Concealment skill next."
War was chaos, and caution alone wouldn't keep him alive. Gritting his teeth, he raised his shield and climbed.
Arrows rained down. Soldiers fell. A body dropped toward him—he jumped sideways, landing on the next ladder. Another ladder collapsed from boiling oil. He kept moving, weaving, dodging, switching ladders mid-climb.
He finally reached the top—just as spears and blades thrust toward him. He blocked with his shield, absorbed the impact, and leapt off the ladder. Mid-air, he drew his sword and slashed down onto an unlucky defender.
The others regrouped quickly. Formations closed in with shields and spears. Lumberling snarled, braced his shield, and activated Sprint.
A burst of speed. He smashed into the formation.
Their spears grazed his leg and shoulder, but his shield held. He broke through the line, slashing the necks of two soldiers.
(You have devoured the Infantry Soldier's essence...)
No time to process it. He slashed, dodged, pivoted—fighting on all sides, his sword a blur of death.
(You have devoured the Infantry Soldier's essence...)
Wounds accumulated. His stamina drained. Still, he pushed forward.
'Where the hell are they?! If they don't climb up soon, I'm dead!' He cursed. The other Sengolio soldiers were still climbing, but with him taking the enemy attention, the climb accelerated.
He discarded his heavy shield, picked up a lighter one from a corpse, and moved faster. When he looked back, he finally saw friendly forces climbing the wall—Uncle Drake among them.
"George!" he shouted.
"Frank! You're alive!"
"Yeah—let's fight together."
With Uncle Drake beside him, they held their position, killing anyone who got close. The tide began to turn. More Sengolio soldiers surged up the ladders.
It wasn't just him anymore.
Then came the sound—a long, whistling roar. Everything froze.
A visible blade of wind cut cleanly through dozens of Sengolio soldiers, including Knight Pages. No resistance. Just death.
From the far right, a Knight in full armor emerged. He stood on the wall's edge, raised his sword, and released another wind blade—this one toward the ladders.
Sengolio troops trembled. Pentaline troops roared in approval.
A Knight had arrived.
The next horn wasn't for retreat—it was for the Knights.
The real battle had begun.
A thunderous crash echoed through the battlefield—the fortress gate had fallen. But instead of a flood of invaders, five armored Knights burst through, cutting down all who dared to enter.
Their attacks were devastating. Energy crackled from their swords, slicing through men like paper.
Then, from the Sengolio side, Knights emerged to counter them.
It was no longer war. It was a slaughter. A chaotic, uncontrollable clash of demigods in armor.
Ordinary soldiers were swept aside like leaves in a storm.
Lumberling stood paralyzed, overwhelmed.
This wasn't a place for someone like him.
But amid the chaos, he saw opportunity. With the enemy distracted, there was a path through the fortress.
"Uncle Drake, now!"
They charged together, carving their way through stragglers and pushing deeper. They met two Knight Pages—each took one.
Lumberling drew his spear and activated Sprint, aiming straight for his target's heart. His foe blocked, but at the last moment, Lumberling twisted and drove the spear into his thigh.
Blood burst forth. He pulled back, attacked again. The Knight Page dodged, but Lumberling was relentless.
With each strike, the wounded man weakened—until finally, Lumberling pierced his neck.
(You have devoured the Knight Page's essence. 55 essence absorbed. Absorbing memories and experiences...)
Lumberling glanced back and saw Uncle Drake clashing with the Knight Page. Pentaline soldiers had started to notice them and were closing in fast. Uncle Drake caught Lumberling's gaze—their signal.
He roared and struck with all his might, forcing the Knight Page to block his attack. That was Lumberling's cue. He activated Sprint and charged forward, his spear aimed true. The Knight Page deflected Uncle Drake's blow, but couldn't stop Lumberling.
(You have devoured the Knight Page's essence. 55 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Knight Page's memories and experiences.)
"Let's move. The soldiers are almost on us."
"Alright, thanks for the save again, kid."
"Mmm."
Together, they ran through the chaos toward the fortress's rear. They had come a long way. The Knights were too preoccupied to notice two bloodied men slipping through.
But luck ran out.
A soldier in full armor appeared without warning, sword swinging down. Lumberling barely raised his shield in time.
"Boom."
The force sent him stumbling back, but he'd blocked it. His heart pounded—he'd feared a full Knight had intercepted them. Thankfully, no. But this one had the strength of a peak Knight Page. His bent shield was a testament. He tossed it aside.
He and Uncle Drake exchanged a quick nod and charged together. Drake struck from the left; Lumberling flanked from the right. The enemy Knight blocked Drake and danced around Lumberling's spear. Then, with brutal precision, he kicked Uncle Drake aside and turned his full attention on Lumberling.
Lumberling's heart sank.
He had misjudged—this wasn't a mere peak Knight Page. This man was faster, stronger, more skilled. His strikes were calculated, merciless.
'Well, fuck!'
The Knight slashed; Lumberling dodged, but the blade still grazed his shoulder. They clashed again and again. Each exchange left him more bloodied: cuts on his side, arms, legs. All from defending.
'Huff… Huff… Think, Lumberling, think!'
He was slowing down. Bleeding out. The Knight raised his sword for a finishing blow. Lumberling tossed his spear, drew his waist blade, and blocked the attack. At that moment, Uncle Drake rejoined the fray, thrusting from behind.
The Knight still managed to parry.
'Does this bastard have eyes in the back of his head?! What do we do… Wait—Status window!'
He called it up.
Name: Lumberling
Race: Human
Age: 18
Level: 4
Essence: (596/3500)
Power: 620
Knight Stage: Unranked
Active Skills:
Beginner Sprint Lv0 (828/1000)
(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 Spearmanship Lv2 (373/1000)
Beginner Swordsmanship Lv1 (998/1000)
Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 (168/1000)
Beginner Shieldmanship Lv0 (259/1000)
Beginner Concealment Lv0 (530/1000)
'That's it!'
His eyes lit up. He just needed two more experience points to reach Swordsmanship Level 2. If he leveled up, their chances would rise drastically.
He tightened his grip on the sword. Memories of training with Uncle Drake flooded in. With renewed resolve, he charged.
The Knight dodged and parried with ease. Wounds opened across Lumberling's body, but he kept attacking. Somehow, despite the pain, he was calm. Focused.
He and Uncle Drake fought in tandem again, and slowly, they held their ground.
(Beginner Swordsmanship has reached Level 2. Power +120)
A surge of strength pulsed through him. Speed, reaction time—everything sharpened. Finally.
Now matching the Knight in strength, Lumberling changed tactics. He kicked up dirt, aiming at the enemy's face. The Knight dodged, slashing Lumberling's side in return.
Feigning weakness, Lumberling stumbled back, catching Uncle Drake's eyes. They charged again, but this time, Lumberling struck first. The Knight blocked—but that was the plan. Lumberling held him long enough for Uncle Drake's blade to follow.
At the last second, the Knight twisted and dodged.
'Damn it!'
Lumberling reached into his pocket and flung a pouch at the Knight's face. The cloth burst, splashing a searing liquid across his eyes.
"Ughhh!"
The Knight screamed. Lumberling and Uncle Drake seized the moment. They struck together—Lumberling aimed for the heart, Drake from the side.
The Knight blocked Lumberling. Drake's blade sank into his side.
But he didn't fall.
With raw desperation, he grabbed Uncle Drake's sword with his bare hand and stopped it from going deeper.
'This tough bastard! Just go down!'
Lumberling roared and pushed his sword forward. Uncle Drake did the same. They were locked in a brutal struggle. All three bleeding. Gritting teeth. Driven by different goals.
Then, somehow, the Knight gathered his strength and kicked Uncle Drake away.
A fatal mistake.
Lumberling didn't hesitate. He raised his sword and roared—
"Uaaahhhhhh!"
The Knight met the slash, blocking it with both hands. They screamed at each other, neither giving an inch.
But Lumberling wasn't aiming to kill.
It was a feint.
He put all his power into his right leg and kicked upward—
"Crack!"
An audible, decisive crunch.
His boot smashed into the Knight's groin with surgical brutality. The Knight froze, eyes wide in agony. Then Lumberling plunged his sword into the Knight's heart.
The Knight looked at him like a betrayed lover.
'Sorry, pal. No hard feelings. Just trying to live.'
(You have devoured the Knight Page's essence. 55 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Knight Page's memories and experiences.)
Lumberling collapsed beside the corpse, breathing heavily. The victory was theirs—but the cost was steep.
He forced himself to check on Uncle Drake. Thankfully, the old warrior was alive, just unconscious. After a few minutes, he stirred.
"What happened, kid… where's the Knight?"
"I killed him. We need to move. Now."
They stripped the dead Pentaline soldiers they'd slain earlier, swapped into fresh armor, and washed the red dye from their hair with the water they'd brought. As they blended in with the fortress's defenders, no one suspected a thing.
But Lumberling didn't want to linger.
He was done with the war.
From the moment he'd awakened in this world, death had shadowed his every step. He'd survived his first kill, betrayal, starvation, and battles against enemies far stronger. He'd grown stronger—but at a price.
If he stayed, he feared he'd lose himself.
Uncle Drake had his own reasons, too. He preferred peace over a soldier's grave. Lumberling convinced him that with the chaos of war, they'd likely be presumed dead anyway.
So they slipped through the fortress toward the opposite gate—the same one they had entered from months ago.
As expected, guards challenged them.
"Halt. What's your business, soldiers?"
"Our Centurion ordered us to deliver an item to the city. This mission is urgent," Lumberling replied, voice firm despite his nerves.
The guard studied them, asked a few questions. Fortunately, being real Pentaline soldiers, they answered flawlessly.
"Alright. Go on."
The gate opened.
They were free.
Beyond the gate, they faced a choice. The Ryazan Fortress bordered four counties, each ruled by a Marquess. But war was ever-present near the front lines.
Uncle Drake hailed from a county under House Zyvarics, but neither of them wanted to return there. Too dangerous.
They traveled for two days before reaching a remote village. Just over a hundred souls, accustomed to seeing battered soldiers.
No one questioned them.
They purchased food, fresh clothes, and a room at an inn—1 to 2 bronze coins for meals, 3 for the night. They handed in their armor for cleaning and scrubbed away the blood and filth.
Lumberling finally relaxed.
He had looted well—10 gold, 8 silver, and 147 bronze coins. Enough to live comfortably for years.
That day, he indulged. Sampled every tasty food in sight. Later, he visited the village market, searching for books. Knowledge was power, after all.
Most villagers were illiterate, but the village head sold him two precious books: one, a self-written history of the empire; the other, a bestiary of monsters and supernatural creatures.
Lumberling read them slowly, the words anchoring him to something beyond war.
Something that felt like a future.