CHAPTER 68: CHAPTER 67

That night, Lumberling sat by a dying campfire under the open sky. The wind tugged at the edges of his cloak. Skitz had already turned in, trusting his Lord to keep watch.

But Lumberling wasn’t watching for enemies.

He was watching the stars, trying to count the distance between himself and the sky he had to reach.

He held a stone in his palm, smooth and warm from his pocket. The one Jen gave him. A child’s gift. A symbol of hope.

’True Knighthood...’ That’s the answer.

His jaw clenched. ’But how long will it take?’

He had built a village. Raised an army. Fought monsters, killers, Knights. And still, it felt like the hardest fight lay not on the battlefield, but within.

He thought of the dream again. The feeling of losing control. The way his spear had nearly pierced Skitz’s throat.

A chill crawled through his chest.

’What if I lose myself before I ever reach it?’

His grip tightened around the stone.

Devour had brought him victory. Devour had brought him pain.

He was caught between two truths: the power that built him... might one day break him.

But he wasn’t giving up. Not now. Not ever.

’If the path to salvation lies in Knighthood... then I’ll walk until my legs break. And crawl the rest of the way.’

He let out a slow breath and whispered into the fire:

"I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll get there... before the darkness does."

The fire popped softly.

And above, the stars waited.

.....

The forest path rustled beneath their boots, the afternoon sun weaving through the trees like scattered gold. In the silence between their steady footsteps, Lumberling finally spoke, his voice quiet.

"Skitz... if I’m not well by the time we return... can you manage things for me?"

Skitz glanced sideways, alert as ever. "What do you mean ’if’? You’ve held everything together through worse."

Lumberling shook his head slowly. "This is different. My mind... it’s not clear yet. I don’t want to concern them, not until I’ve settled this."

Skitz furrowed his brow, his steps slowing. "You still carry this alone."

"I’m not asking you to take it from me. Just... buy me time," Lumberling said, his voice firm but low. "Until I can lead them with both hands again."

Skitz walked in silence for a few moments, then nodded.

"You bought us all time. I can return the favor."

....

After five long months of travel, they finally returned to the village.

The air was cool and familiar as Lumberling and Skitz crossed the final stretch of forest toward the goblin village. The distant sound of construction, clanging metal, and playful laughter greeted them, echoes of life that had grown in their absence.

But none of it eased the weight in Lumberling’s chest.

They had returned empty-handed, yet burdened with more than when they left.

Months of travel. Cities scoured. Coins spent. Priests questioned. Books read. Nothing. Nothing that could anchor his unraveling mind. Nothing to contain the rising tide of memories that weren’t his.

Trumpets of carved bone echoed through the air.

"The Lord has returned!" a scout shouted from the watchtower.

Cheers erupted from the fields and homes. Goblins and kobolds streamed toward the main square, waving tattered banners sewn with crude but proud sigils. Children clung to parents, farmers raised their tools high, and guards stood in salute.

The captains were the first to reach the gate, Gobo1 and Gobo2 racing ahead, grinning ear to ear. Aren followed in crisp formation with his elite squad. Takkar and Vakk emerged from the walls, flanked by soldiers.

Even Grokk stood near the entrance, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

But while Skitz raised a hand in greeting and offered a weary smile, Lumberling said nothing. His cloak hung loosely around him, his eyes moving slowly across the village, over the towers, the fields, the people.

The weight of familiarity didn’t bring comfort.

Only silence.

Skitz turned to Krivex, who had just arrived, nodding in respect.

"We’ve returned," Skitz said. "We found what we needed... but the path forward is still long."

Krivex studied Lumberling, concern flickering in his eyes.

"Is the Lord... alright?"

Skitz lowered his voice. "He’s exhausted. Let him rest. I’ll explain what you need to know."

Behind them, some villagers stepped forward eagerly, children with gifts, soldiers with questions, captains ready to report, but Skitz raised a hand.

"Not now. Our Lord needs rest. Let him breathe first."

Something in his tone silenced the crowd. The cheers faded into murmurs. No one spoke, but many noticed, the dullness in Lumberling’s eyes, the faint stiffness in his movements.

Krivex watched him pass, the usual sharpness in his eyes dulled by something else, worry. He clenched his gauntlet-covered fist, but said nothing.

Grokk’s ears twitched. His gaze lingered on Lumberling’s back as he walked by.

"Something’s wrong," he muttered under his breath.

He wasn’t injured.

But he wasn’t whole either.

And so they parted for him, like a tide opening for a drifting vessel, as Lumberling walked through the crowd without a word.

His steps were steady, but his balance was fragile. Like a blade balanced on its edge. Each footfall carried weight that wasn’t just physical.

His shadow stretched long behind him in the setting sun.

And though the village welcomed him with celebration...

...he carried silence like armor.

.....

That night, under the stars and distant torchlight, Lumberling sat alone atop the village wall. The forest stretched before him, vast and quiet, indifferent to the turmoil inside him.

He clenched his fists.

Devour.

It had become everything. His strength. His path. His shortcut. It was how he survived, how he dominated, how he led. Without it, he felt the cracks in his armor, like something inside might collapse at any moment.

But then his eyes drifted down to the village below.

Krivex stood by the training grounds, barking orders with a grin on his face. Gobo1 and Gobo2 were wrestling near the well, much to the children’s amusement. Aren was inspecting weapons. The wolf pups, now larger and lean with strength, chased each other through the tall grass, their playful snarls echoing as Jen laughed nearby, her joy rising with every bound and tumble.

They were all stronger now.

Not just because of the power he’d given them, but because of the trust, the leadership, the risks... the time.

He stared at his hand, then clenched it into a fist.

’Devour didn’t do all of this.’

’I did.’

’We did.’

It hit him like a stone dropped in a still pond.

He had been asking the wrong question.

All this time, he was searching for a perfect answer. A fix. A cure. Like life was a problem to be solved with numbers and the right equation.

But it wasn’t.

Not every problem has a ready-made solution.

Some you solved with force. Others with faith. And some... with improvisation.

If no one could offer him a path, then he would carve one himself.

He sat back, breath misting in the night air.

A word drifted into his mind, pulled from the depths of a past life.

’Anchor.’

He needed something that would hold him steady when the memories threatened to drag him down. Not a skill. Not a spell.

A practice.

And with it came another memory, distant, but clear.

A man on a screen, calm and measured. A therapist from his past life. ’Dr. K,’ he recalled faintly. Someone who had helped countless others navigate the storms inside their minds. In that other world, depression and trauma weren’t rare, they were reality. And somehow, humans had still learned how to stand again.

He’d watched those videos late into the night back then, seeking understanding, hoping for answers. What helped him then wasn’t some miracle, but discipline. Self-awareness. Insight.

Therapy. Psychology. Meditation.

The words felt foreign here... yet powerful.

Lumberling’s eyes opened, sharp with clarity.

He couldn’t find a solution?

Then he would build one, using everything he had ever known.

This wasn’t about Devour anymore.

It was about mastering himself.