Two weeks had passed before they finally reached their destination. From a distance, Lumberling saw modest homes and cultivated fields nestled between rolling hills. Before approaching the village, he and Uncle Drake changed out of their armor and into simple traveling clothes. The last thing they needed was to be mistaken for deserters—desertion was a crime punishable by death in the empire.
"Kid, you know what to do, right? From here on, we stick to the story," Uncle Drake said, adjusting his cloak.
"Of course, Uncle Drake. I understand."
They walked into the village, drawing a few curious glances. Some villagers gathered, and one of them ran off, likely to call the village chief. Moments later, a broad-shouldered man with long silver-streaked hair approached them. His face was lined with age and sun, but his gaze was clear and calm.
"What brings you to our humble village, gentlemen?" he asked.
Uncle Drake offered a friendly smile. "Greetings, sir. We're travelers from Zyvarics County. Are you the village chief?"
"I am. Name's Eldric," the man replied. "Is there something you're looking for?"
"We're looking for a place to settle, Chief Eldric. Our home was near the border, and with the constant war, we couldn't stay any longer. I had a friend who once told me this village was peaceful, so we came here, hoping for a new start."
"A friend, huh? That's rare. Most villagers don't travel far. Who was it?"
"His name is Orrin. We trained and fought together during his Knight's path."
Eldric raised his brows. "Orrin? You're a friend of my brother?"
"That's right. He saved my life once."
Eldric chuckled. "Didn't expect him to have friends outside the village. He must've met you during that trip to the border years ago."
Uncle Drake grinned. "He never told me his brother was a village chief."
"That happened after his journey. But if you're Orrin's friend, then you're welcome here."
The conversation flowed easily, and soon both men were laughing like old friends. Lumberling watched, amazed at how naturally Uncle Drake connected with others. Eldric then waved away the gathered onlookers and led them toward his brother's house.
Orrin turned out to be just as large and imposing as Eldric—muscular, long-haired, and unmistakably a trained warrior. The moment he saw Uncle Drake, they embraced and began exchanging stories like long-lost comrades.
"Drake, you brought me a dead man?" Eldric teased.
"Not quite dead. Just a little bruised and tired," Drake grinned.
The three older men settled into conversation, and Lumberling stood awkwardly to the side, unsure how to fit into their reunion. It reminded him of family gatherings back on Earth—uncles bragging about the past while ignoring the younger ones.
Eventually, Orrin turned to him. "So, who's the kid? Your son? He's too good-looking to be yours."
"Bastard," Drake snorted. "I was just as handsome at his age. But no, he's not my son. Never had time for that, not with the army. This kid's name is Lumberling. He saved my life more than once near the Pentaline border."
A flicker of something passed through Drake's voice—regret, perhaps. His old friends picked up on it.
"I'll be honest," Drake added. "We deserted. The war wasn't worth it anymore. I wasted enough of my life chasing glory that was never mine."
Orrin nodded, expression hardening. "I told you to leave that life. We commoners can't rise—not with nobles hoarding all the power."
"Well," Eldric said with a warm laugh, "you're here now. You're both welcome. Maybe you'll even find love in this quiet place."
Later that day, Eldric ordered a small house to be built for them. While it was being constructed, they stayed at his home. In the following days, Lumberling and Drake helped with daily chores—repairing ditches, cutting firewood, and reinforcing fences.
One early morning, as Lumberling was about to enter the woods for training, Eldric called out to him.
"Off to the woods again?"
"Yes, Chief. I usually train before sunrise."
"Drake mentioned you wanted to walk the Knight's path. That's good. Youth should have ambition. Want some help?"
Lumberling hesitated. "Wouldn't that be a burden? You must have duties—"
Eldric waved him off. "This village practically runs itself. Come on."
'This guy really does whatever he wants,' Lumberling thought, smiling wryly.
They walked into the forest together.
"What kind of skill are you training?" Eldric asked.
"Something focused on concealment. Lowering my presence."
"Hiding, huh? Useful. I fought some assassins a few years back—nasty bastards. Not sure how they trained, though."
Lumberling blinked. 'You offered help, and now you're admitting you don't know how?'
He offered a solution. "How about I demonstrate my skill? Maybe you can tell how far off I am from those assassins."
"Fair enough."
Lumberling climbed a tree and covered himself in leaves, blending in as best he could. He stilled his breath and waited.
Then he heard something behind him—a soft rattle.
By the time he turned around, a dagger was at his neck. Eldric stood there, smiling.
Lumberling leapt back and drew his own dagger. They exchanged a few quick blows—Lumberling fast and precise, Eldric calm and overwhelming. After several clashes, Eldric finally stepped back.
"Not bad. A few more years, and you'll make a fine Knight Apprentice."
But Lumberling wasn't listening. He was stunned.
'That aura... it's the same as when our Centurion was killed. He's a Quasi-Knight!'
"You knew I was a Knight Page from the start, didn't you?" Lumberling asked, catching his breath.
"Of course. I had to be sure. Peace in the village depends on it. But Drake trusts you, and so do I now."
Lumberling sighed. "I'm sorry for hiding it Chief, Uncle Drake taught me to be cautious. Also, I'm not a noble. I was born in a nameless village. My strength comes from talent and... luck. Uncle Drake can vouch for me."
"Drake taught you well. You pass," Eldric said with a shrug.
"You're holding back, aren't you? Your combat skill doesn't match your movements."
'He noticed?'
"Spearmanship is my forte."
"Two skills at once? Looks like Drake picked up a diamond in the rough," the Chief chuckled with approval. "Want to know how I saw through your level? At a certain stage, you start sensing things others can't—auras, intent, strength."
'I need to be careful,' Lumberling thought. 'Quasi-Knights can see through me.'
"Would you still teach me?" he asked.
"I will if I have time. Orrin can help too, though he's only a Knight Page."
'Even that is rare for commoners,' Lumberling realized. 'Two powerful warriors in a small village. Strange, but promising.'
A week later, Lumberling felt it.
Progress had stopped.
Despite daily training—repetitions, drills, sparring—his skill levels wouldn't budge. Swordsmanship. Shieldmanship. Even Sprint. All stagnant.
It reminded him of a feeling from his past life on Earth: hitting a wall. That maddening plateau where effort yielded nothing.
He'd suspected something was wrong since killing that Knight months ago. He should've gained experience, but he didn't.
He checked his status:
Name: Lumberling
Race: Human
Age: 18
Level: 4
Essence: 751 / 3500
Power: 744
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 (413 / 1000)
Beginner Swordsmanship Lv2 (0 / 1000)
Beginner Bowmanship Lv0 (198 / 1000)
Beginner Shieldmanship Lv0 (259 / 1000)
Beginner Cudgel Fighting Lv0 (1 / 1000)
Beginner Concealment Lv0 (621 / 1000)
"Spearmanship, Concealment, Bowmanship... those are still progressing. So why not Swordsmanship? Why not Sprint?" He frowned. "Maybe... maybe training alone isn't enough anymore."
He resumed his drills, frustration gnawing at the edges of his focus.
Life in the village was peaceful. The villagers were kind. Threats were rare, handled quietly by Chief Eldric. Surrounded by nature, Lumberling found the peace he needed to train.
Uncle Orrin, it turned out, was always eager to spar. He was fast—so fast that Lumberling often didn't see the sweep coming until he was flat on his back.
"You're quick," Orrin said one afternoon, helping him up. "But you fight like someone relying on strength and instinct. No formal training."
"I'm learning," Lumberling panted.
"You're learning well," Orrin admitted.
"Thanks for today, Uncle Orrin."
"Call me anytime. Sparring keeps my old bones from rusting."
They chuckled, but the lightness didn't last. Uncle Drake came running toward them, urgency in every step.
"Orrin! Lumberling!"
"What's wrong?" Orrin asked.
"One of the villagers returned from Sangun. Said the whole place was... massacred. Eldric went ahead to investigate. No word on whether it was monsters or bandits."
"Damn it, why'd he go alone?" Orrin muttered, already preparing to leave. "Drake, hold down the village."
Lumberling stepped forward. "Uncle Orrin, let me come with you."
"Out of the question. This isn't some spar—real blood's going to flow."
"I can help. I was once a soldier."
Orrin hesitated. "You…"
"Take him," Drake said firmly. "He's capable."
Orrin gave in with a grunt.