The Devouring Knight
Chapter 44 - 43

Chapter 44: Chapter 43

"Krivex, give your report on the village’s current state," Lumberling said.

"For the past six months, we’ve had no monster attacks in our territory," Krivex began. "In fact, monster activity has noticeably decreased in the surrounding region. It’s been increasingly difficult for our hunters to find prey."

"We’ve also successfully eliminated the goblin and kobold groups you assigned us. The closest remaining threats are the gnolls and lizardmen—but we judged them too risky to engage without support."

"That’s fine," Lumberling nodded. "Without backup, losses would be inevitable. You made the right call."

"Thank you, Lord. As for our internal progress, the farms and livestock are thriving under old man Dan’s guidance. We avoided crop failure due to pests and plant diseases, and yields have increased by forty percent. The livestock are equally healthy—his knowledge of animal care has been vital."

"I appreciate your service, old man Dan," Lumberling said sincerely.

"It’s only right I contribute, my Lord," Dan replied. "These old bones still have some use."

"From the kobold settlement we exterminated, we discovered an iron mine," Krivex continued. "A mining team was dispatched, and we’ve already collected some ore. Using it, our blacksmiths have begun crafting basic weapons. Vice-captains Tarnix and Izzek worked hard to forge simple swords and knives. They’re fragile and inferior to city-made equipment, but it’s a start."

"Excellent find," Lumberling said, nodding. "And well done, Tarnix, Izzek. You have my full permission to continue using the ore. Let me know if you need more materials or tools."

"Thank you, my Lord," Izzek replied. "We’re currently limited by our lack of crafting skills."

"Understandable. Skills take time."

Krivex continued, "House construction halted after your departure. I apologize—we lacked the leadership to resume it. Our population has grown to 331, so new housing is urgently needed."

"We’ll take care of it," Lumberling assured him.

Vakk, who oversaw the soldiers and hunting squads, stepped forward. "Our military forces have expanded, but due to our paused trade, most of them lack proper armor."

"We might have enough funds to equip them," Krivex added. "If we sell the silver ores we’ve stockpiled—and factor in the materials you brought back—we could fund full equipment production."

"I was thinking the same," Lumberling said. "I plan to travel to the city with Skitz to resume trade."

"One more thing, my Lord," Krivex said. "While you were gone, one goblin and three kobolds have evolved. They await your naming."

"We’ll do that during the feast," Lumberling replied.

"Additionally, five golden eagles have been trained. They can serve as scouts or airborne sentries, spotting potential monster threats from above."

"Lastly," Krivex concluded, "without trade, we’ve had no news from the Empire. Per your orders, we avoided human settlements. In six months, we’ve only encountered one human—likely a lone hunter. His intent was unclear, but he didn’t approach our territory."

Lumberling absorbed the report with satisfaction. Krivex had grown into a dependable leader, capable of acting like a proper chief in his absence. Skitz had shouldered most of the administrative burden, but now they had one more to share the load.

’I should consider appointing others, too,’ Lumberling thought. ’Some of them might have untapped talent for leadership. I may be their Lord, but I don’t intend to micromanage everything. Delegation is key.’

"Regarding the monster scarcity around our territory," he said, "I have a plan. Simply expanding our borders won’t be enough. I intend to establish a base in the forest where we trained. It’ll serve as both a hunting ground and training site for our soldiers—and a source of monster materials."

The room fell silent.

Those who had heard the captains’ stories knew how perilous that forest had been. Still, despite their surprise or unease, none of them voiced objections. They trusted him. That was enough.

"For now, carry on as usual. Skitz and I will head to the city to trade," he said. "Old man Dan—you and your granddaughter will be joining us. I’d like to introduce you to someone."

Dan raised an eyebrow but nodded respectfully. He was curious—who could their Lord want him to meet?

The next day, they held a small feast and a naming ceremony for those who had evolved.

Lumberling named the new hobgoblin Nibz, and the three elite kobolds became Rekki, Trask, and Varn. He placed them under Aren’s command, to be trained as elite soldiers for the village’s future defense.

The following weeks brought a rare gift: peace.

Lumberling took the time to relax. He scaled back his training routine and spent most of his days reading in his room or walking through the village to supervise house construction.

One morning, he stood at the center of a half-cleared field, surrounded by curious green faces. They were the village’s construction workers—goblins who had never once touched a blueprint.

"Listen up," he said, holding a stick in one hand. He squatted and began drawing lines in the dirt. "This—" he scratched out a large square, "—is your field. This line here? That’s the new water path. It doesn’t come from the swamp. It comes from the stream, up the hill."

One goblin tilted his head. "But... how water go uphill?"

"It doesn’t," Lumberling replied dryly. "That’s why we dig a channel from the stream’s side—higher ground—so gravity pulls the water down to your farms. Just enough slope to flow without flooding anything."

The goblins murmured to each other, brows furrowed in thought.

"And the poop?" another one asked, pointing to the foul-smelling pit behind the huts. Flies buzzed in lazy circles above it. "It stink. Bad."

Lumberling nodded. "Yeah. That’s the other part."

He led them behind a small rise, where he’d already begun preparing earlier. A shallow trench snaked down the hill, ending in a pit lined with gravel and thick reeds. The reeds had been transplanted from a marsh nearby.

"This is a settling bed," he explained. "Wastewater from the latrines flows down here—see that wooden pipe? It connects to the back of your toilet holes. The solids stay in the pit. The rest... gets filtered by the reeds."

A goblin frowned. "Plants clean poop?"

"More or less," Lumberling replied. "The water that comes out the other side isn’t clean enough to drink, but it’s safe for feeding trees."

He pointed to a row of saplings in the distance—thin, wiry things that struggled to stay upright. "Once they grow, you’ll have shade, fruit, and even wood to harvest."

The goblins let out a chorus of impressed grunts.

Lumberling continued, gesturing back toward the fields.

"Tomorrow, we’ll dig new water channels. We’ll line them with clay to stop leaks, and build simple wooden gates to control flow—just plugs you can pull or set. One goblin per gate."

"And the poop?" the same goblin asked again.

"We clean the pit once a month," Lumberling answered patiently. "Compost what’s safe, use it for non-food crops like flax or hemp. I’ll show you how when it’s time."

The system worked.

Even without modern tools, Lumberling used gravity, intuition, and clever construction to solve problems that plagued village far more advanced. Using clay-lined ditches and slope-fed channels, they brought stream water directly to the fields. Small wooden gates, built from carved branches, acted as simple flow regulators.

The fields no longer stank of rot.

Now, they smelled of damp soil, sprouting greens, and warm sun on timber. Water flowed in steady trickles along the paths he’d designed, guided by goblin hands and natural terrain.

The waste pit had been sealed with a wooden lid. Someone even painted a warning on it—No food near here!—in bright, dripping red. Lumberling didn’t ask who did it. He just nodded in approval.

The reed bed had thickened. Goblins added more cattails and even brought in frogs. The filtered water now flowed into a hemp patch, growing in neat rows.

Somehow, the goblins had built a routine on their own: two assigned to the gates, one to the waste pit, five in the fields, and an elder to manage decisions.

Lumberling hadn’t told them to do any of it.

They had simply watched him, listened to his instructions, and filled in the rest themselves.

It was... satisfying.

Watching the goblins sketch out rotas and solve problems reminded Lumberling of his early days as a young engineer—when he, too, fumbled with blueprints and learned through failure.

He hadn’t expected to find that same spark of discovery in a muddy monster village.

When he wasn’t supervising or sketching plans, he slept. Or cooked. He’d even begun experimenting with new recipes. The quiet days were peaceful—and well-earned.

Three weeks later, the group prepared for travel.

Lumberling, Skitz, Aren, Old Man Dan, Jen, and a few goblins set off toward the city of Turpan, the usual hub for their underground trade.

As they crossed through the gates, Old Man Dan looked around uneasily.

"So this is Turpan," he muttered. "There are a lot of people here... wearing masks."

His hand unconsciously hovered near Jen’s shoulder, guiding her close as they walked. "People hide their faces when they’ve got something to hide..."

"It’s normal," Skitz replied. "This is the Empire’s ’open black market.’ The name isn’t just for show. Masked traders are common—it’s how you keep your business private."

He led the group into the outer market, passing through streets that buzzed with low murmurs and sharp glances. Jen, unfazed by the strange tension in the air, pointed excitedly at a candy stall.

"Brother! Those look yummy! Can I get some?"

"Alright, take whatever you want," Lumberling simply said with a smile.

"Yahoo! Thank you, Brother!"

Skitz guided them toward a set of shops where he typically conducted trades. Lumberling trailed slightly behind, observing carefully. He wanted to understand how Skitz negotiated, how the market moved.

"Fifty gold," Skitz said calmly.

They were negotiating the price for the serpent vine bones—rare materials with special properties.

"That’s too much, sire," the merchant replied. "Market price is between fifty and fifty-five gold. I’ll offer thirty."

"Forty," Skitz countered without blinking. "And give me a discount on the iron armors."

The merchant hesitated, adjusting his sleeves.

"Thirty-five. That’s the most I can offer. If I go any lower, the boss will have my head."

"Then let me speak to the boss."

"He’s... busy right now."

"Goodbye."

Skitz turned without hesitation. Lumberling and the rest followed suit.

"Wait! Wait, sire!" the merchant cried. "I’ll take it. I’ll take the bones."

He grit his teeth as he said it, his expression sour with forced acceptance.

"Good," Skitz nodded. "Give me twenty sets of iron armor. Deduct the cost from the forty gold. We’ll pay whatever remains."

"A full set is three gold. After the deduction and a five percent discount, that’s... you’ll owe me seventeen gold," the merchant calculated.

Skitz paid him without fuss. The trade concluded.

As they stepped out of the shop, Old Man Dan smiled.

"That was a good deal. We scored big with the serpent bones."

"Don’t be fooled," Skitz said, shaking his head. "That merchant still made a profit. Those bones sell for at least sixty gold—probably more. He just didn’t want us to know that. They all act like that here. Never trust a first offer."

Skitz spoke with the voice of experience. He’d been scammed once—badly. But he’d learned, and now he knew how to make the city dance to his rhythm.