The Devouring Knight
Chapter 127 - 126: Check, But Not Mate

Chapter 127: Chapter 126: Check, But Not Mate

The next day, Lumberling waited beneath the shade of the tall tree by the training grounds, expecting the familiar flash of blue and green from Vaenyra’s approach.

Instead, footsteps, measured, calm, and almost too quiet, announced someone else.

He turned and blinked.

Thessalia approached, her long green hair tied back in a loose ribbon, the shade matching her intelligent, emerald eyes. Her figure was sculpted with quiet elegance, graceful curves beneath a modest high-collared robe. Pale skin, long lashes, and a face that looked like it had been chiseled from ivory. Always serious. Always composed. Like someone who weighed every word before letting it pass her lips.

"Hey," he called out, stepping forward.

She looked at him with that calm, unreadable expression. "Good morning."

"No Lady Vaenyra today?"

Thessalia gave a small shake of her head. "She’s occupied. You’ll be studying magical theory today," she said, turning slightly and gesturing toward the shade beneath the tree. "That’s why I’m here."

"Oh." He followed her. "I see."

They sat on the grass. Thessalia pulled out a leather-bound notebook and opened it with deliberate care.

Lumberling glanced at her sideways. She didn’t offer more than what was needed, no smiles, no small talk. Just the cool professionalism of a scholar doing her job.

Still... for someone like her to spare time for him?

He’d take it.

"Let’s begin," she said, flipping to a blank page and drawing a simple symbol with a piece of charcoal. "What do you know about the origin of magic?"

"Uh... not much," he admitted. "That it comes from mana. And that it’s hard."

A flicker of something passed across her face. Amusement, maybe. Or pity.

"Magic predates the invention of Knight Skills by centuries, millennia, some say," she said, voice as steady as a flowing stream. "Before there were skill manuals, there were tribes who spoke to fire and storm. They didn’t wield magic. They bargained with it."

Lumberling leaned in, curiosity sparked. "You mean like... the elements were alive?"

"In a sense. Early magic was closer to prayer. Risky. Inexact. But over time, formulas were written, laws observed, and principles recorded." She sketched an arcane sigil beneath the first one. "That’s when theory was born. Mana follows laws. We call them Circuits."

"Circuits," he echoed. "Like a closed loop?"

She nodded. "Energy in, effect out. The more efficient the loop, the less strain on the body and mind. The Circle system was created to measure mastery over those circuits."

"What about the manuals for knights?" he asked.

"They’re shortcuts," she replied after a beat. "Crude ones, though effective, if you don’t care about long-term growth. Rather than understanding mana, a manual burns the pattern into your body by force. It works, but it limits growth. True magic grows with the mage."

He frowned. "So knights are like... programmed weapons. Mages are researchers."

"Essentially." She looked at him then, eyes narrowing just slightly. "But you want to be both."

He gave a half-smile. "Trying, at least."

She didn’t return it. Instead, she turned back to her notebook. "Then learn the theory properly. Walking both paths without foundation leads to ruin."

As she spoke, Lumberling kept throwing in questions. About Circles, about mana sources, about why spells needed incantations, or didn’t. She answered each one without embellishment. Clear. Sharp. Efficient.

Thessalia was a woman of few words, but every one of them mattered.

And beneath the cool tone and scholarly restraint, he couldn’t help but wonder:

Was there a reason someone like her agreed to teach him?

Or was this just part of some larger equation she was solving?

.....

The next morning.

The sun had barely risen when Lumberling stepped out, expecting to see one of his usual teachers. Instead, he spotted a new figure waiting near the training circle.

Aurelya.

Golden-haired, sharp-eyed, and unmistakably elven, she stood with arms crossed, her posture effortlessly regal. Her white robes were trimmed with silver, and sunlight caught on the smooth edges of her blade. Her beauty, like her confidence, was bold and blinding.

Lumberling blinked. "What’s this? Are you all taking turns teaching me like some rotating parade?"

Aurelya smirked, flipping her hair over one shoulder. "You’re lucky, human. Few get to learn from the best of us."

"Oh, I know I’m lucky," he replied, flashing a grin. "With teachers as beautiful as you, I could hardly ask for more."

That made her falter.

"Huh?" she said, brows lifting slightly. Her smirk faded, replaced by a confused stare. Clearly, she hadn’t expected that.

Lumberling took a step forward, slow and steady. "And really now," he continued, voice lower, "how many times do I have to tell you? Stop calling me ’human.’ I have a name."

He stepped closer. Aurelya tilted her head back slightly to meet his gaze, he was taller, and the space between them was now barely a breath.

"I-I got it," she stammered, eyes narrowing though she didn’t look away. "Why are you getting so close?"

He grinned, amused by her fluster, but then paused.

Something flickered behind his eyes. The teasing fell away, slow as dusk.

He stepped closer, voice quiet.

"Say it," he murmured, not playful now, but earnest. "My name."

She huffed, flustered. "Fine. Lumberling. Are you happy now?"

He smiled and finally stepped back, giving her space again like nothing had happened.

"So," he said cheerfully, "what are we learning today?"

Aurelya’s eyes twitched. "You... you’re messing with me, aren’t you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, all innocence.

She glared. "Hmph. I’ll get back at you for that, just you wait."

Then she took a deep breath and grew serious, the air around her shifting from playful to focused in an instant.

"Today," she began, "you’ll be learning the fundamentals of practical magic."

Lumberling tilted his head. "But I haven’t even formed my mana heart yet. I can’t cast anything."

"You don’t need to," she said. "I’ll be showing you how it’s done, what to expect, how to feel the mana in the air, and how to visualize the process. It’ll make things easier when you do reach that point."

He nodded, the glint in his eyes softening. "Alright. I’m ready."

As soon as the lesson began, Aurelya’s playful edge vanished. Her voice turned precise, her movements sharp, her explanations rich with insight. She walked him through mana channels, incantation flow, elemental theory, and how one’s affinity could shape the very rhythm of a spell.

And Lumberling, to his credit, absorbed it all, silently admiring not just the beauty before him, but the brilliance too.

By noon, the courtyard buzzed faintly with lingering wisps of magic, and the respect between them had deepened.

.....

Late Afternoon

The sun had already dipped halfway across the sky, casting long golden rays through the leaves overhead. The day’s lesson with Aurelya had wrapped up, not without a few smirks and lingering glances from the elf, and now Lumberling stood alone in the clearing, stripped to the waist, breathing deep.

Time for the next phase.

He planted his feet firmly on the earth, body steady, and began channeling the Ironblood Tempering Scripture. The familiar pain greeted him immediately. It felt like fire crawling under his skin, his blood turning to molten iron and surging through every vein. Four hours. He endured it without flinching.

’This again...’ he thought. ’But it’s working...’

His skin shimmered with sweat and effort, each breath steady, measured. With every cycle, his muscles became denser, his body more resilient. He welcomed the burn.

As twilight rolled in, he switched forms and entered the Spearheart Doctrine. The transition from brute force to refined precision always grounded him. He grabbed his spear and moved through the stances, fluid, controlled, but sharp.

Strike. Withdraw. Twist. Lunge.

The air hissed around him, stirred by the blade’s path. "Not just strength... intent. Every thrust must carry will. The spear is an extension of me."

An hour passed. Then two. Then three.

Darkness settled fully as he finally sheathed the spear, breath ragged but satisfied. He sat beneath a tree and began the Imperial Mindseal Meditation. His mind opened, then narrowed, focus honing into a blade. Thoughts fell away like leaves in autumn. Inhale. Exhale. Silence.

No distractions. No stray emotions. Just clarity.

Time melted away.

When he opened his eyes again, the stars had already scattered across the sky like scattered gems.

A gentle rustle of leaves whispered through the trees, followed by faint murmurs and soft laughter, elven voices, light and melodic.

He rose, stretching the stiffness from his limbs, spine cracking faintly in the cool night air. The scent of roasted nuts and herbs lingered faintly on the wind, drifting from the elf camp nearby. Lanternlight flickered between the trees.

As he approached, the laughter grew clearer.

Aurelya spotted him first, already seated by the board. "There you are. Took you long enough." She gestured to the empty spot across from her. "Fancy getting humbled tonight?"

"Confident, aren’t we?" he chuckled, settling into the seat. "I’ll go easy on you."

"You won’t have the chance."

But twenty minutes later, Aurelya leaned back with a sigh, her queen cornered and helpless.

"I hate this game," she muttered.

"You said that last time too," he teased, rising from his seat. "Want me to write you a manual?"

"Don’t tempt me to burn it."

Before he could leave, Thessalia stepped in, arms crossed and eyes sharp. "My turn."

"Oh?" He arched a brow. "Come to restore elven pride?"

"Someone has to."

They played in silence, her expression unreadable, each move calculated. And yet, halfway through, he leaned in with a grin.

"You always go for the fork tactic too early. Predictable."

Her lips pressed into a line. Ten minutes later, she conceded with a quiet nod, offering no excuse, only a cold stare that promised she’d study harder.

Later that night, as the others drifted off or busied themselves with elven songs and light-hearted sparring, a quiet presence approached the chessboard.

Vaenyra.

She didn’t say a word, just pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, her emerald eyes fixed on the board, unreadable.

"You’re late," Lumberling said, voice light, almost teasing.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she reached out and moved a pawn forward, clean, precise, no hesitation.

He grinned and mirrored the move. "No banter? No threats of revenge?"

Her silence was her answer.

The match began.

Unlike the others, Vaenyra didn’t rush. She took her time, eyes flicking over the pieces, calculating. Her opening was sharper than before, less flashy, more disciplined. He noticed the difference immediately.

She studied. Deliberately. Quietly. And fast.

He played carefully, countering without overextending. Still, halfway through, she nearly trapped his knight. He barely managed to pull back before her formation could collapse his midline.

"You almost had me there," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Vaenyra’s expression didn’t change. Her gaze stayed on the board, focused and cool.

The match ended fifteen minutes later. She lasted longer than either Thessalia or Aurelya had. But in the end, it was still checkmate.

Silence stretched between them.

"Your tempo’s improving," he said at last. "You’re learning when to press and when to wait."

She gave a small nod.

"And you stopped overusing that double bishop pressure. Good."

Another nod.

He studied her for a beat longer, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"If you start thinking three moves ahead instead of just one, I’ll be in trouble."

Vaenyra met his gaze, finally. There was no outward frustration. No scowl. No sigh of defeat.

But in her eyes, sharp, burning with quiet resolve, he saw it.

The fire.

She hated losing.

Not out of pride. But out of drive.

This wasn’t a game to her. It was a mountain. And she intended to climb it.

He leaned back, slowly smiling. ’I have a feeling next time, I won’t win so easily.’

Still, she said nothing. Just stood, turned, and walked away, graceful and silent as ever.

But Lumberling watched her go, already knowing she’d be back at that board tomorrow.

And next time?

He’d have to earn the win.

With the games finished, he made his way back through the trees.

The stars were brighter now, unmoving witnesses to his quiet smile.

He stood outside his cabin for a moment, staring up at the sky.

"So... back to the busy days, huh?" he mused aloud. "Training by day, cultivating by night, strategy in between."

He let out a breath.

"Busy. Full... and exactly what I need."

The grind had returned. Familiar, demanding, and strangely comforting. A rhythm he could lose himself in. Except now, it came with magic in the air, laughter in the distance, and elves who refused to let him brood too long.

The days were routine again, just not the kind he’d ever imagined back in his old world.

They called it training. To him, it felt like learning to live again.