The Devouring Knight
Chapter 136 - 135: Quiet Fire

Chapter 136: Chapter 135: Quiet Fire

Lumberling sat in silence, knees drawn close, elbows resting on them. The wind rustled the leaves above, but he barely registered the sound.

The world had shifted again.

What was once a brutal, grounded struggle for survival now revealed something deeper, vaster, divine. The revelation still clung to him like cold water on his skin.

Gods.

Real ones. Tangible. Terrifying.

Not symbols or metaphors, actual beings that bent the rules of the world.

’So gods like them truly exist in this world...’

The thought should’ve broken something in him. And maybe it had. It was terrifying to know there were entities walking these lands that made everything he’d faced feel like mere shadows. But another part of him, some stubborn, simmering ember deep inside, felt a different reaction entirely.

Excitement.

Because if such powers did exist... then so did the paths to reach them.

Different faiths. Different disciplines. Different powers.

Different prey.

For a devourer like him, it meant more than awe. It meant opportunity. It meant growth.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate, letting the wind carry away his spiraling thoughts.

Not yet. Not now.

There were still so many gaps in his foundation. The Concordia cycle remained incomplete, its harmony elusive, slipping between his fingers every time he tried to settle into it. His foray into magic was clumsy at best; the mage path was a maze, each corner demanding more than just will or essence.

He clenched his fists and let his knuckles crack.

"First things first," he muttered to himself. "Survive. Learn. Then devour everything that stands in my way."

The gods could wait.

He still had work to do.

...

Lumberling sat alone beneath a crooked pine, the hush of the forest settling around him like a cloak. The twilight air was cool against his skin, and the only sounds were the faint rustle of wind-brushed leaves and the steady rhythm of his breath.

He moved through the Concordia Cycle, each motion measured, precise. Not the strikes of a warrior boasting his strength, but the silent, methodical discipline of someone shaped by necessity. His limbs obeyed memory; his mana flowed in tandem with each inhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Stillness.

The world narrowed to that quiet, internal rhythm.

Then a voice, soft, but curious, disrupted the silence.

"Hey."

Aurelya stepped through the undergrowth, brushing aside a branch that snagged her hair. The sinking sun scattered gold through her blonde strands and cast her in warm hues as she approached.

"What are you doing today?" she asked, though her tone already held the answer.

Lumberling opened one eye, flicked a glance at her, and then resumed his breath. "Training," he said simply.

"As usual," she muttered, planting her fists on her hips. "Even after all that practice and lessons with us earlier? Then that weird breathing stuff. And last night, I saw you working with your weapon again. You’ve also been doing that... that body-torturing cycle thing."

He arched a brow. "You’ve been watching me?"

"What? No!" she said quickly, crossing her arms. "I just... happened to see it."

He gave a small smirk, but didn’t push.

After a beat, Aurelya asked again, quieter this time. "Don’t you get tired of it? Why do you keep training so much?"

Lumberling didn’t answer right away. Instead, he returned to his form, his breathing slow and steady. Then, eyes still closed, he replied with a question of his own.

"Why do you train?"

Aurelya blinked, then gave a light scoff. "That’s obvious. To get stronger, of course."

He tilted his head. "And why is that important?"

She looked at him like he was being difficult. "Because... strength keeps us alive? It helps us win fights. Protect others. You know. The usual."

"And yet, you say it’s tiring," he said. "Why?"

She exhaled. "Because it is. Day in, day out, the same drills, the same pain, the same fatigue. Sure, you get stronger... but at what cost? Isn’t it better to rest sometimes? To breathe?"

Lumberling was silent for a moment.

Then he opened his eyes and looked at her, not unkindly, but as if weighing the question deeply.

"You think training is a burden. I think it’s the price of breathing."

Aurelya tilted her head, frowning. "That doesn’t even make sense."

He rose slowly to his feet. His joints cracked quietly as he stretched. When he spoke again, his voice had changed, lower, more distant.

"It didn’t make sense to me either. Not until I realized this world doesn’t care if you live or die."

He faced her now, the light catching in the faint purple glint of his eyes.

"You ask why I train. Why I push myself past exhaustion. Why my subordinates, most of them barely surviving monsters years ago, now rise before dawn to fight, to learn, to change."

His tone grew firmer.

"It’s because we have to. Because we are weak. And no one cares about the weak."

Aurelya’s mouth opened slightly, but he continued.

"Let’s not pretend. If it wasn’t you who found us, if it had been a knight squad, or a raiding company, we’d be dead. Wiped out. Our village would be cinders. And no one would remember our names. Not the kingdoms. Not the gods."

His voice was quiet, but it struck like a blade.

"The weak have no voice. No seat. No future. The world only listens when you have the power to force it to."

Aurelya lowered her eyes, thoughtful now.

Lumberling exhaled, the edge softening from his voice.

"So yes, it’s tiring. But it’s more tiring to live every day knowing you’re one disaster away from losing everything. That’s what it means to be powerless. And if training spares us even a little of that fear... then I’ll do it. Every day. Until the pain becomes peace."

Then, after a pause, his voice turned quieter, gentler, a rare note of honesty threading through.

"And besides... I train because I enjoy it. I enjoy learning. Discovering stuff. Knowing that I’m progressing. Even if it’s slow. That kind of growth... it’s the one thing that’s truly mine."

A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, Aurelya spoke.

"You say a lot of strange things."

Lumberling gave a tired smile. "Strange things keep me alive."

She didn’t return the smile, not quite, but she didn’t look away either.

Her gaze lingered on him a while longer. This time, it wasn’t curiosity.

It was something closer to understanding.

A moment passed, quiet and still. Leaves rustled faintly in the breeze above, but neither spoke.

Then Aurelya looked down at her hands and flexed her fingers, slowly, deliberately.

"...You really believe all that?" she asked, her voice low, unreadable.

"I do," Lumberling said without hesitation.

She exhaled, long, quiet, like something had finally left her chest. A burden, maybe. Or a doubt.

Then she stepped forward, a quiet resolve hardening her features. Her golden eyes gleamed beneath the sunlight, narrowed in quiet determination.

"Hah... You leave me no choice," she said, almost with a smile. "Let me help you."

Lumberling raised a brow, mildly surprised. "The Concordia Cycle?"

She nodded. "Yeah. You keep saying weird things, but you’re actually terrible at applying them."

Without waiting for a reply, she moved beside him, adjusting her posture. Her movements were clean, deliberate, grounded in training. Not like Vaenyra, who made things look too easy, too elegant, and explained them with the vague confidence of someone naturally gifted.

Aurelya, by contrast, broke it down piece by piece, step, breath, flow. She spoke plainly, even clumsily at times, but her terms were practical. Understandable.

For someone untalented like him, who clawed for every inch of progress, she was easier to follow.

Lumberling said nothing. He simply nodded, and moved alongside her, mimicking her stance.

They practiced in silence.

The clearing grew still again, only the rhythmic shuffle of their feet in the grass, the whisper of breath, the faint hum of power.

But something had changed.

In Aurelya’s eyes, there was no longer pride. There was focus. Purpose. A spark quietly blooming behind her gaze.

For the first time, her desire to grow stronger wasn’t about pride... or proving herself to anyone.

It was something more.

Like a fire lit not from ambition, but from purpose, quiet, steady, and deeply rooted.

Aurelya exhaled and turned back.

As she walked through the village, the dusk light flickered through the branches like a quiet applause. She matched her steps to her breath, still echoing the rhythm she had watched him keep.

She had always trained because it was expected. Because it was tradition. But now, for the first time... she wanted to.

.....

Back at the Elven shelter, Aurelya returned. Her hair was damp with sweat, plastered lightly to her neck, and her tunic bore streaks of dirt and leaves from a night spent training. But her steps were light, a soft hum escaped her lips, half a tune, half a secret.

At a nearby wooden table, Thessalia looked up from the thick book resting open in her lap. Her expression didn’t shift, but her eyes followed Aurelya with cool interest.

"You’re back," she said, her voice dry. "Out having fun again?"

Aurelya paused mid-step, giving her a flat look over her shoulder. "Of course not."

Thessalia raised an eyebrow, arching it just enough to imply doubt. "Really? That’s... unusual for you."

Aurelya rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand as she continued past. "Get some sun, Thess," she muttered, disappearing into her quarters without another word.

The door creaked softly behind her, leaving the quiet of the morning intact.

Thessalia’s gaze lingered, her thumb absently resting between pages. Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in judgment, but in curiosity. Something was off. Different. Not in a bad way, but... in a way she couldn’t yet name.

Across them, near a shaded bedroll, Vaenyra sat beside Sylra, gently rewetting the cloth resting on the feverish girl’s brow. The young elf whimpered faintly in her sleep, and Vaenyra whispered a calming word in Elvish, smoothing back her hair.

But her long ears twitched, she’d caught the exchange. More than that, she’d caught the shift.

She looked up, her emerald eyes trailing the path Aurelya had taken.

There had been something in Aurelya’s gait. Not just energy or excitement, but intent. Her stride was steadier than before. Her shoulders squared, not with arrogance, but quiet conviction. And when Aurelya glanced toward them, just briefly, before stepping inside, Vaenyra had seen it.

A fire behind her eyes.

Vaenyra’s brow furrowed slightly as she leaned back on her heels.

She looked down at Sylra again and whispered softly, "Rest now... things are changing."

Outside, the forest awoke slowly, as it always did, birds calling, branches creaking under morning dew, sunlight trickling in slanted shafts.

To most, it was a morning like any other.

But in the heart of one young elf, something had shifted.

And in time, the others would feel it too.