The Devouring Knight-Chapter 114 - 113: The First Forge

One morning.

The village was alive with cheers. A ring of goblins, kobolds, and even a few human villagers crowded the training grounds, murmuring with awe. At the center stood Grokk, taller than before, his black fur glistening like polished iron under the morning sun. The gnoll’s muscles rippled, his presence oppressive and commanding. Bone-like ridges had formed along his arms and back, jutting out like armored spines. He had evolved. No longer a Ravager, he was now a Gnoll Bonehowler, radiating the quiet power of a Quasi-Knight.

The guards chanted his name with pride. "Grokk! Grokk! Sentinel of the walls! Bonehowler of the tribe!"

Even Uncle Drake gave an impressed nod. Orrin whistled. Jen clapped excitedly, while Celine cradled little Evelyn, smiling.

From the hollow of his tree, Shade peeked out, his many eyes glinting as he watched another warrior rise, reborn.

Lumberling, hearing the commotion, rose from his meditation and strode to the crowd. The moment he laid eyes on Grokk, he knew what had happened.

Grokk dropped to one knee the moment he saw him. "My Lord."

Lumberling placed a firm hand on Grokk’s shoulder. "You’ve changed."

Grokk’s eyes glowed with restrained emotion. "It was all thanks to you, my Lord."

He didn’t say the words, but he didn’t need to. Lumberling understood. The silent bond between master and subordinate didn’t need explanation.

Lumberling smiled faintly. "No. This was your achievement. Your pain. Your effort. I only nudged you along the path."

Grokk looked down, chest heaving with pride and humility. "Even so... thank you."

The villagers erupted in cheers once more. But for Lumberling, it wasn’t just a celebration. It was a spark of possibility.

.....

That night - Outside the Village walls

The moon was full, casting pale light over the forest edge. Crickets chirped, and the night air was crisp. Grokk stood beside Lumberling near a secluded clearing where they often hunted together.

"So, my Lord," Grokk began, "should we still continue our night hunts?"

Lumberling shook his head slowly, then smiled. "Not for now. I’ve been working on something else. A method that might help us grow even stronger, forge tougher bodies, refine our endurance."

Grokk tilted his head. "That’s the strange training you’ve been doing, right? The one with the poison baths and breathing patterns?"

Lumberling gave a quiet laugh. "That’s part of it. It’s a body cultivation technique, Ironblood Tempering Scripture. But as I’ve told you before, it requires something called Qi. And no one besides me can practice it."

Grokk frowned. "So... we can’t train it?"

"No," Lumberling said. "But I intend to change that. I’m working on modifying it, rewriting the entire method to be usable without Qi. But it’s risky. If I miscalculate even once, it could cripple someone... or worse."

Grokk’s ears twitched. "So you need someone strong. Strong enough to survive it."

Lumberling met his eyes. "Yes. Someone at least Quasi-Knight level. Skitz is busy overseeing the second outpost, and Shade... he’s too different biologically. But you..."

"Use me," Grokk interrupted, his voice steady. "Whatever this training is, I’ll endure it."

Lumberling studied the gnoll’s eyes. There was no bravado there, only quiet resolve.

"I’m not forcing you. Once we begin, there’s no guarantee you’ll come out unscathed."

"I trust you, my Lord," Grokk said. "Someone’s gotta bleed first. Might as well be me."

Lumberling nodded. "Then we begin tomorrow."

In that moment, under the cold silver moon, the first step toward the creation of a new body cultivation system was taken. A method born not of legacy, but necessity.

...

The next day - Deep within the ravine

Mist clung to the ground like a living thing as Lumberling and Grokk descended into the eastern ravine. Once a warg nest, the place still reeked faintly of blood and damp fur despite years of abandonment. Jagged rocks framed the cliffs, and a narrow stream trickled through, collecting into a cold, shallow basin at the center.

Lumberling carried a heavy sack slung over one shoulder, packed with dried herbs, bits of marrow, and a few tightly sealed clay jars. Early alchemical attempts. Improvised poisons.

"This place should be remote enough," Lumberling muttered as he set the sack down beside the water. "If you scream... no one will hear it."

Grokk smirked. "I don’t plan to scream."

"Bravado won’t help once it begins," Lumberling replied, his voice flat, eyes sharp. "I need to break you, tear your body down without killing you."

He pulled out a flask and poured a thick, violet-black liquid into the basin. It hissed as it met the water, releasing coils of steam that clung to the ground. The surface turned viscous, almost oily, and the stench that followed was revolting, a blend of rotting bark, venom sacs, and something that made Grokk’s nostrils sting.

Grokk recoiled slightly. "What in the pits is that?"

"A mix of blood nettle poison, ironroot sap, and venom from the giant spider I caught last week," Lumberling said. "It won’t kill you. But it’ll tear your nerves apart and force your body to rebuild, stronger, if it survives the pain."

Grokk raised a brow. "So I just... get in?"

"No. First, we hyperstimulate your muscles. We’re doing strike tempering." Lumberling stepped back and lifted a thick cudgel wrapped in rough bark and stone spikes. "You ready?"

Grokk took a deep breath. "Let’s begin."

.....

The cudgel slammed against Grokk’s shoulder with a dull, meaty thwack. He staggered but remained standing.

"Again," Grokk growled.

Another strike. Then another. His arms turned red, then purple. Veins bulged. Blood leaked. His knees quaked, but he didn’t fall.

After the tenth strike, Lumberling spoke. "Now into the basin."

Grokk stepped forward and sank into the black pool. The moment the liquid touched his skin, his body jerked.

"F-fuck!" Grokk clenched his jaw, every muscle convulsing. "It’s burning!"

"That’s the point," Lumberling said calmly. "Stay submerged for at least five minutes."

Grokk thrashed once, then forced himself still. He closed his eyes and started counting his breaths.

"One... two... three..."

Lumberling crouched beside him, watching. "The pain is destroying weak fibers and flooding you with heat. Focus on that. Don’t resist the pain, guide it."

Minutes passed. Grokk’s breathing slowed. His twitching eased.

Then suddenly, stillness.

Steam rose from the basin. Grokk opened his eyes. Red. Veins visible. Breathing ragged.

"I can still move," he whispered. "Barely."

"That’s good. Your first layer of flesh is dead. It will rot off by tonight."

Grokk laughed weakly. "Lovely."

As Grokk dried beside the fire hours later, wrapped in monster hide, Lumberling scribbled notes into a bone-framed tablet.

’Significant internal strain observed.

Heart rate elevated, but controlled.

Pain resistance and mental endurance crucial.

Strikes before bath increase effectiveness.

Pattern emerging... destructive input, corrosive soak, regenerative rest.’

He stared at Grokk, who was shivering but alive.

’This might work.’

The gnoll looked up with half-lidded eyes. "Tomorrow... again?"

"No. We’ll resume in three days," Lumberling said, nodding. "Let your body recover naturally. But next time will be worse. We’re going after your bones."

Grokk chuckled, then coughed up blood. "Good."

.....

That night, a scream tore through the gnoll’s hut.

Lumberling burst in, Grokk was thrashing on the floor, clutching his sides, eyes wide with panic.

"It’s rejecting me, my body’s burning from the inside out!"

Lumberling didn’t move. He simply crouched by him. "Then breathe," he said. "Make the pain yours."

Grokk’s breath hitched. Sweat poured down his brow. His back arched, then slowly, painfully, he forced himself still.

"I won’t... break..."

He collapsed, unconscious, but when dawn came, he woke up still breathing.

Scarred.

Stronger.

.....

Three weeks later - Edge of the Woods, midnight hunt

The moon hung high, casting long shadows through the trees. Blood slicked Grokk’s chest, some his own, most from the beast at his feet. The Dire Tuskwrought boar wheezed, its legs mangled, ribs caved in, yet stubbornly clinging to life.

Grokk panted, his shoulders rising and falling like a forge bellows. His fists were bruised, but less so than before.

Lumberling stood nearby, blades sheathed, having watched the entire hunt without interfering.

"You managed to beat it without a weapon," he said, voice low.

Grokk wiped blood from his mouth. "Didn’t think I could. But... my arms didn’t buckle this time. My grip didn’t tear."

He looked at his hands. The skin on them had darkened to a dull, toughened gray. Calloused. Hardened. There were still cracks, blood seeping from between his knuckles, but he was healing faster now.

Lumberling stepped closer and raised a hand. "Lie down."

Grokk didn’t question it. He slumped onto a patch of moss, arms open, eyes half-lidded with fatigue.

Lumberling ended the boar’s suffering with a swift thrust. Then, he activated his Essence Weave. Wisps of pale light rose like mist, drifting through the air before coiling toward Grokk’s chest, gentle, yet charged with power.

The moment it touched him, Grokk inhaled sharply. His wounds pulsed, as if reacting to the presence of something alive.

"It’s slow," Lumberling muttered, "but consistent. I can’t force-feed you Qi, but Essence... Essence responds to need. Pain. Intention. Sacrifice."

The weave settled over Grokk’s chest, seeping into broken muscles, wrapping around cracked bone.

"It burns..." Grokk whispered, "but it heals. Like boiling water poured into cold guts"

"It’s what I used on myself, back when I nearly bled out in the warlands," Lumberling said. "Not many can handle it. But your body is adjusting. Faster than I expected."

Grokk’s eyes fluttered. He winced, then chuckled hoarsely. "Do you think the others can take this too? Eventually?"

Lumberling stared at the weave as it sank into the gnoll’s wounds, knitting torn flesh. "Not yet. They’d die. But maybe... once we refine it. Once we make the pain meaningful."

He paused. "You’re the first. The proof this can work."

Grokk closed his eyes, breath slowing. "Then I’ll endure. So the others don’t have to guess."

When dawn broke, Grokk stood again.

His skin, though scarred, had a dull, iron hue across his upper chest and arms. Not quite armor, but close. His heartbeat thudded heavier now, slower, more deliberate. His strikes against the bark of a training post echoed like hammerblows.

Lumberling noted it in silence.

Ironblood Layer One: Blood Tempered. Partial Adaptation Achieved.

Subject: Grokk. Status: Stable.

He looked toward the village.

’One day... they’ll all have this strength.’

That night, as Grokk returned to the basin for the next round of pain, he did not hesitate.

And Lumberling did not stop him.

They were no longer experimenting.

They were forging.