The soldiers nearest to Aren staggered back, shields rising as if against an unseen pressure. For a heartbeat, even his own kind didn't recognize him. Then, as the glow dimmed and his new frame settled, they dropped to their knees in reverence. Lumberling's lips curved, Aren had crossed the threshold. Another weapon sharpened under his banner.

A Hobgoblin Warmarch. A Quasi-Knight Level.

Gasps spread through the ranks. His subordinates knelt instinctively, sensing the weight of their comrade's newfound power.

Lumberling's eyes narrowed in quiet satisfaction. Another one had ascended. Aren was now the second of his captains to step into the Quasi-Knight realm.

Beside him, Thalia spoke, her tone laced with intrigue.

"It seems you're not the only unique one, Lord Lumberling. Even those who follow you… they grow frighteningly strong."

Lumberling turned his head toward her, his gaze steady. "They are strong because they earned it. They don't just rely on me."

Thalia's lips curved into a faint smile. "I see. That explains a lot."

Before the moment could linger, another presence pushed through the crowd. Skitz.

The goblin commander grinned wide, his sharp teeth glinting, as he dragged three unconscious, bloodied men behind him. Each of them bore the insignia of Sengolio knights who had once stood as unshakable foes on the battlefield.

Lumberling's eyes widened, a rare crack in his calm composure.

"My Lord," Skitz cackled, dropping the three bodies with a thud at Lumberling's feet. "Surprised, aren't you? Hehe. Think of it like your birthday party, look, I brought you a feast. A lot of food prepared just for you."

The ones he had dragged in weren't ordinary soldiers.

One of them was the Knight Skitz himself had fought, still barely clinging to life. The other two… he had secured them before Gordon and Thalia could finish them off.

Three True Knights.

Their essence would be invaluable. Enough to fuel rapid growth in any of his soldiers.

For a moment, temptation stirred in Lumberling. His body still thrummed with hunger, the lingering echo of his last devouring urging him to claim more. He could take their essence for himself. Grow stronger and faster.

But he clenched his jaw and shook his head.

'No.'

He looked past the knights to his captains, watching them stand tall, Aren glowing with newfound power. If he wanted them to survive the storms ahead, they couldn't remain as they are. They needed to catch up to him.

His decision was clear.

'These three, their essence won't be mine. It will be for those who have earned the right to stand at my side. For those who must rise higher, if they want to keep surviving the battles to come.'

Lumberling's gaze swept over his captains one by one. Soon, he would decide who would claim the strength of the True Knights.

…..

As the night deepened, Lumberling led his captains and vice-captains away from the cheering soldiers. They crossed the blood-soaked fields until they reached a quiet, isolated ridge where the sounds of the battlefield could no longer touch them. The air here was heavy, almost sacred, charged with the promise of what was about to happen.

The prisoners were dragged behind them. To the world, they were trophies. To Lumberling, they were opportunity.

His captains gathered in a circle, eyes burning with hunger and anticipation. None of them spoke, but the way their claws twitched, the way their fangs bared in quiet grins, showed they knew exactly why they had been brought here.

Skitz crouched nearby, watching with wild eyes and a crooked grin. "Hehe… I hope something interesting happens."

Lumberling's gaze swept across his gathered commanders. "You've fought and proven yourselves today. Now you will rise higher. Three essences, three chances. I've already chosen who will take them."

"Skarn. Takkar. Gobo2."

The three named froze, their hearts pounding in their chests. Excitement and fear mingled on their faces, for this was no small gift, it was transformation itself.

Lumberling's voice hardened. "Step forward."

The three obeyed.

One knight glared upward, eyes burning with defiance. His lips trembled as he spat blood and hissed, "Monster… you'll burn with your empire."

Another shook violently, his voice breaking into ragged pleas. "Please… don't… I beg you… spare me. I'll serve… anything, just don't…" His words crumbled into sobs.

The last was silent, his gaze hollow, filled not with fear or fury but an eerie calm hatred. He stared at Lumberling as though etching his face into memory, a curse unspoken.

Lumberling's grip tightened on his spear as the knights' voices washed over him.

But mercy had no place here.

He lowered his head slightly, eyes narrowing, his voice quiet yet carrying across the ridge.

"You fought well. But your strength will not end here, it will serve my people."

With no further hesitation, he drove his spear through their chests one by one. The steel pierced flesh and armor alike, and as the knights gasped their last breaths, essence began to unravel from their bodies.

The ground trembled faintly as he forced the essence from the Knights into his captains.

At once, their bodies convulsed.

Gobo2 screamed, clutching at his chest as if his ribs would split apart. His body swelled unnaturally, skin stretching as veins burned with raw energy. He staggered, dropping to his knees, teeth bared in a pained snarl. For a moment, it looked as though the power would tear him apart from within.

Skarn fared no better. His claws raked the ground, gouging deep trenches in the soil as his scales split and reformed, jagged plates forcing their way across his body. His roar was guttural, half agony, half defiance, as though he were wrestling the essence itself into submission.

Takkar collapsed forward, his limbs trembling violently. The crimson glow beneath his scales flared dangerously, like molten cracks in a blade about to shatter. His eyes rolled back, his breath a ragged rasp.

Lumberling's hand twitched, prepared to end the essence transfer if needed.

But then…

Gobo2 slammed his fist against the ground, forcing himself upright, his frame stabilizing as the fire settled into muscle and bone. Skarn straightened, jagged scales locking into place like forged armor, his breathing heavy. And Takkar, with a final guttural snarl, forced himself to his feet, the crimson ridges along his back blazing before dimming into a steady glow.