CHAPTER 67: CHAPTER 66

Meanwhile, on Lumberling and Skitz’s end.

The next city loomed on the horizon, another stop in their long and uncertain journey.

The city of Crowsgate crawled with informants. The spires and shingles of its rooftops seemed to bristle with ears. Lumberling and Skitz stood outside a narrow brick tower that passed for a chapel, the gold-and-white sigil of the Church of the Soothing Light hanging like a soft breath above the door.

Inside, it was quiet. Incense clung to the air. Sunlight filtered through stained glass, casting hues of lavender and gold across the floor.

Healers moved softly between rows of wounded. Murmurs. Prayers. The faint glow of power, soft light, warm and pulsing, flowed from open palms. Wounds closed. Feverish groans calmed into sleep.

Skitz stood a few paces behind, arms crossed beneath his cloak, but even he couldn’t hide the way his eyes lingered on the glowing hands of the priests. His expression, usually sharp and unreadable, softened into something else.

Awe.

And then, the flicker of something rarer.

Worry.

Not at the sight of the wounded, but at the power being wielded so gently, so freely. Power that healed, not harmed. Skitz’s jaw tightened. He’d faced monsters, on the battlefield, but this quiet light, humming with unseen force, made him instinctively reach for the hilt beneath his cloak.

Lumberling beside him watched, entranced. "Is this... magic?"

A middle-aged priest in white and pale gold robes looked up from tending to a soldier whose side had been torn open.

"No," the priest said, his voice calm and deep. "It is a blessing. A gift from the Soothing Flame God. We do not cast spells. We channel grace."

"I want to learn it," Lumberling said bluntly. "That... healing. That power."

The priest paused, studying him. "Then you must walk the path. Pray. Serve. Give yourself not to war, but to the mercy of Soothing Flame God."

"And if I do?" Lumberling asked, narrowing his eyes. "Will I gain that gift?"

The priest gave a slow shake of his head. "Even among us, few are chosen. It is not guaranteed. We do not gain power. We are entrusted with it."

A long silence stretched between them.

Lumberling imagined, for a moment, what it might be like to devour such a soul. To steal that light. To wield it for his own. But then the image of a dozen armored paladins bearing down on him, blades drawn in divine wrath, crushed the thought before it bloomed.

He exhaled. "Then... can you heal me?"

The priest turned toward him. "Where does it hurt?"

"My mind."

Another silence. Then, slowly, the priest shook his head.

"No blessing can reach where the flame does not dwell. I am sorry."

He paid them. Took the blessing regardless. Felt the warmth enter his chest, and yet the shadows in his dreams stayed.

They left quietly. The doors closed behind them with a sound like judgment.

Outside, the wind howled along the edge of the wall.

Skitz walked beside him, glancing sideways. "Not what you hoped for?"

"No," Lumberling muttered. His eyes narrowed. "They’re powerful. But they don’t know how to control it. They rely on faith. Not will."

"You thinking of becoming a priest now?" Skitz teased gently.

Lumberling didn’t answer. The desperation was beginning to show behind his stoic eyes.

.....

The golden light of afternoon filtered through stained-glass windows as Lumberling stepped through the pillared walkway of the Church of the Soothing Light. The air was thick with incense and calm murmurs. Priests drifted between rows of wounded soldiers, their hands glowing faintly as they whispered prayers of mercy and healing.

He and Skitz walked in silence.

"This place doesn’t smell like war," Skitz muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the peaceful interior.

"It smells like what war tries to destroy," Lumberling replied quietly.

They were directed to the outer garden, where recovering soldiers could rest in peace. And there, beneath the twisted roots of a vine-draped elder tree, sat a man Lumberling hadn’t seen in years.

Instructor Sorrin leaned against the railing of a stone veranda, his leg wrapped tightly in clean bandages. His silver-streaked hair was pulled back, and his weathered face relaxed as he basked in the dappled sun.

Lumberling approached slowly.

"Instructor Sorrin?"

The old knight turned his head, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face.

"Well, if it isn’t the quiet, hardworking kid who never knew when to quit, training long into the night like the world was ending." He stood with a wince, but kept his back straight. "Didn’t expect to find you chasing miracles in a chapel."

Lumberling stepped closer, offering a slight bow. "Didn’t expect to find you resting under trees."

"I was forced," Sorrin grumbled, tapping his bad leg. "Army didn’t want me bleeding out on parade." He gave Skitz a glance but asked no questions. "Friend?"

Lumberling nodded. "Trusted."

Sorrin gestured toward the bench beside him. "Then sit. Tell me why your shoulders are tighter than your armor."

They sat under the swaying branches, the quiet of the garden broken only by birdsong and wind through hanging silk. Sorrin’s gaze, ever sharp, didn’t waver.

"You’ve grown stronger," he said. "I can tell just by how you carry yourself. But your eyes... they’re different."

Lumberling exhaled slowly, staring at the cobbled path beneath his boots.

"There’s something wrong," he admitted. "Not in the body. In the mind."

Sorrin’s posture shifted slightly. He listened.

"I’ve been pushing myself harder lately. More than I should. The battles, the pressure, it’s... starting to take a toll. My thoughts feel... less my own, sometimes. Dreams. Flashes. A weight I can’t shake. I need something—anything—that can strengthen the mind."

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. And Sorrin didn’t press.

"This isn’t just for me," Lumberling added. "If I break... I’m not the only one who suffers. My people, some of them might face this too."

Sorrin was quiet for a long moment. Then, without warning, he asked:

"How old do you think I am?"

Lumberling blinked at the sudden change. "I don’t know. Maybe eighty?"

Skitz glanced up. "Old, definitely."

Sorrin chuckled. "One hundred and sixty-three."

Lumberling’s mouth opened. Skitz’s brows lifted high.

"You’re lying," Lumberling said flatly.

"Nope." Sorrin tapped his chest. "Knight One Stage."

Lumberling frowned. "That... increases your lifespan?"

"More than that." Sorrin leaned forward, voice lowering. "When you step into True Knighthood, something changes. Your body, your spirit, your mind. You don’t just get stronger. You transcend. Pain dulls. Wounds heal faster. Your will hardens."

Lumberling stared, absorbing every word.

"You think I’m still sane after all I’ve seen?" Sorrin said, his voice softer now. "I’ve buried friends. Burned enemies. Survived betrayals. But when I broke through... it was like the world got quieter."

Lumberling sat in thought.

"I never heard this," he muttered. "The manuals never mention it."

"They wouldn’t," Sorrin replied. "Those books teach sword swings. Not what happens to your soul. Most people don’t know unless they’ve seen it. Or lived it."

He looked Lumberling in the eyes.

"You want peace of mind? You want a steel spirit? Then don’t stop at strength. Become a Knight. Step into Knight Stage One."

"But that could take years."

"Maybe. But it could also be the only path that leads forward. In all my years, with everything I’ve seen, becoming a true Knight has solved more than just battles."

Sorrin exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting shut as if reaching deep into memory. Then continued.

"There was once a woman with a disease no healer could cure, not even the Church. Everyone believed she was doomed. But when she reached Knight Stage One... her body healed. A miracle. I’ve seen it happen. Wounds that wouldn’t close, minds on the brink, lifted the moment they crossed that threshold. That’s why I’m telling you, become a Knight. A real one. It might be the answer you’re looking for."

Lumberling and Skitz listened closely, their expressions marked by quiet astonishment as they absorbed the unexpected knowledge.

Lumberling closed his eyes. His mind roared with memories, shadows of dreams he couldn’t explain, instincts that weren’t his. The path forward felt distant. But now... it wasn’t without direction.

He stood, nodding.

"Thank you, Instructor. You’ve given me something real to chase."

Sorrin grinned. "Chase it faster than you chased your footwork back in the day."

Lumberling smirked, the old banter drawing a moment of lightness.

Skitz stepped forward and gave a slight bow. "We’re grateful. Truly."

As they turned to leave, Sorrin called after them:

"Lad. One more thing."

Lumberling glanced back.

"You’re already stronger than I was at your age. Don’t let the darkness convince you otherwise."

Lumberling gave a quiet nod. And then they were gone, stepping back into the streets, hearts heavier with knowledge... but finally, with a path to follow.

Instructor Sorrin had shown him a path, a distant, towering one: True Knighthood. For the first time, Lumberling understood that becoming a Knight wasn’t just about strength, it was transcendence.

A transformation of body, spirit, and mind. It was the only real lead they had, the closest thing to a solution. And with it, his resolve to reach that stage had never been stronger.

But the present still loomed heavy.

The nightmares hadn’t stopped. The weight of devoured memories pressed deeper into his mind. And the road to True Knighthood? It stretched far ahead, perhaps years, even decades. Without using his devour skill, the very power that had brought him this far, he wasn’t sure if he would ever reach it at all.