CHAPTER 73: CHAPTER 72: THE FIRST GUARDIAN AND THE FINAL PROMISE

The group lingered near the edge of the training grounds, the captains gathering loosely in a half-circle.

"I’ve been reviewing the unit reports," Aren said. "We’ve pushed back three beast waves, held the southern pass, and completed wall reinforcements. Morale’s high."

"Boars are getting harder to manage," Skarn added, arms crossed. "Might need better stables soon. Those nine, what’re we calling them, the Warboars? They’re eating three times the normal feed."

"I’ll draw up new paddock plans," Old Man Dan offered. "We’ve got the timber stockpiled."

"And what about the scouts?" Lumberling asked.

"Zarn’s training them off-site," said Takkar. "New recruits aren’t ready to meet you yet. He’s planning a forest-wide map expansion."

Lumberling nodded slowly. Each voice, each update, it was proof that the machine was running. Even without him.

"You’ve all done well," he said again, simply.

They stood taller at those words.

Lumberling’s gaze shifted past the captains, scanning the faces, then settled with a faint furrow in his brow.

"What about Uncle Drake’s village?" he asked. "How’s he been?"

The captains exchanged a glance, and it was Skitz who stepped forward, arms crossed and fangs flashing in a confident smirk.

"A few monsters tried creeping near the outer woods a couple months ago," Skitz said. "Big ones. Smelled like they came from the west ridge."

"How close?"

"Too close for comfort," Skitz replied, then grinned wider. "But don’t worry, Boss. I paid them a little visit. Left the forest with fewer teeth that day."

Gobo1 chuckled. "We heard they didn’t even make it to the first snare line."

"Of course not," Skitz said with mock offense. "Can’t let our favorite grumpy uncle die of stress while you’re off napping under a tree, can we?"

Lumberling allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing just a little.

"Good," he said. "He deserves peace."

Skitz gave a small, sincere nod.

"And we’ll make sure he keeps it."

Then Skitz clapped his hands.

"Well then! This calls for a celebration!" the goblin declared with a toothy grin. "Tonight, we feast again!"

Gobo1 whooped. Gobo2 nearly tripped on excitement. Even Grokk let out a pleased rumble.

And for the first time in eight months, Lumberling didn’t feel like an outsider in his own village.

He smiled.

And this time, it wasn’t forced.

As night fell, the village transformed.

Torches lined the dirt paths, casting warm flickers across tents and timber walls. The central square had been cleared, and long tables overflowed with roasted meat, fire-grilled roots, wild herbs, and freshly baked flatbread. Goblins and kobolds filled the space, their laughter rising in waves, music played on bone-flutes and hollowed drums pulsing in rhythm with the beating hearts of hundreds.

The whole village had gathered.

Lumberling stood at the edge of the firelight, watching as his people, his soldiers, hunters, craftsmen, and children, rejoiced not just in his return, but in their survival.

Then the vice captains arrived.

Towering among them was Gorrak, the first to evolve into a Hobgoblin Warrior. His body was thick with scar-tissue and pride, his eyes scanning the crowd like a true veteran. Flanking him were Karnark and Zarn, both now Kobold Berserkers, their scales roughened, their claws thicker, eyes wild but focused.

A surprise came next.

Rogar, a newly-evolved hobgoblin with a deep crimson mane and calm, serious eyes, stood at Aren’s side, now officially his vice captain. Rogar nodded respectfully toward Lumberling, who returned the gesture with equal weight.

Then came the elite unit.

What had once been a scattered handful of gifted fighters was now a regiment.

Thirteen hobgoblins had grown to nineteen. The elite kobolds, once thirteen, were now twenty-three. Together, the Elite Squad now numbered thirty-six, standing at attention near the central fire, armor gleaming, expressions solemn and proud.

Even the golden eagles had increased, four more had been tamed and trained, bringing their number to nine, their wings folded silently on perches, eyes sharp as they watched the festivities.

"You’ve all grown," Lumberling said as he approached the group. Skitz, Krivex, Aren, and the others surrounded him, drinks in hand, laughter still lingering on their breath.

"While you were finding yourself," Skitz grinned, "we found a bit of strength too."

"And structure," Aren added, eyes scanning the elite formation. "The training systems we built are working."

"That’s because you trusted us with responsibility," Krivex said. "And we didn’t want to disappoint you."

Lumberling smiled softly, nodding at each of them.

They had built more than a village.

They had built a force.

A people with discipline, loyalty, and purpose.

He didn’t speak long that night. He didn’t need to. His presence, his return, was enough.

So he drank with them. Ate with them. Listened to stories, shared small smiles, and let the weight in his heart melt into warmth.

....,

The sun rose behind the eastern ridge, spilling pale gold across the village walls.

It was quiet. Still.

No voices whispered in his head.

No urges pulled at his gut.

Just silence, and clarity.

It was a good day.

Lumberling walked along the outer wall, boots tapping against smoothed stone. Most of the village still slept, recovering from the night’s celebration.

But one figure stood watch.

Grokk.

Massive, unmoving. Like a boulder carved into armor and discipline. He stood atop the wall, facing outward, axe grounded beside him. The breeze tousled his thick hair, but he didn’t waver.

Lumberling approached slowly.

"You really are fulfilling your duty well," he said.

Grokk didn’t flinch. He turned slightly, nodded once.

"My Lord. It is good to see you returned to yourself again."

Lumberling studied him a moment, then stepped forward, reaching up.

His hand hovered over the collar.

Not because it was difficult, but because it felt like closing a Chapter. A vow finally fulfilled.

This collar wasn’t just iron.

It was history. Regret. A symbol of survival bought at the cost of freedom.

And now... letting go meant trusting Grokk not as a tool, but as a person.

With a breath, he clicked the latch.

Click.

The collar came loose in his palm, heavier than he remembered.

"I heard from Skitz and Krivex," he said. "You’ve fulfilled your duties without fail. Guarded the village. Obeyed every order. I should’ve removed this a long time ago... I’m sorry it took me this long to keep that promise."

Grokk looked at the collar, then at him.

He didn’t kneel. He didn’t cheer.

He simply straightened further.

"I accepted it without complaint. Because I trusted your word. And now, you’ve honored it."

Lumberling nodded, silent.

"Would you like to become a captain now?" he asked after a moment. "You’ve earned it."

Grokk paused.

Then shook his head.

"No, my Lord."

"I don’t need a title. I don’t need to command. I want only one thing.

To guard this place. To protect what we’ve built. That is enough."

Lumberling stared at him for a while. Then placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Very well. Then from this day forward, you are no longer my servant."

"You are the First Guardian of this village. Its shield."

Grokk’s chest rose with pride, but he said nothing more.

He turned back toward the forest, axe in hand, as the wind swept past them both.

And Lumberling walked on, the collar no longer a chain, but a symbol of a bond fulfilled.

.....

The Next Morning

The sun was high when Lumberling stepped into the training grounds, his footsteps steady, eyes calm.

Dozens of soldiers stood waiting—goblins, kobolds, a few hobgoblins, and even the mounted boar riders. Around them, the captains had assembled: Krivex, Aren, Skitz, Takkar, Gobo1, Gobo2, Vakk, Skarn, and off to the side, looming with quiet presence, stood Grokk.

All eyes turned as he stepped into the center.

"You’ve all been training hard," Lumberling began, voice firm but warm. "Sparring. Drills. Tactics. Weapons. That’s good. But today... I’m going to teach you a new technique. Something that will help you grow even stronger."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"And it’s very simple," he continued. "You just have to sit. Close your eyes. And stay in silence."

Some of the soldiers blinked. A few glanced at each other, confused.

"Like what you did under the tree?" Krivex asked, arms folded.

"Exactly," Lumberling nodded. "It’s called meditation."

"Meditation?" Aren echoed, frowning. "You’re saying sitting and doing nothing can make us stronger?"

Lumberling smiled faintly. "A good question. Most think power only comes from lifting, fighting, bleeding. But let me ask, does intelligence make you strong?"

"Of course!" Krivex replied quickly, puffing his chest. "Just look at me."

That earned a few groans and eye-rolls from the others.

"Right," Lumberling chuckled. "Intelligence. Discipline. Awareness. All of that is power. Meditation trains the mind, not the body. It teaches focus, control, calm in chaos. You learn to see your thoughts, your instincts, your fear. You don’t fight them. You understand them."

The crowd was quiet now, uncertain but listening.

Then Lumberling added, letting the word drop slowly:

"And I believe... that through this, some of you may even evolve."

That changed everything.

The air shifted. Postures straightened. Evolution, the dream of every monster, was no longer just tied to combat or blood. This was something new. Something... different.

"Alright!" Gobo2 said, dropping to the ground eagerly. "Let’s do the sleepy thingy!"

"It’s not sleeping," Lumberling muttered. "But close enough."

.....

The soldiers sat in uneven rows. Some cross-legged, others kneeling. A few restless ones squatted awkwardly, their eyes twitching open every few seconds.

Lumberling stood in front of them like a quiet mountain.

"Close your eyes," he said calmly. "Breathe slowly. Don’t fight your thoughts. Don’t chase them. Just watch. Listen. Be still."

Some followed at once. Others peeked through one eye.

Within a minute, the chaos began.

"I think I’m doing it!" Gobo1 whispered.

"Shut up, I’m trying to hear my thoughts!" Gobo2 snapped.

"My leg itches."

"Is this what dying feels like?"

"Boss, I hear things in my head, is that normal? Like... voices?"

Lumberling opened one eye and sighed. Then sat down with them.

"Listen," he said gently. "Your mind is used to noise. Violence. Hunger. You’ve never listened to yourself before, have you?"

They shook their heads. Of course not.

"That’s why this is hard. But that’s also why it matters."

He took a slow breath, audible and steady.

"Breathe with me."

They followed, at first clumsily, but then with more rhythm.

"Inhale... Exhale..."

The wind rustled through the trees. A bird called in the distance.

Gradually, the noise died down.

Minutes passed.

Some soldiers twitched. Some scratched. Others fought the urge to fidget or open their eyes. But a few, just a few, began to slip into that stillness. Their breathing slowed. Their brows relaxed.

Even Krivex, who grumbled early on, now sat like a stone, tense but focused.

Grokk, ever silent, meditated with stillness that rivaled the trees.

Lumberling opened one eye and smiled faintly.

It wasn’t perfect. It was messy. Unsteady.

But it was a beginning.