The Devouring Knight

In the three months that followed, aside from cultivation, spear drills, and the occasional quiet evening spent with Sylra and Jen, Lumberling’s nights were filled with hunts alongside Grokk, seeking monsters not just for the challenge or essence, but to fuel something deeper.

Lumberling had begun training the Ironblood Tempering Scripture, a body refinement method far more brutal than the Imperial Mindseal Meditation. If the mindseal tested the boundaries of thought and control, then the Ironblood Scripture tested flesh, marrow, and resolve. But unlike before, he had no memories to rely on, no teacher, and no clear path. He had only the fragmented scroll and his own grim resolve.

.....

The moon was high, cold silver casting eerie shadows across the village’s training ground. Lumberling stood bare-chested beneath the pale light, arms loose at his sides. Before him loomed Shade, hulking and still, each of its eight abyssal limbs twitching with silent tension.

"Again," Lumberling said.

Shade tilted its head, confused. It had struck him twenty-four times already, each blow calculated, restrained, but strong. Strong enough to bruise a normal Knight black and blue. Lumberling’s chest was already mottled with red marks and shallow cuts. His breath came in slow, meditative pulls.

One limb raised. It paused.

"I said again."

This time, the blow came without hesitation.

Whack!

The impact slammed against his ribs, making him stagger. Blood rushed to his ears. His vision narrowed, but he didn’t fall. He braced himself, drew a breath, and rotated his shoulder. "Better," he muttered, spitting blood onto the dirt. "You’re starting to understand pacing."