"Holy mother—shit, I almost died there."
Cursing his luck, Lumberling turned toward the enemy spearman, still barely alive, his breath ragged and fading fast.
"Woah... I knew Uncle Drake was strong, but this strong? That's beyond my expectations."
'Is he a superhuman?'
Lumberling met the spearman's pleading eyes—desperate, begging for mercy. But survival demanded more than pity. With gritted teeth, he drove his spear through the man's heart.
Killing still didn't come naturally. Lumberling knew he had to kill to survive, but the intimacy of close combat made it far more unsettling than picking someone off from afar with an arrow. With the bow, the enemy never looked him in the eyes.
Steadying his breath, he watched as a wisp of purple-like smoke rose from the spearman's corpse and flowed into his body. His bleeding shoulder throbbed—and then, slowly, began to close.
Then came the voice.
(You have devoured the Spearman Soldier's essence. 20 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Spearman Soldier's memories and experiences.)
(The spear isn't meant to be swung like that! Fix your posture and follow the technique taught to us by the Sengolio Empire.)
"Mmm...?"
A jolt of pain struck his temples as fragmented memories surged into his mind. He saw through the eyes of the spearman—repetitive drills, training formations, thrusts practiced under a stern instructor. Then, instinctively, Lumberling grabbed the dead man's spear and adjusted his grip. His stance shifted naturally, echoing what he had just seen.
(Passive Skill: Beginner Spearmanship Lv0 has been learned.)
His eyes widened.
He had learned a skill—real skill—by absorbing the essence. This was a game-changer. He hadn't gained anything from killing the previous soldiers, but this spearman was clearly more experienced. The memory fragments from the others had been too faint or broken to form a skill.
'I need more samples to confirm this theory...'
Realizing the true potential of his 'cheat,' Lumberling quickly withdrew to the rear, avoiding further entanglement.
The battlefield raged on. Blood and steel danced across muddy ground. Orders were shouted, men screamed, and the dead piled up like discarded husks. Lumberling fired his bow sparingly now, unwilling to repeat his earlier recklessness.
Lying prone in the tall grass, he scanned the chaos. The tide had turned against them—his side was dwindling while the enemy seemed endless.
'Huff... huff... I'm exhausted. When are the reinforcements coming...?'
Sweat trickled down his brow. His arms felt heavy.
Suddenly—movement behind him. A blade whooshed toward his neck.
"You all come at me already!"
He twisted, picked up his spear, and thrust upward with all the strength he could muster. The spear sank into the enemy's heart. Purple smoke spiraled into him again, and his vision blurred for a moment as another wave of essence was absorbed.
Just then, a firm hand gripped his shoulder.
Lumberling spun, ready to strike—then stopped.
"Uncle Drake?"
He blinked himself out of the frenzy, suddenly grounded.
"We need to retreat," Drake said grimly, pointing at yet more enemy soldiers flooding in.
"Holy crap! They still have reinforcements? We're really screwed."
Some soldiers had already begun fleeing. Without a word, Lumberling followed Uncle Drake as they joined the retreat.
'There must have been hundreds of us... yet we never had a chance. Their numbers... they must be ten times ours.'
Forget analysis. Now was the time to run.
They sprinted toward the forest. By nightfall, their group had dwindled to barely a hundred—every man exhausted after hours of fighting and fleeing.
"Uncle Drake, where are we going?" Lumberling asked, panting hard.
"To Ryazan Fortress," Drake replied.
"Isn't that where we entered the Sengolio border from?"
"Yeah, that one."
Uncle Drake then gave a brief overview of the land. The Pentaline and Sengolio Empires were divided by an enormous mountain range—5 kilometers tall in some places, nearly impassable except through five official gateways, each fortified.
Three were controlled by Sengolio. Two belonged to Pentaline. Ryazan Fortress, their destination, was the northernmost Pentaline gate.
Heading south would lead to the second fortress, but it was too far—and they were deep in enemy territory. No sane man would risk staying longer than necessary. The hatred between the two empires ran deep, drilled into citizens since birth.
Oddly, Lumberling had never received such teachings—not in his inherited memories, at least. Perhaps his predecessor's village was too remote.
"It'll take a month to reach the fortress," Drake said. "Don't worry too much. You did well today. Get some rest. We move out again tomorrow."
The soldiers quietly pulled out what rations they had. Morale was low.
Lumberling leaned against a tree, heart heavy but hopeful. He remembered the red light that had once killed him—it now lived within him. It had said a portion of someone's fallen skill had fused into his soul. Why or how, he didn't know. But he'd use it.
He called out mentally—and his status window appeared.
Name: Lumberling
Race: Human
Age: 17
Level: 0
Essence Points: 55/110
Power: 26
Passive Skills:
Essence Devour – Automatically devours the essence of those you kill. Absorbs a portion of their special experiences and memories.
Beginner Spearmanship Lv0 (9/1000)
That was all it showed. He tried speaking to the system—nothing. It didn't respond. There was no inventory, no shop, just a status display.
Still, the essence point counter worked like EXP. Even without leveling up, he felt stronger every time he devoured someone's essence. It wasn't just his body—something deeper within him was growing. Something important.
He theorized the essence points he gained were proportional to his target's strength. Also, the skill only triggered if he dealt the killing blow—dead bodies alone did nothing.
The biggest boon, however, was gaining skills through devouring.
'Can I grow infinitely...?'
Excitement swelled in his chest. In the stories he'd read in his past life, such powers always came with purpose—and consequences. Some grand destiny. But so far, no quests had appeared. No mysterious voice had declared him "Chosen."
That... was fine with him.
The next morning, rain began to fall, but they marched on regardless.
"Uncle Drake," Lumberling asked, "how did you kill that spearman so easily? That guy was crushing others like ants. Are you... superhuman?"
Drake gave him a look.
"Superhuman? Haven't you heard of Knights?"
"Knights?"
Drake chuckled. "They're the pillars of our empire. Knights possess power beyond mortal limits. A true knight can kill thousands single-handedly. Even nobles bow to high-ranking knights."
"Amazing! Are you a knight?"
Drake shook his head. "No. I once dreamed of becoming one, but I hit my limit."
"Then how are you so strong?"
"There are five knight stages, from Knight-1 to Knight-5. But before you even become a knight, you have to pass three stages: Knight Page, Squire—or Apprentice—and Quasi-Knight. Only after that can you absorb mana and be recognized."
Lumberling leaned in, wide-eyed. "What stage are you at?"
"I'm a Knight Page," Drake said, a touch of pride in his voice.
"Woah! Do you think I can become a knight, too?"
"Maybe. But only 1 in 10,000 ever feels mana. And even then, most stay stuck where I am—forever."
Still, Lumberling bowed deeply. "Uncle Drake, will you teach me the path of knighthood?"
Drake raised a brow. "It's not secret knowledge. Anyone can learn it—if they're willing to pay. But learning it and achieving it... are two very different things."
"Thank you, Uncle Drake. I'll repay you someday."
"Just buy me a drink when this war's over," Drake laughed. "But first—we survive."
Not long after, a scout cried out, "Enemies ahead!"
"How many?" the commander asked.
"Too far to tell, but at least a hundred—and they have horses!"
"Prepare for battle!" the commander barked.
While panic rippled through the troops, Lumberling quietly climbed the tallest tree nearby. He would only join the battle if it turned favorable—otherwise, he'd snipe from safety.
As the clash began, he loosed arrow after arrow, felling four enemies before his quiver emptied. Then he dropped the bow, gripped his spear, and leapt into the fray.
He killed five more soldiers in close combat. His movements felt sharper—his technique cleaner. His skill had improved.
Then, he spotted an enemy soldier limping away.
'Easy prey.'
He chased the wounded man, but the soldier suddenly dashed ahead with unexpected speed. Startled, Lumberling still gave pursuit and eventually cornered him. His spear struck true.
(You have devoured the Infantry Soldier's essence. 15 essence absorbed. Absorbing a portion of the Infantry Soldier's memories and experiences.)
("I'm the fastest guy in the squad! I'm outta here—goodbye, suckers!" – Sengolio Soldier)
(Active Skill: Beginner Sprint Lv0 has been learned.)
(Your level has increased to Lv1.)
Lumberling's heart thudded.
A new skill—and a level up.
His body felt lighter. Stronger. Compared to when he first awoke in this world, his strength had nearly doubled.
He clenched his fist and whispered:
"…I've struck gold."