Somewhere in the lands of Pentaline empire.

The small town burned under the gray afternoon sky. Smoke curled above rooftops as flames devoured wooden homes, and the air was thick with the stench of ash and blood.

Bodies lay scattered across the muddy streets, men, women, and even children who had tried to run. Cries of pain and terror echoed through the air, mixing with the laughter of the Viking raiders as they pillaged everything in sight.

"Take the young ones! The rest, kill them!" a bearded Viking shouted, swinging his axe at a fleeing villager.

Several others cheered as they tore through homes, dragging out survivors, their laughter cruel and wild.

Amid the chaos, a lone figure walked down the dirt road. His cloak was dark and tattered from travel. A small bag hung by his side, and the faint glint of metal beneath the cloak showed a glimpse of armor, and a sheathed sword.

He stopped when he saw a Viking pulling a woman by her hair, the terrified villager screaming and clawing for help.

The Viking turned, sneering. "Who are you, bastard? Get lost before I gut you!" he barked in his rough Viking language, his words heavy with disdain.

The cloaked man said nothing. He simply stood there, his face shadowed beneath his hood.

The Viking spat to the side, then waved his hand. "Kill him."

A group of his men grinned and charged toward the stranger, their boots pounding against the blood-soaked dirt.

The figure didn't move.

He only raised his head slightly, his eyes, locking onto the oncoming warriors.

The first Viking barely had time to blink before a flash of steel sliced across his throat. Blood sprayed into the air, painting the dirt as his body collapsed. The cloaked figure spun with fluid precision, blade slicing through another man's chest. Two more tried to attack at once, but he stepped aside, cutting through their legs before finishing them with a single clean stroke.

When the last body hit the ground, the stranger's hood fell back, revealing his face.

The remaining Vikings froze. Their sneers turned to confusion.

"What in the gods' name…" one of them muttered.

Standing before them wasn't a man, but a monster. A kobold, tall and lean, with scales of dark bronze and eyes burning with cold intelligence.

"A monster?" another Viking spat, gripping his axe. "Kill it!"

Before anyone could move, a larger Viking stepped forward. His bare torso was covered in glowing blue tattoos, swirling like living fire across his skin. "No," he said with a grin. "Let me deal with him."

The air around him thickened as his tattoos burned brighter. Behind him, a faint image of a massive bear spirit formed, its roar shaking the air. The warrior's muscles bulged, his aura surging with power.

He charged forward, his axe coming down with terrifying force.

The kobold raised his sword to block, but the blow sent him skidding backward, dirt scattering beneath his claws.

"You're weak," the Viking sneered, his teeth bared in triumph.

But then, something strange happened.

The kobold looked down at his arm, and a faint light began to glow beneath his scales. A dark tattoo, ancient and feral, spread across his skin. A wolf's silhouette took shape behind him, its crimson eyes burning like fire.

The Viking's grin vanished.

Before he could react, the kobold's speed exploded. In a blur, his sword tore through the air, splitting the Viking's axe in half, then his body. The warrior's head rolled across the ground, his glowing tattoos fading as the bear spirit howled and disappeared.

The other Vikings stared in disbelief.

"Impossible…!" their leader stammered. "How could a monster be a Spirit-Bound!?"

The kobold turned his gaze toward him, a cold smile forming on his face. "Oh," he said in the Vikings' own tongue, his voice deep and sharp, "did you think you were the only ones who could walk the path of the Einherjar?"

Before any of them could move, he vanished from sight, reappearing in the middle of their ranks. Screams followed as his blade tore through flesh and armor alike, each strike clean, efficient and merciless.

By the time silence returned, not a single Viking stood alive.

The smell of blood still lingered in the air, but slowly, the cries of terror turned into sobs of relief. Villagers began to crawl out from hiding, behind broken carts, shattered doors, and burning homes. Some rushed to the fallen Vikings, others simply stared at the lone figure standing amidst the bodies.

One elderly man fell to his knees, clutching his chest as tears streamed down his face. "Thank you… thank you, savior," he cried, his voice shaking.

A woman holding her child joined in, bowing deeply. "Please, at least tell us your name," she said softly. "So we may remember the one who saved our lives."

The kobold glanced at them. His eyes softened. Then he turned away, pulling his hood back over his head.

"My name is Rud," he said. "A mercenary… from the Duskspire Legion."

The crowd murmured his name in awe as he walked past them, stepping through the ruined gates of the town. Behind him, the faint cries of gratitude faded with each step.

Once outside, Rud stopped on a small hill overlooking the smoke-covered horizon. He looked up at the sky, the sun barely piercing through the clouds.

"Chaos has spread everywhere now," he murmured. "I suppose it's time to return… and serve the Lord again."

He let out a quiet breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I just hope he won't be too disappointed that I still haven't reached a higher stage."

Pulling his hood tighter, he turned toward the forest. His form shimmered for a moment, then disappeared into the mist.

…..

At different corners of the empire, the roads had become graveyards of ash and blood. Smoke curled from far-off villages, and travelers moved in silence, eyes wary of every shadow. Among them was a lone figure draped in a hooded cloak.

In the western front, Nari and Jekka, now full-fledged Hobgoblin Warriors, fought alongside a small band of soldiers defending a besieged outpost. Their weapons glowed faintly with spirit energy as they cut down waves of Viking raiders. When the last of the enemy fell, the surviving soldiers stared in disbelief at the two hulking figures who stood among them, monsters, yet protectors.

Farther south, through the burning plains where Sengolio banners clashed with Pentaline troops, Drekk's heavy footsteps shook the ground. With his twin hammers, he crushed through armored cavalry, clearing a path for retreating villagers. Even the Sengolio soldiers hesitated before his raw power.

In the east, where the forests had turned black with monsters, Lorven and Kren stood guard over a small town. Black wolves with glowing red eyes lunged from the trees, but their blades sliced them down faster than the beasts could roar. Behind them, frightened families prayed in silence as the two warriors stood firm, protecting them through the night.

Thurgan, Kren, Drekk, Lorven, and the rest, those Lumberling had once sent out to walk the path of the Einherjar, had spread far and wide through the Pentaline Empire. But now that chaos gripped the land, each one felt the same pull in their hearts. The time to return had come.

Many of them passed through villages torn apart by battle. Some helped the wounded, others fought to protect those still alive. From every direction, the same sight awaited them, burned homes, fallen soldiers, and terrified families fleeing in all directions.

No place in the empire was truly safe. If not attacked by Sengolio forces or mages, then the Vikings would come to pillage what was left. But now, something far worse had begun to stir.

From the forests and swamps, monsters had started emerging, wolves with blackened hides, ogres with blood-red eyes, bears, even goblin-like beasts twisted beyond recognition. They attacked in swarms, tearing through small towns and capturing people. Reports spoke of humans being drained of blood, their bodies left hollow and pale.

They weren't strong, any True Knight could deal with them, but they came in overwhelming numbers. Too many and too often.

…..

Thurgan stood on a muddy road, his axe resting on his shoulder as he stared at the remains of a once-lively village. Monster corpses lay scattered, and a few survivors hid behind broken carts, trembling.

He wiped the blood from his jaw and looked toward the dark treeline. "These monsters… they're not supposed to come this far out. Why are they attacking humans without any reasons?" he muttered. His eyes narrowed as another distant roar echoed through the hills.

"I have to let the Lord know about this," Thurgan said, tightening his grip on the axe. "If this keeps up, the goblin village might be in danger."

With that, he turned toward the horizon, the flames behind him reflecting off his armor as he began his journey home.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.