My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Damon remained relatively quiet ever since they began recounting their journey—how they had crossed not just one but three danger zones.

Each more dire than the last.

Well, at least Lysithara had places where weaker creatures could hide. But the truth was obvious. Had they not reached First Class by the time they entered the Whispering Forest, they would've died.

If they hadn't crossed the Duhu Mountains when they did, they would've been caught by demons… or turned to ash by Ashergon.

Damon wasn't the only one who stayed silent.

Matia sat beside him in a flowing black dress that matched her long, ink-dark hair. Taciturn as ever, she hadn't spoken a word—barely touched her food.

Come to think of it, Damon had noticed something odd.

Ever since she became a Shadow… she didn't need to eat.

By now, everyone at the table was fully absorbed in the story—noble or not.

They listened as Damon's party told how they were hunted by redcap goblins and war trolls, how they crossed the cursed peaks of the Duhu Mountains.

How they entered the Whispering Forest.

And when the tale reached the moment they were trapped in the Beldam's Nest, one of the maids gasped aloud.

She quickly clasped her hand over her mouth. But no one reprimanded her—not even the Duke.

Everyone else was too stunned.

The Duchess, Annalise, sat motionless, her eyes drawn toward the other end of the table—toward Damon.

A mere boy, and yet…

He had killed a Rank Four monster, using nothing but cunning and wit.

And he had done it just days after reaching First Class.

Even the famed Seras Blade couldn't compare to that level of achievement so soon.

After that, he had led his party into the ruined city of Lysithara… faced horrors. Triumphed.

He was the embodiment of the phrase.

Trauma creates triumph.

Of course, not every part of their journey was shared.

They left out Sylvia's possession.

There was no mention of the Unknown God, or Mugu, or Ashcroft.

But they spoke at length about Valarie.

Her wisdom. Her kindness.

Damon clenched his fist beneath the table, remembering her final words to him.

She had asked him to create something beautiful.

By the time they reached the end of their tale—the Riddle of the Keeper of False Truths—it was already late into the night.

From beginning to end, Damon had barely spoken.

He let his companions speak. Trusted them to carry the narrative.

And they did.

They never downplayed his contributions. If anything… they may have exaggerated a little.

At one point, they claimed he never once despaired.

That he was an indomitable spirit of sheer will.

But Damon had broken. Again and again.

Even now, he was just fragments—held together by willpower… and the enchantments of the Pale Crown Armor.

Silence followed as the story ended.

Then—

Softly. Faintly.

The sound of tear drops.

A maid had begun to cry. She couldn't hold it back any longer.

What these children had gone through…

What they had survived…

It was terrifying.

The Grand Duke wore a solemn expression.

"You have all experienced so much," he said quietly. "Too much… for ones so young."

Cassian nodded, his eyes distant.

"I can't attribute your survival to luck alone," he said. "Your skill played a part. But you were lucky as well…"

Annalise nodded slowly beside him.

"Most expeditions into death zones end in death," she said. "That's why we call them that. For unequipped students to survive… is a miracle."

Cassian sighed.

"I still remember my first expedition," he murmured.

"It wasn't even a death zone. Just beyond the Golden Road… and the entire group was wiped out. I was the only survivor. Death zones are far more dire."

He turned to glance at his father.

"I believe we should let them rest. It's been a long and taxing journey."

The Grand Duke nodded, agreeing silently.

Then he looked at them all.

"Your exploits were legendary," he said. "A ball will be held the day after tomorrow. I will ensure the world knows what you've accomplished."

He paused. His gaze rested on Damon.

"I swear it… on the name of Grand Duke Damien Brightwater."

Damon's fingers twitched.

The Grand Duke's next words came with a faint, almost warm smile.

"I believe your valor deserves a reward. Having accomplished so much…"

His golden eyes didn't leave Damon's.

"If there is something you want… ask this old man."

Damon bit his lip.

'If he hadn't just said his name… I might've asked for something—wealth, a title, a cure for magic circuit cancer…'

But something stopped him.

More than fatigue.

He wanted to ask a question.

"Does the name—"

The Grand Duke turned his head, attentive. But Damon caught himself.

His hand instinctively went to the pendant hidden beneath his clothes.

His mother's.

He wanted to ask about the name Rachel.

Whether the Grand Duke knew her.

Whether the locket—originally hers—meant something.

But something told him… not now.

"No… it's nothing," Damon said at last. "I merely wanted to thank you for your hospitality."

Still—he needed a reaction.

He needed a reason to dig deeper.

To snoop around.

To confirm the whispering suspicion clawing at the back of his mind.

'If he is… then what are his intentions for me?'

'If he's not… then he's just an old man, glad I brought his granddaughter home.'

Paranoia was one of the few things that had kept Damon alive.

He didn't want to consider what his instincts were telling him.

But neither did he want to be anyone's pawn.

The tale of the Grand Duke's supposedly dead daughter… hit a little too close to home.

If Lilith hadn't told me… it wouldn't matter. But now…

He smiled at the Grand Duke—one last time.

"The tamberry cakes were delicious," he said lightly. "I hadn't had anything this good since my mother, Ranar, was alive."

There.

A direct line.

And the Grand Duke flinched. Just barely.

"You're welcome," he replied. "I'd be happy to share them with you again."

His golden eyes remained calm. Too calm.

Damon recognized it. That look.

The look of a man telling a lie. He wore the same expression, too, when he was lying.

'Now I have to know.'

---

As they left the room and returned to their quarters, Damon's jaw was clenched.

'I have to contact Lilith. First thing tomorrow.'

'I need her political maneuvering to get out of here...'

'I have a feeling… the old man's not going to let me leave easily.'

He walked through the long halls, flanked by maids.

'But first… I need to confirm what I already know to be true.'

'I need irrefutable evidence.'