My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

He wasn't a man known for taking things lying down. He wasn't smart enough to let someone in power trample him while he endured it in silence.

Sure, maybe it was pathetic to ignore the smart option just so he could bare his teeth and fire back — and still lose anyway.

But that was who he was, and Damon Grey didn't want to forget it.

Weak, but egotistical. Very much so as some would claim.

Why wait until you had power to be arrogant, when you could be the most arrogant ant the world had ever seen?

Why treat people stronger than you like gods, when you could act like they were just the supporting cast in your story?

Wasn't that short moment of ego, before it all came crashing down, the most glorious feeling?

Maybe you didn't win. Maybe you didn't even survive. But you endured. You became a tiny scar burned into their memory. They would remember the day an ant spat on them.

Wasn't that worth more than bowing your head and conforming?

The nail that sticks out gets hammered in — but at least it stuck out. Better that than being one of the cowardly nails that never even tried.

How could you know your limits if you just gave up and accepted things?

That was simply the core of Damon Grey. Whether it was thugs, bullies, or an entire nation's military.

So what if the rulers of the Moon Glades wanted him dead?

He was pissed now, and he had a few words.

Wasn't it their daughter who caught feelings for him? It wasn't even his fault; maybe he was a little bit of a Chad and very handsome. Maybe he was smooth, too.

But couldn't they see it wasn't his fault?

"I'm the victim here dammit."

If he could have a heart-to-heart with the white ruler, he would tell him all this violence was unnecessary. He could just pay Damon off; a few billion zeni was nothing to the White ruler, and Damon would never talk to Sylvia again.

Screw true love or forbidden love. Money was everything.

Too bad those people weren't here.

Only the assassins they'd sent.

Damon glanced at the hole in the tree where an arrow had pierced straight through.

He sighed.

"Geez… this is annoying…"

It was annoying because there were a lot of them — all third-class, all heavily armed, well-trained, and a cut above the ones from the Charakata family.

These guys were battle-hardened. They weren't some glorified bodyguards. They'd seen their fair share of fights — and deaths.

"Hah… I knew it. The moment I ranked up, powerful enemies would become cabbages on the roadside."

He deftly dodged another arrow aimed at his head. This time, the entire tree exploded.

The squirrel and raven scrambled for cover inside his hood.

No… they weren't cabbages. It just meant he'd pissed off someone very powerful.

Honestly, sending this many third-class assassins after a seventeen-year-old who had only just reached second class — before even refining his second-class body — was overkill.

"Not that it'd help much anyway…"

He saw them — figures gliding between the trees, faster than their ranks suggested. They were farther than they seemed, too. Damon stood in an open field. The forest? More than nine kilometers away.

They were firing from that far?

If not for Danger Sense, he would've been sniped already.

The choice was simple — fight or flight.

If he fought, it'd be a bloodbath, one he wasn't sure he could win. They weren't weak. Their numbers were overwhelming. With Matia's help, maybe they could survive… but it'd mean killing them all. No holding back.

And if that happened… he'd have to explain to Sylvia that he'd killed her people.

At one point in his life, he might not have cared. But now? Somehow, he didn't want to hurt her.

"Since when did I start caring how others felt?"

Then there was flight — the safer option.

They might chase him for days, but catching him wasn't easy.

He looked up.

A glowing cloud was falling.

Except it wasn't a cloud.

Arrows. Hundreds of them, raining down at insane speed.

Yeah… flight was definitely the best option.

He turned on his heel, stepped into a shadow, and vanished.

He reappeared four kilometers away, feeling his shadow energy drain hard from the distance. Without hesitating, he crushed and devoured one of the corpses stored in his shadow, letting the energy flood back into him.

But they were already closing in.

He didn't even see them — only felt the sudden spike of danger.

He moved to dodge, but it was too fast.

An arrow struck his arm, aimed right for his heart.

He twisted at the last moment, slowed it with his hand, and phased part of his body into shadow, letting the arrow pass through.

He teleported again, gritting his teeth as blood pooled from the wound.

Without pause, he reached into his shadow storage and grabbed one of the potions he'd looted from Quick Hand. He poured it over his shattered gauntlet and torn flesh.

The wound sealed — slowly, but enough.

He flexed his arm, noting the faint crescent-shaped mark burned onto his skin.

A tattoo? No. Something worse.

He didn't bother trying to wipe it off.

Instead, he activated Appraisal.

[Crescent Mark]

The Moon Death Elves are cold and cunning. They know no fear. They hunt without end.

The crescent mark they place on a target will act as a beacon until either the one marked or the marker is dead — or the prey has escaped its range.

Death will likely come first.

Damon scoffed.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He stared over the horizon.

Yeah… this wasn't good. One of them had marked him.

Teleporting wouldn't help — they'd find him.

But if he stayed, they'd swarm him.

The longer he waited, the more likely someone in the fourth class would join them.

Not that they thought they needed it.

A nation's top assassination unit against a mere student.

Damon sighed.

"Sorry, Sylvia… I might have to kill a few of your people."

He looked up at the sky.

Griffins.

Flying in with the rising sun.

The odds were definitely not in his favor.

He stepped into the shadows once more.

"On second thought… I've had enough bloodshed for one day."