My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

There was silence. No one said anything... until the lunar moth Dred fluttered down next to Unnoticed Singularity, wings catching glimmers of sunlight like silver dust.

"Damn this guy is nuts," Dred whispered, his wings twitching as he leaned closer.

"He was just giving these people food, now he's threatening to kill them..."

Singularity smacked him on the back of the head, not hard, but sharp enough to sting.

"Shut up. He's trying to rally everyone."

Twilight closed his eyes, voice low and bitter.

"We should've let the knights arrest this bastard."

Dred scoffed under his breath. Why were they being so mean to him?

Still… It seemed Damon had no more opposition. No one wanted to be the leader of a small caravan about to encounter a warband of 738 orcs.

Well… it was obvious.

There was no winning.

The merchants trembled, eyes sweeping across the long stretch of wagons and people. The size of the caravan was its own doom.

If they tried to run, they wouldn't make it far. Too many old, too many children, too many who couldn't even hold a blade. And if they left on their own? The orcs would see that for what it was — fear, weakness.

And orcs hunted weakness.

They'd be hunted for sport.

It was written already in the dirt beneath their feet: this caravan was going to end up like so many others before it.

Destroyed.

A man in ragged clothes pulled a rust-bitten dagger from his side. His eyes were empty. He staggered toward a woman—his wife—her shoulders shaking, clutching a small pack.

He raised the dagger, tears cutting down the grime on his cheeks.

"This… this is a better fate than being caught by orcs…"

He pushed the blade down—slow, shaking—but the steel never reached her throat.

A hand caught his wrist mid-drop. Firm. Unyielding.

Damon.

He stood there, silent, his grip like a vice.

"What do you think you're doing…" His voice was calm.

The man turned to look at him, eyes wide with terror and loss. His clothes were tattered, patched and dirty. His wife fell to her knees between them, arms up in fear.

"Please, my lord, don't hurt my husband…"

The man pulled her behind him with trembling hands. He stood like a cornered dog, trembling, eyes glassy. But behind the fear was something sharper.

Hopelessness.

"I'm saving her…" he whispered hoarsely.

"You know what happens to women who get caught by them. They're not people to those things. They're toys. They're broken. Used. I'm saving her from that…"

Damon didn't look away. His eyes were cold, calm — not judging, not condemning.

"If you kill her… then what?"

The man's teeth clenched.

"Then I kill myself too. I'll join her… this isn't the first time we've seen this hell. Wh-what did we do?! When lords wage their wars, why is it always us? Us commoners who suffer?! We just wanted to live! With what little we had… in our small homes…with pur little lives.."

His voice broke, shattering into sobs.

"Why… why did our little boy have to die?! We did nothing wrong...!"

He collapsed to his knees, weeping openly in front of everyone. His sobs weren't just his—they were echoed in the faces of the gathered crowd. All of them bore the same scars, the same pain.

They were the lowliest. The poor. Not even rich commoners, just the forgotten—the expendable.

And all they had left… was hope.

And hope was fickle. Hope was a candle in the wind.

Damon stood there for a moment, breathing slowly. He didn't know how to inspire hope. That wasn't his role. He was a master of despair, of surviving misery when hope failed.

But this… this was different.

"Weakness is a sin in this world..." Damon said.

The man raised his tear-streaked face, listening.

Damon looked at him.

"But so what... You are weak. But I… I am strong. Therefore, today, you don't have to be. Because I am the one with power here. And it is my goddess-given authority… to lord over the weak."

His voice hardened.

"And I say… you will not die here today."

He had no idea what he was saying. Not really. He just knew he had to say something — anything — to keep these people from falling into that pit.

Because if Valarie Sunwarden were here, she would tell them life was cruel… but still beautiful.

Damon clenched his fist.

"I will protect you… all of you."

A merchant near the front bit his lip, pointing at Damon, desperation crackling in his voice.

"Who are you to say that?! You can't beat an army of orcs!"

Of course Damon knew that.

He wasn't strong enough to beat an army.

But that wasn't the question.

The question was — who was he?

He needed to be someone greater. Someone powerful. Someone whose name could turn fear into belief. Someone they could throw their fate to and believe it wouldn't shatter.

But that wasn't Damon Grey.

Damon Grey was a coward, a liar, a failure. He was weak. Pathetic. Spiteful. He lacked even the base dignity of a man. He had given up long ago. He had tried to die… and failed. He had failed even at death.

These people didn't need Damon Grey.

They needed something else.

He chuckled. His crown gleamed on his head.

"Who am I?"

He took a step forward. His voice rose, strong.

"I have faced horrors. I've faced the great dragon Ashergon. I have slain the Beldam of the Whispering Forest. I have killed Faceless, and hunted the Horrors."

He raised his voice higher, so all could hear.

"I've crossed the Duhu Mountains and braved the cursed boroughs of the Whispering Forest. I have fought and vanquished the abominations of Lysithara."

He stood tall now, his shadow stretching behind him like a cloak of darkness.

"I have walked the path of kings and earned the legacy of heroes…"

His crown flared, twisting into deep darkness. His armor thickened, darkened, transformed into its sovereign mantle. He stood encased in blackened plate and dark trim, halo burning on his helm like a crown of the abyss.

"I am a king without a throne."

He lifted his head.

"I am the ruler of that which is forgotten."

And then, with a whisper that moved like forgotten prophecy.

"I am… the Ascendant."

Silence.

No one moved. No one breathed.

He had stilled fear itself.

Right now, in this moment… he wasn't one of them.

He was something else.

In this world of endless war, heroes and legends were sacred. Because strength was sacred. And symbols of strength were divine.

Unnoticed Singularity smiled. This was it. The moment had come. He had taken up the mantle of legend.

But some people still doubted. Which is why Singularity decided to push harder.

"Ahh right… I knew I recognized him." He turned to the others, voice rising.

"You're the Ascendant. I saw you in a newspaper. You were standing with Grand Duke of Brightwater."

Aleph, androgynous with beautiful female features, nodded eagerly.

"I heard he killed a Rank Four Beldam with a single attack."

Twilight smiled and crossed his arms.

"He did. And only while still in first class."

Ilukras, even louder, called out over the crowd, voice almost joyful.

"I heard he's surpassed the feats of the legendary Seras Blade!"

Damon felt it.

A shift.

It was faint. But real.

The glimmer.

The glimmer of hope.

And now it was up to him to turn it into fire — and then into faith.

Perhaps…

Perhaps this was the true beginning of the legend of the Ascendant.