My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

The stag Damon rode was aggressive, just as expected from a beast trained in the Moonglades—bred for elite units that rode into battle without hesitation.

The assassins sent to kill him had been riding this beast and had chased him without fear or rest.

Naturally, they didn't shy away from war.

Damon raised his hand—and brought his sword down.

Dark Blade.

A wave of sword energy, channeled through his mana, ripped through the air. It slashed clean through an orc, cutting him in half.

[You have slain Turkan Stringthigh.]

His mastery of the Brightwater sword techniques had grown.

With that same motion, Damon waved his hand, black flames racing up his blade. The sword darkened further, then with another sweep, the flames spilled across the grass. They twisted, turned red—and ignited.

The mount of the dead orc, which had been moments from pouncing, was caught in the dark fire and incinerated.

Damon yanked the stag to the side. More orcs were coming—dozens of them. He could see their silhouettes emerging over the hilltops. Runners. Riders. And their numbers were only growing.

"You've got to be kidding me..."

Unnoticed Singularity, atop his horse, teleported—vanishing and reappearing above the nearest orc. Horse and rider came crashing down, spine and skull crushed beneath the weight.

He teleported again, now chasing after the orcs closing in on the train.

Damon stood tall on the moving stag, eyes on the blade in his hand. It had already begun to melt.

He tossed it into the shadows—into his personal shadow storage.

His gaze lifted to the massive, sloping hill ahead.

They needed to make it to the top.

With one hand free, he pointed at the orcs.

[Magic Gatling]

An explosion of magical energy burst outward as mana surged. Spheres of energy formed around his palm, rotating faster and faster until, with a thunderous chain of bangs—

Bullets of mana tore through the air.

The soft earth quaked as the magic bullets shredded the ground and anything in their path.

Damon didn't bother aiming. The spell wasn't built for precision. But with orcs this massive and grouped together—it didn't need to be.

The barrage devastated a full squad of orc riders.

They dropped from their beasts as magic bullets slammed into them.

Without hesitation, they scattered and chased.

One orc managed to leap from his dying mount, rolling across the dirt. He laughed—laughed—as he landed, and without missing a beat, jumped onto the back of another passing mount.

He roared in Orchis, voice laced with bloodlust.

"Ride! Ride! We may yet fight someone strong! No more fleeing! ORCS—WAAARRR! RAAARWWWW!"

Even from a distance, Damon could feel it. The orc's battle intent was real.

"...I'm really starting to hate that I can understand all languages."

If not for that, he wouldn't know that killing them only raised their morale.

"Damn war-loving race…"

His hand started to burn—that was the warning. He was overusing Magic Gatling.

"I need to improve this spell..."

He sat down on the stag, grabbing the reins again.

That desire to improve the magic bullet spell had lingered for a while. The spell was based on the most basic combat magic firing balls of mana at your opponent and hoping it killed them.

The problem?

High magic resistance made it worthless.

Even Magic Bullets, for all their speed and power, suffered the same flaw. He needed more destructive force. Something that could kill many at once.

"It's not like I can make it explode..." he muttered.

But the moment he paused, the orcs began their offensive.

And they weren't aiming for him.

They were targeting the train.

Damon hadn't worried at first—they didn't seem to have ranged weapons. But he'd been short-sighted.

He watched, stunned, as one orc grabbed another by the wrist—and threw him.

The airborne orc roared with laughter, chanting battle cries mid-flight.

A second later, the train jerked—terrain shift, most likely—and veered off-course just enough to avoid a direct hit.

The orc hit the ground, laughed—and lost his head. Twilight had sliced him cleanly from across the train without even shifting his stance.

"Anyone dead?" Twilight called.

Damon felt the shift—the gravity pulling him back as the train began climbing the steepest part of the hill.

"Oh no…"

The climb meant one thing the train was slowing down.

He waved to Unnoticed Singularity, who nodded and signaled to Twilight and the rest of his party.

"Mages! Archers! Aim for the ones being thrown!"

Wimpy pulled his magic guns and took aim.

But it wasn't enough.

The orcs weren't going to make this easy.

Bursts of magic and steel lit up the night—roaring through the air like thunder. Explosions. Arrows. Screams.

The train tilted sharply.

Lena, who had been standing near the edge, slipped—about to fall. Twilight caught her with one hand.

What's with you and falling off carriages?

"So..sorry.."

He looked down. The incline was too steep. If you didn't hold on, you'd fall. But if you did hold on—you couldn't fight.

"Ahh, come on—you gotta be shitting me!"

Their high-ground advantage was now a liability.

Damon saw it clearly: the slope was too steep, the train too heavy. The people inside were spinning the wheels, trying to keep it moving. The horses neighed, straining as they dragged it uphill inch by inch.

If they lost momentum, the train would slide back—and the next climb would be impossible.

Assuming they got a chance to attempt another climb.

He raised his voice.

"All adventurers—except Singularity's party—get inside and help pull the train forward!"

They didn't hesitate. Anything was better than being outside with the incoming orcs.

Damon turned to Singularity.

The young man smirked.

"We're using that?"

Damon nodded.

"Send out the Bug Protocol."

Singularity roared the signal.

"The moon is out.."

From inside the train, a silver-winged figure burst into the air. Moth-like wings shimmered behind him as he spun upward, magic gun in hand, laughing maniacally.

"Hell… yeah."

Wimpy's eyes twitched, looking at the gun in his hands.

"If you damage my baby, I'll kill you, you goddamn PEDOOOOO!!!"

Damon turned again, eyes scanning the horizon—and then his expression froze.

From this vantage point, he could finally see it.

What lay behind.

He saw it.

He saw the face of despair.