My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Over the distant horizon—across the hills and sweeping green plains—glowed the flicker of flames. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, didn't need the light to see it.

That's why he saw what he saw.

Honestly, the ability to see in the dark was great, but in some places, it was best to not see at all; a good example would be the horrors of the duhu mountains.

Though this time, it was nothing that macabre; it was the mundane type of horror.

Orcs. Marching. Armed to the teeth. Chanting battle cries.

Massive beasts the size of city walls dragged forward wooden platforms and siege weapons. Towering creatures that looked like twisted gorillas with tusks and four arms—walking bulldozers bred to tear down stone walls.

Orc shamans clad in robes and dangling bead collars sang strange songs and wove spells, their magic rising in threads of green and red through the night air.

The march of the orcs was unimpeded. These hills were their home. They moved swiftly—like they belonged to the land.

From where he stood, Damon's eyes locked onto a large orc sitting on a throne of bones, the skeletal remains of some beast long dead. The throne was lashed onto a platform pulled by two of those monstrous siege beasts.

His skin prickled.

Danger.

That orc warlord—the one on the bone throne—was staring at him.

"I suppose that's the war chief that united them," Damon muttered.

The main force of the orcs had arrived.

He glanced behind—up the hill, where the train had just barely crested the summit. Even with all the fighters and defensive spells, the carts were battered.

"What now…?" Twilight appeared at Damon's side.

Damon stared down at the enemy massing below. Hundreds, if not more. He closed his eyes, drawing his bow.

"Now… we defend."

His gaze flicked toward the carts.

"Archers and mages—get ready. Whatever happens, do not let them up this hill."

He pointed toward the front cart.

"Someone get me Aleph. I need him to do a little more work."

Inside the cart, Aleph heard his name and groaned, licking his dry, cracked lips.

"That demon's gonna work me to death… this is why I hate orphans—horrible work ethics…"

He didn't get to finish his grumbling.

Saint grabbed him by the collar and hurled him out of the train. He was passed along from adventurer to adventurer like a sack of bricks until the Lunar Moth Dred tossed him down at Damon's feet.

"Here he is! Looking good as new—after all that rest." Dred grinned.

Damon looked down at the pale-faced elf. Androgynous. Pretty enough to give any woman a run for her money.

His skin was bone dry, lips parched, eyes red and swollen from exhaustion. Deep black circles shadowed his face.

Aleph met Damon's gaze, pleading.

"I've contributed enough… cough… cough… I don't have any mana left—I don't have any mana left…"

Damon gave him a sad, sympathetic smile.

"I understand. You've worked hard."

Hope bloomed in Aleph's eyes—until Damon added:

"If you can breathe, you can work."

He handed small vials of recovery potions to Dred.

"Make sure he takes them."

Dred cackled with glee, clutching the helpless elf.

"Hehehe, I told you not to go for the production build. Now look at you. Who's helpless now, orphan hater…"

Aleph tried to scream, thrashing.

"GET OFF ME, PEDO! I'M STRAIGHT! AND OVER THE AGE YOU LIKE!"

No one helped. They just watched—shaking their heads.

Damon didn't care much for their antics. If anything, he allowed it. That kind of bravado in the face of danger? It gave the illusion of control. And that illusion kept people calm.

Especially now—with the odds against them laid bare.

Soon enough, a few hours passed, and the orcs were closing in.

The sun was rising. Dawn's light crept up the hill, illuminating the enemy below.

Aleph's only job was to create spike barriers and conjure a blockade in the orcs' path. He got to work, still cursing, still being pinned down every now and then by Dred forcing another potion into his mouth.

Unnoticed Singularity stepped up beside Damon.

"Even with all this," he said calmly, "we'll still lose. You know that, right?"

He pointed down the hill at the three orc warbands—each waiting for their full force to gather at the base.

"Orcs aren't the brightest race—but they're smart where it matters. In battle."

Damon nodded. "I'm counting on that. Orcs respect strength."

Unnoticed Singularity narrowed his eyes. "How long until the knights arrive? And if they do… will it even matter?"

Damon's expression remained cool.

"They won't. They're just bait."

At that moment, two shadows soared in from the sky—one landed on each shoulder.

A raven and a red squirrel.

They cawed and squealed, feeding him the information he'd sent them to gather.

Damon chuckled, glancing at Singularity.

"Looks like the knights aren't far off. They're coming in with about two hundred men."

Singularity's smile turned cold.

"That's not enough to win. Especially not in open field. Only fools take orcs head-on like that."

Damon agreed.

"Only fools."

"Birds die for food, and men die for wealth."

They were probably confident they could rob the orcs and flee with the spoils. That kind of arrogance would get them killed.

Still—it was good they came.

If Damon had told them the orcs were gathered in full strength, they would've hidden behind their fortress walls and let this caravan die.

But instead, he told them the orcs had treasure—loot.

And that brought them out to earn glory.

The sun's rays finally crested the hill, lighting up the field and reflecting off bloodied armor and scorched banners.

He heard voices behind him—uneasy murmurs from the caravan.

Damon's grip on the sword tightened. He wasn't afraid—but this many orcs meant something had gone wrong deeper in the wilds.

Someone or something let this happen.

He raised his sword, its edge catching the morning light.

"The knights are coming," he shouted. "We only need to hold until noon!"

A cheer broke out across the hilltop.

At the same time—down at the bottom of the slope—the orc war chief raised his arm and roared in guttural Orcish:

"Attack. Kill the men. Enslave the children. Bring me their leader's head!"

The orcs roared as one—and charged.

Damon's lips curved into a cold smile.