My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Mentally breaking an enemy was a dishonorable way of fighting… however, Damon prided himself on having no pride.

If anything, he had given Iron a handicap—fighting him in his own field of specialization.

Still, Damon didn't have time to be surprised. Iron was truly a rare specimen—an orc that was no longer a monster. The lack of a mana core simply meant that, based on technicalities, he was a member of the goddess races.

He met every requirement: a species created by the goddess, possessing human-level intelligence, and—more importantly—the absence of a mana core.

However, to Iron, this was a mark of shame. Like all orcs, he seemed proud of their monstrous nature. Yet he alone was different.

An outcast who had achieved a different kind of evolution.

Damon wasn't surprised. Iron wasn't the first. There was the Wendigo in the Evil Forest who turned into a woman… and was apparently still out to kill him.

He didn't quite know how relevant that was now, but it was clear—the Unknown God was part of the reason.

The world of Aetherus was pushing itself to evolve faster, sensing an impending threat.

'This is truly the era he makes his final move…'

Damon weakly glanced at Unnoticed Singularity.

That outsider was still trying to leave this world… likely because he suspected the Unknown God would destroy the world if it served his goal.

Iron raised his head, his deep brown eyes settling on Damon's bleeding form.

The orcs and the people of the caravan remained still, watching in a tense silence as the aftermath was about to be decided.

Damon's gaze lingered on the orc. The sun had yet to reach its highest point… and unfortunately, the knights had not yet arrived.

'Useless.'

You really couldn't trust the government to do anything right.

"I gave you two options… I'll let you choose your fate."

Iron breathed heavily, blood dripping freely from the gash on his temple.

Give us free passage… or choose a life of servitude.

A tense silence followed as the orcs turned to Iron, waiting for his decision.

He seemed to be contemplating something—something that made Damon uneasy.

He could very easily order the horde to attack.

All Damon wanted was safe passage for the caravan.

If the orcs still wanted a fight, they could fight the knights on their way here.

"We orcs worship strength… you have defeated me… with treachery…"

Damon felt his heart sink.

Yeah… that was not a good sign. He had sort of blackmailed Iron… and mentally pressured him.

"You are cunning and treacherous… smarter than orc… but very bold and strong… you fight for weak who follow you…"

Damon's eyes locked on the towering eight-foot orc as he slowly stood up, blood running down his face, his expression grim… yet oddly calm.

His eyes didn't waver from Damon.

"I admit… Iron does not compare… Iron would have lost if you had armor and magic…"

Damon didn't like where this was going.

He could feel the agitation building in the horde.

They were about to get aggressive.

Iron raised his hand slowly…

"You have all that Iron lacks… all that Iron cannot give orc…"

Then, before anyone could fully process it, he fell to one knee.

"Orc choose servitude… we only ask… you treat orc fairly…"

The war chiefs looked at each other, uncertain—then, one by one, they followed. Slowly lowering themselves in submission… bowing to the only law they truly respected.

The law of strength.

Damon's eye twitched.

'Wha… what the actual… huh…?'

This… this was not what he had been expecting.

Who in their right mind would choose to enslave their entire race… when they could have chosen the lesser option?

He stared at Iron in disbelief.

"You do realize… you could have just let us pass…"

The orc nodded, blood dripping steadily to the ground from his jaw.

"Iron know… but Iron also know when Iron is not enough… I united all orc not to wage war… to survive… orc will follow whoever Iron follow…"

Damon narrowed his gaze, turning to look in the direction the orcs had come from.

Survive what, exactly?

Were they fleeing from something?

Come to think of it… didn't the first wave of orcs say something about no more fleeing or something along those lines?

At the time, he'd been under the impression they were telling the caravan not to run.

Had he been wrong?

He reached into his pouch, pulling out a vial of healing potion.

Having wiped out so many orcs with the Staff of Carnage, he'd gotten a load of stat points, potions, and even miscellaneous items—packed meat, bottled drinks, and the like.

He tossed one potion to Iron, then downed the other himself.

The bruises and bleeding vanished in an instant—his battered body healing like paper being smoothed by an invisible hand.

Iron held the vial in his hand, marveling at the swirling golden liquid like it was a divine gift. His eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Damon gave him a sidelong glance.

"Drink it."

Iron nodded solemnly and drank the potion.

Watching the huge orc down the contents, Damon felt a pang of uncertainty rise in his chest.

He hadn't expected this.

The orcs… they wanted to be his minions?

It wasn't normal.

Orcs didn't follow humans.

They followed demons—served them willingly. Most intelligent monster races did.

They never agreed to serve humans.

'Don't tell me this bastard thinks there's something demonic about me…'

Damon wasn't really that demonic.

He was just a little insane… had questionable morals… occasionally ate humans… offered their souls to the demon god… conspired to take down the world's foremost religious institution… all while acting like a decent person.

Nothing demonic about that.

Still, he was curious.

"Where were you planning to go? You had to have realized you're in the Valtheron Empire's territory. You could take down a small fiefdom, maybe a castle or fort at best—but no more. The Empire would just send a subjugation unit and wipe you all out."

Iron clenched his fist.

He seemed aware of his limitations.

'Son of a bitch… he's trying to pass the problem to me.'

He must've reasoned… if he couldn't get his people to safety, then he just had to find someone who could.

Damon extended his shadow perception, sweeping it across several kilometers behind the caravan.

He sensed them—many groups of slower-moving orcs trailing behind.

They were the weaker ones… women, children… a few elderly orcs who had managed to survive long enough to pass down their brutal experience to the younger warriors.

What kind of threat would make orcs—creatures that craved the thrill of battle—flee?

His eyes sharpened.

He turned to Iron, tone flat, serious.

"What are you running from…?"

Iron's hands trembled—subtly, but unmistakably.

A primal fear.

He slowly raised his arm and pointed at the winding, distant roads ahead.

"I… I don't know… it… something ancient… is awakening… if we disturb it… we will suffer…"

Damon followed the direction he pointed.

And then…

His heart sank.

It was the same direction he was going.