My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

"You're a master of an illusion, look at all the masses that you're fooling..."

Singularity glanced at Damon with a soft smile, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing every layer of the man before him.

"How can you sleep or live with yourself?"

Damon sneered at his obvious jab. He leaned back, arms loosely folded, letting the corner of his lips twist into a smirk.

"Like a baby... no actually, scratch that — babies wake up a lot. I sleep like a rock."

Singularity shook his head slowly, a faint exhale of disbelief leaving his lips.

"On the first night when that spirit appeared... you could have just teleported away before anyone came. But you didn't..."

Of course Damon had known that was a trap. There had been no point in running. His eyes briefly narrowed as if replaying the scene in his mind. Honestly, he knew no one could do anything to him, even if they could prove it.

That said, if this had been in Valerion, where many were more powerful than him, Damon would not have teleported away.

Instead, he would have created a scapegoat to take the fall. The thought brought a faint curl to his lips.

As for how he would do that — it was simple. He would create a shadow clone and use his Faceless skill.

By the time people arrived, they would see him locked in battle with some strange entity. The clone would then escape, and if it was destroyed — injuring him in the process — he could simply claim it had attacked and wounded him.

But here, there had been no danger, so all of that was unnecessary.

"You were doing everything imaginable to farm aura, weren't you? That's why you let them set you ablaze... so you could walk out of the flames."

Damon chuckled lowly, eyes glinting with amusement.

"That's not the only reason. I was trying to level up my Ragebaiting too... and I can safely say I gained a lot of experience here."

Laughter — some genuine, some uneasy — rippled through the busy main hall of the village. After everything, the travelers and villagers had decided to throw a feast in Damon's honor.

They sang songs praising his strength, mercy, and benevolence.

The villagers had confessed the truth, and Damon already knew Seta was the one who had summoned the evil spirit.

The ritual had been simple — for the first few days, she had fed it black kola nuts and black chickens. On the last day, it had appeared, and she had made her request for it to get rid of Damon. But the spirit had demanded too high a price — the life of a child from the village.

She had left, promising to bring it, but that was when she encountered the village head and told him of the deal.

After finding out, he had called a meeting. Seta hadn't needed much time to sway them. She had only needed to remind them of who Damon was... and what they had once done to him.

With the fear of his vengeance looming, they had acted.

They had tied a child around eleven years old, inside a sack, handing it to Seta to deliver.

Honestly, Damon had to respect their solidarity when it came to trying to screw him over.

But in the end, they had all gathered outside his house, bowing low in the dirt. Damon had simply told them to let bygones be bygones.

He was, after all, a forgiver.

People had wept at his mercy.

That had led to this feast, tables heavy with food and drink, meat from chickens, goats, and cows. The best the village had to offer, alongside barley and ale. Women danced in bright skirts, men showed off tricks and feats.

It almost reminded Damon of the harvest festivals when he was a child.

Many had approached him individually to apologize — adventurers, travelers, and villagers alike.

After a while, he grew tired of it all and excused himself, telling them to continue without him.

Stepping out into the cool night air, he left the scent of ale and roasted meat behind.

He scanned the quiet edges of the gathering until his eyes caught a man sitting under a tree, a cup in his hand.

Damon walked toward him, boots crunching softly on the earth.

"You seem to enjoy the silence... or are the festivities not to your liking?"

The man's eyes widened as soon as he recognized him. He set his drink down hastily.

"My... my lord... my apologies, I didn't—"

Damon shook his head, lowering himself to sit beside him in the shade.

"I don't like feasts either. They're too loud. I like the quiet."

The man nodded awkwardly, adjusting his tattered clothing as the breeze tugged at it.

Damon's gaze stayed forward as he continued.

"Tomorrow the caravans and travelers will all be leaving the village. I suppose the commotion is the reason everyone stayed..."

The man gave a soft hum of agreement.

"Do you not recognize me... Linga Felt?"

Linga shook his head quickly.

"I do, my lord. It's just... how can a mere commoner like me speak to the blood of the Grand Duke?"

Damon bit his lip slightly at the words.

"I see. So you knew after all..." A faint, humorless chuckle left him. "Of course you did. Who else would tell my village?"

His gaze turned sharper.

"You're the one who told them my mother was the supposedly dead daughter of Grand Duke Damian Brightwater, weren't you?"

Linga bit his lip, nodding slowly.

"I... yes, I did. It was your mother's wish — for you and your sister to be passed to your grandfather in the event of her death. It was her wish."

Damon's eyes widened slightly. Their mother had wanted them to go to Lumos... to their grandfather? Why was he only hearing this now?

He grabbed Linga's shoulder firmly.

"What do you mean she wanted us to be passed to our grandfather?"

Linga flinched under his grip.

"Ahh... my apologies, sir. But aren't you living with your grandfather in secret now? You are the Ascendant, aren't you? The one in this newspaper..."

He pulled out a folded paper — the front showing the Grand Duke beside a hooded figure. Damon recognized himself instantly.

Damon's grip loosened, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

"Let me guess. When you met me in the village years ago, I was a child. So you could only hand over my parents' belongings. You didn't want to tell a grieving child something so heavy."

The pieces were falling into place.

"So you told the village elders, because my father thought they could be trusted. But when they heard it involved a Grand Duke, they got scared. You left, thinking your mission was complete."

Linga's brow furrowed, but after a moment, understanding seemed to click.

"Ohhh... so that's what happened. I'm sorry... I should have stayed..."

Damon shook his head slowly, though the bitterness in his chest didn't fade. All his suffering... because the villagers had been too scared to carry out the final wish of a dead couple.

"It's fine. I don't blame you. But I do have a question... how did my parents die?"

Linga's jaw tightened, his eyes hardening with hate.

"They were killed by the actions of a man who found out your mother's identity... a Ravenscroft."