My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

He swore he was not jealous… but lately, the unknown god was really stingy with the items he got… because whoever had this tent was living it up.

It was massive inside, far bigger than the outside clearly, spatial magic had been used to expand it, giving it the feeling of a palace.

It had chandeliers, long and bright, with gold embossed everywhere. The carpet was soft, and a large table with a map on it dominated the center. Weapons and armor were arranged along the walls, serving as part of its grand interior.

'Can't I steal this instead…'

At the center, there was a large golden throne.

Damon placed his hand on his chin, disappointment in his eyes.

"This golden throne isn't bad… but I'll have to change it to black. The color just isn't for me."

Did someone need to remind this piece of shit that this was not his, and he couldn't change anything?

There was another flap that led to more private quarters.

Whatever… he would check that part later. He turned to the map and walked around like he owned the place, his steps carrying an effortless grace. If someone had walked in right then, they might have mistaken him for the actual owner of this magical tent.

He glanced at the map, which was carved directly into the table. There were a few trail markers showing their route.

"Hmmm… guess I was right. They've been in the uncharted wilderness all this time, traveling in secret."

He put two and two together.

"But it seems they've completed their mission and are heading back to Valerion."

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the elegant fragrance lingering in the air.

At some point, the raven and the squirrel had entered. The squirrel came to his feet, pointing at where the raven had found some papers.

Damon looked at them with disgust.

"You think I would pry into someone's private affairs… I am appalled that you didn't show me sooner."

Of course, the squirrel knew his character.

He sat down in the chair, leaning back, and noticed a half-empty glass of clearly expensive wine.

Picking up the glass and the paper, he began reading the report.

"It's not much, really… just a confirmation of death report. Apparently, some long-dead knights sent on a secret mission has finally been confirmed dead…"

He was reading casually until he got to the part that mentioned where they died.

"Lysithara…" Damon muttered, setting down the glass.

Did this have to do with that knights sent by the empire? He remembered one of the Fallen — a man who had become a living tree after failing the Keeper's riddle.

"That was centuries ago… yet the empire didn't rule them out until now."

Damon narrowed his eyes.

"Whose tent am I in…?"

He put down the report and began walking toward the inner tent flap. Just as he was about to open it, he paused.

"Ahhh, no… I'm crazy. How can I forget to take the nice wine?"

He went back, grabbed the wine bottle and the expensive-looking glass, then peeked through the flap.

There was no one inside… just a massive room with several flaps leading elsewhere.

A large bed, a soft ambiance, a table with chairs, and comfortable sofas filled the space — a perfect room fit for royalty.

Soft carpets covered the floor. On the bed, disassembled armor lay neatly beside a massive spear, and a dress lay discarded on the floor, leading toward another flap from which he could hear the faint sound of running water.

'I see… it's a lady's chamber.' Damon walked to the armor and spear.

'Should I steal these…?'

He was about to touch them when a faint sensation from his danger sense made him pause.

'I'll hold off until I'm about to leave…'

The spear looked golden and beautiful, with a wide tip and a faint halo. Runes were carved into it, reading:

Destruction.

With nothing else to do, he sprawled out on the bed, finishing the report. Rolling around in the covers with a calm, almost bored expression, he grew a bit too comfortable, a hint of drowsiness creeping in.

"This is some good bed… I'll take this too."

Worried he might actually fall asleep, he stood and moved to the chair, sitting down to continue reading.

It seemed the empire and temple were in a race to track down any traces of Ashcroft's. So far, they had found nothing — except the fact that he would return to the continent where he had fallen. That was why Soltheon was always the first continent demons attacked during a demon war.

Damon set down the papers and took another sip of wine, letting it help him relax.

Leaning back, his thoughts drifted to the mysteries of Ashcroft's — the Demon Lord of Domination.

Ashcroft had been the most powerful demon the world had ever known. He had single-handedly defeated the heroes and legends of his era, rebuilt the demon race from ruins, and brought them to a power that dominated nine continents. He had come close to uniting the world under his rule… until, in his hubris, he had stood before the statue of the goddess and called her the Bride of the Unknown God.

That had been why he was destroyed by her vast will.

However, Damon knew one thing… just as he had died and been brought back, the unknown god would bring Ashcroft's back — he had said he would.

And the unknown god always kept a promise.

Sighing softly, Damon swirled the wine in his glass, lost in thought, forgetting that he was not the master of this place and was just an intruder.

Closing his eyes, he took another sip, savoring the taste… until he heard the sound of dripping water.

When he looked, Damon felt his heart go cold.

His gaze fell on the wide eyes of a woman with long black hair, wet and clinging to her form. He was caught by the intensity of her red eyes and the breathtaking elegance of her beauty. Her presence was otherworldly and alluring.

She was also completely naked.

Her gaze didn't waver. She slowly moved her arm to cover her chest, hiding what little she could, her expression calm.

Damon was unsure how to react. She was composed, and he was insane enough not to let her outdo him.

He took a sip of the wine.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Naturally, the arrogant voice didn't come from the woman who owned the tent. No, it came from the wretched bastard who had broken in and seen her naked.

The audacity.