My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger-Chapter 979 - 981: Trace

Damon was not entirely sure how to feel about it.

His power was growing. His seed of depravity was deepening, and with it, his rank continued to rise. Under normal circumstances, even after absorbing monster cores and refining his body at the Fourth Class, it would take years to reach the peak of that stage. Advancement was no longer a matter of simply accumulating energy. To move forward, one needed comprehension, a domain, something more abstract than strength.

Yet the demon continent had shown him another path.

A darker one.

His seed of depravity offered a shortcut, a dangerous one. Damon could advance faster, far faster, but at the cost of becoming something else entirely.

A demon.

There was more than one way to nurture such a seed. The simplest method was also the most grotesque. Kill. Kill endlessly until even the heavens themselves seemed to bleed. But it was not monsters that would suffice.

It had to be people.

The more innocent the better. Or the more powerful their souls.

Damon still did not understand what determined the quality of a soul. He had not figured it out, and more importantly, he did not want to. The mere thought of slaughtering innocents, of killing infants in their cradles for power, was enough to make his stomach turn.

Though...

He paused.

His eyes closed, and the image came unbidden.

His village.

Burning.

Ruined.

Hatred was not so easily discarded.

Damon exhaled slowly and shook his head, forcing the memory down.

The choice before him was simple in form, if not in consequence. Power at the cost of his humanity... or restraint, and the slower path forward.

There was, however, another alternative.

The second path to growing a seed of depravity was not slaughter, but dominion. To become a lord of demons. The more demons that followed him, the more his seed would grow.

Damon’s gaze sharpened slightly.

’If that’s the case... did every demon lord make this choice?’ he wondered.

Slaughter or domination.

He found himself thinking of the Unknown God. Had he made the same choice? And if so, which path had he taken?

Damon was certain of one thing. Ashcroft had chosen domination. The seed of depravity Damon now carried had once belonged to him. Damon had merely taken it.

Then what about the first?

Mugu, the Wicked Prophet.

Damon recalled the history. The royal family of Valtheron had once fled the demon continent, seeking refuge in Soltheon.

That alone was enough.

Mugu had chosen slaughter.

A quiet breath left Damon’s lips.

Their group approached a towering city that stood like a sentinel over a vast and seemingly endless mountain range. Jagged peaks stretched across the horizon like the teeth of some ancient beast.

"The Black Mountains," Damon said calmly.

"Yes, my lord," Gotrog replied, his deep voice carrying a faint, sinister undertone.

"The Mountains of a Thousand Peaks," he added, his tone lowering slightly. "This is where we hold the infidels from beyond the seas. This is where they always launch their invasions."

Damon nodded, his gaze sweeping across the range.

"If this place is so difficult to cross, why not invade from another side?" he asked. "The demon continent sits at the center of the world. It’s surrounded by seas on all sides."

Gotrog let out a low rumble, a faint flare of fire escaping his nostrils.

"They cannot," he said.

"To the west lies the Graveyard of Gods. It stretches for thousands of kilometers. A death zone. Nothing survives crossing it."

Damon nodded slightly. He had almost forgotten.

"And the east is here," Gotrog continued, gesturing toward the mountains with a slow movement of his massive arm. "The Black Mountains. This is the only viable path. The primary battlefield."

He shifted his wings slightly as he spoke.

"To the north lie the frozen seas of Norrath. The mana there is unstable. Space itself distorts. Horrors roam those waters. No army could maintain formation, let alone a supply line. They would die before ever reaching us."

Damon listened quietly. This was knowledge he had never encountered before, not even through his classes.

"And the south?" Damon asked.

Gotrog’s expression darkened.

"The south is worse."

Damon did not press further. He could already tell.

"The southern seas belong to two great dragons," Gotrog said. "Above the clouds dwells Aethergon, the Cloud Dragon, ruler of storms and the fog sea. Beneath the waves lies Aquagon, the Great Tide."

Damon felt a faint chill run across his scalp.

In his life, he had encountered only two great dragons, and that had already been more than enough.

He had no desire to meet a third.

His first encounter had been with Ashergon near the Duhu Mountains. The dragon’s form had dwarfed the peaks themselves. With a single breath, it had incinerated an entire region, an area larger than a city, reducing it to ash. Wyverns had circled it like an army, bound to its will.

The second had been Rexagon, the Gravewing. Even injured, it had been a calamity. A being that rained molten death from the sky, carrying with it the stench of decay.

Like Ashergon, Rexagon normally commanded a host of lesser creatures. Undead dragons, giant avian beasts, things that spread rot and ruin wherever they passed. Only his recent defeat had left him isolated.

"Yes," Damon said calmly. "I have encountered Ashergon and Rexagon. I have yet to meet the others."

Gotrog froze.

For a brief moment, the massive Balrog simply stared at him.

"My lord... you have faced two great dragons... and lived?"

Damon did not even notice the disbelief in his tone.

"Yes," he replied casually. "A most unfortunate fortune. You could call it the devil’s luck."

Gotrog exhaled slowly, as if trying to process that.

"That explains it," he muttered. "No one would attempt the southern route. Only a madman would try to move an army through the fog seas."

Even madness had limits.

To be caught between Aethergon and Aquagon was not war.

It was extinction.

Damon’s gaze shifted forward as the city came fully into view.

"It seems we’ve arrived," he said.

"Trace."