My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 830 - 831: Yari

The shadow slithered across the scorched terrain like a sentient predator, consuming the fallen remains as it expanded.

Damon appeared somewhat drained, his complexion pale, yet he remained focused enough to command Lyn and Sithara to harvest the mana cores.

Kneeling beside the corpses with frantic efficiency, the two youths worked to extract the pulsing cores. They stuffed the prizes into their pouches with a desperate speed, acting as though the desert might reclaim the loot if they hesitated for even a moment.

Damon shifted his attention toward Matia.

She stood poised, her blade hovering above a rattling skeleton that had just emerged from the depths of the sand. With a decisive strike, she swung her sword in a fluid arc.

The skull was severed cleanly from its vertebrae, tumbling across the dunes and beginning to fade. Before the bones could vanish into the sand, Damon’s shadow surged outward, devouring the remnants.

A heavy breath escaped Damon’s lungs.

He flexed his hand repeatedly, his movements tight and filled with annoyance. A sharp click of his tongue echoed against his palate.

"I still haven’t gotten any closer to using my attribute to its full extent."

Lazarak shifted his gaze toward him. Over several weeks of trekking, his toddler-like physique had expanded slightly, and his presence felt more substantial and weighted, though his calm demeanor remained unchanged.

"You can touch souls now," Lazarak observed.

"But instead of modifying them, you break them."

Damon’s brow furrowed, his muscles tightening as he felt another surge of mana deplete. The energy was hemorrhaging from his body at a concerning rate.

Their journey through this wasteland had spanned weeks. In total, Damon had been trapped in this world for roughly three or four months.

In that window of time, he had focused on capturing beasts and conducting grim experiments on their souls.

It was advancement. A perilous form of growth, but growth nonetheless.

It appeared that by utilizing shadow energy, he gained the ability to manipulate and reshape souls directly.

In theory, at least.

In reality, he usually ended up obliterating them entirely.

On the rare occasions he successfully altered them, the outcomes were horrifying. The subjects transformed into grotesque, spasming heaps of flesh that bore no resemblance to their original forms.

However, he had gained some utility.

He was now capable of manifesting physical shadows, hardening their structure, and sculpting them—provided a shadow already existed to work with.

He dubbed this ability Shadow Manipulation.

Mastery Level One.

Beyond the local monsters, the desert itself was their primary adversary. The sands constantly siphoned away both mana and vitality. The daytime heat was stifling, while the nighttime chill bit deep into the marrow.

Yet, after their long ordeal...

The destination was finally within reach.

Damon slowed his pace and looked up.

The target was visible on the horizon.

"So that’s Yari..."

Lazarak folded his arms, peering past the rolling dunes.

A colossal city loomed before them. Despite the desolate environment, its towering brown ramparts reached for the heavens as if trying to grasp the sun. Defensive armaments were positioned along the walls, reinforced with magical arrays designed for both shielding and bombardment.

Enormous chains were draped over the structure, resembling bindings meant to hold back a gargantuan beast. Each link was more massive than the main gates of the city.

Sentries in heavy armor patrolled the battlements in a ceaseless rhythm. Below, the gates were wide, permitting squadrons on strange, monstrous mounts to pass through. A diverse crowd of civilians moved about with carts, tools, and weapons.

Strict magical barriers divided various districts of the city. It was a system of segregation enforced by sorcery.

The most distinctive feature separating the military from the commoners was the presence of chains.

Every soldier wore them—some as collars, others gripped in their hands like lethal implements.

Damon’s eyes wandered past the fortifications, noting the brown dwellings constructed from a strange, sandy substance. Nearly every building featured expansive windows.

Except for one.

An immense black spire pierced through the clouds, rising to an impossible height. The mere sight of it induced a sense of vertigo in Damon.

Despite the intimidation, a smile touched his lips.

"So that’s the place we need to go..."

Standing on the crest of the dune with his cloak snapping in the wind, his gaze turned sharp.

Lazarak let out a quiet chuckle.

"We’ve arrived."

Damon suppressed the impulse to extend his shadow perception across the urban expanse. Even from this distance, he could sense the pressure of formidable auras.

"Let’s go," Damon murmured.

"If my friends are alive, they should be here."

Lyn skidded down the sandy slope behind him, her boots kicking up dust.

"How would you even find them in a city this large?"

Damon continued walking without missing a beat.

"I don’t need to," he answered.

"They’ll find me instead."

Sithara followed closely, her light footsteps betraying her suppressed excitement.

"Really? What’s your plan?"

Damon looked over at Lazarak, a subtle grin appearing on his face.

"I... well. I’m going to start a cult."

"A cult?" both children repeated, their voices laced with confusion.

Damon offered no further explanation.

That was only part of the strategy.

At the third class, he couldn't hope to defeat Seraph Null alone. Lazarak would have to take that burden. To restore Lazarak’s peak power quickly, he required Faith, Worship, and a devoted following.

He was a deity, after all.

However, Damon recognized a flaw.

Lazarak might be able to best Seraph Null, but he couldn't deliver the killing blow.

If the situation became dire, Damon might be forced to use Mutuwa—the spear of death—on Seraph Null.

Doing so would mean sacrificing his only certain path to his own demise.

He glanced at Lazarak out of the corner of his eye.

'Did he plan that?'

It felt suspicious. A god of peace providing a lethal weapon and nudging him toward suicide seemed contradictory.

What if Lazarak had anticipated this? What if he had orchestrated things so Damon would be forced to use Mutuwa on a different target?

If that were true...

Then Lazarak never intended to let Damon end his own life.

As they neared the entrance, Damon felt the weight of the guards' scrutiny. The soldiers atop the fortifications shifted, their weapons subtly angling toward the newcomers.

Lazarak let out a tired sigh.

"I knew entering through the front gate was a bad idea."

Damon kept his composure. If the worst happened, they would simply kill the sentries and vanish into the city's depths. It was large enough to hide them.

As they reached the bustling crowd, the guards began to approach.

However, they didn't stop in front of Damon.

They walked right past him.

Their target was Matia.

One guard smirked, a malicious glint in his eyes. He had a fae-like appearance, though it was marred by the heavy chain wrapped around his neck.

"Well, well... what do we have here?"

"A woman in armor."

The other soldier chuckled.

"Come on, sweetheart. Why don’t you come show us a good time?"

Matia offered no response.

She didn't brace herself or show fear. She merely stood her ground, sword at her hip, eyes fixed forward.

Damon sighed internally.

These idiots were sprinting toward their own graves.

'Oh well. It’s not like we came here with peaceful intentions.'

He was prepared to step in once Matia inevitably began the slaughter.

But before he could act—

"What are you two idiots doing?"

A frigid voice sliced through the tension.

"If they have no brand, mark them and send them on their way."

The two guards exchanged looks of annoyance. They gave Matia a final, lingering glare before reaching into their gear to produce a small branding seal.