My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 838 - 839: New Evil

Damon’s expression darkened, his brow furrowing as a wave of irritation washed over him. This wasn't the entertainment he had expected.

His purpose for coming here personally was to witness slaughter and carnage. He craved raw materials for his experiments in soul manipulation—or perhaps "transmutation" was the more accurate term, given he was fundamentally altering the essence of a soul.

As that thought crossed his mind, his gaze drifted to his own shoulders. There, a raven and a squirrel clung to him without an ounce of shame, their feathers and fur brushing against his armor while they traded loud, petty insults.

Damon’s scowl deepened.

"That’s enough, both of you. I don’t have time for this nonsense..."

The raven puffed out its feathers aggressively, and the squirrel’s tail flicked with a sharp lash. They exchanged one last murderous look before pulling away, their small frames tense with suppressed rage.

Then, with a sudden and unexpected display of teamwork, they both shifted their attention toward the leader of the Black Crows, who remained kneeling on the floor.

Without a shred of loyalty or memory of past favors, they began to loudly vilify him. They urged Damon to slay the "dragon"—which, in this case, was merely a local snake that had poisoned the pond, butchered the fish, starved the populace, and committed blatant atrocities against mankind.

Damon let out a heavy, slow sigh, his eyes flashing with annoyance. He looked down at the Black Crow leader with a crushing gaze.

"Bakin... or 'Black Crow,' as you prefer to be called these days."

He uttered the man's birth name, a name that had been discarded over three centuries ago.

The boss shuddered visibly.

His subordinates stood paralyzed, watching their commander grovel before a complete stranger. The boss was on the brink of losing control of his bladder. Every survival instinct he had refined over hundreds of years shrieked the same warning: if he provoked this man, he would die like a stray dog, or suffer a fate far worse.

One of his lieutenants ground his teeth and stepped forward, his fists shaking with nervous energy.

"Stand up, boss. We can handle them... there are only two of them."

The atmosphere in the room was freezing. Frost spread across the stone walls and floor, fueled by the intense cold radiating from the female knight. Despite the chill, sweat poured down the Black Crow's face, dripping from his chin. His legs trembled so violently they could barely support him.

Damon found the situation mildly amusing.

He turned his head slightly to look at the lieutenant, a faint, mocking smile touching his lips.

"Your survival instinct seems to be non-existent," Damon remarked flatly. "If you have one at all, I’d say it’s about as sharp as a common stone."

The lieutenant sneered, his features contorted by fury.

"Just because the boss is gripped by superstition doesn't mean the rest of us are!"

He lunged forward.

His curved blade sliced through the air as his third-class strength surged, creating sonic booms that echoed through the hall. The resulting shockwave sent banquet tables tumbling and shattered dishes as he closed the gap in a flash.

To a weakling, it was a blur of incredible speed.

To Damon, the man was simply... sluggish.

Too slow to even be considered a threat.

In that fraction of a second, Damon casually scratched his head, briefly pondering the most brutal way to end the man's life. Then he smiled. As the sword swung down, Damon reached out with perfect timing.

He didn't bother to parry.

His hand, wreathed in thick shadow Qi, pierced straight through the man’s chest.

The lieutenant froze instantly. His frame shook with violent tremors, his muscles seizing as his eyes dilated with agony and pure dread.

Damon’s freezing gaze met his. He hadn't budged an inch.

"Trying to alter a soul in a meaningful way is a massive chore," Damon commented offhandedly. "But destroying one is quite fascinating... your soul is remarkably fragile."

A soft, broken gasp escaped the man's lips.

Damon withdrew his hand.

There wasn't a single mark on the man's skin. The lieutenant fell backward onto the floor, his mouth hanging open, his breathing remaining steady.

He was still alive.

However, his eyes were hollow and vacant.

His willpower and personality had been completely erased.

The remaining onlookers turned back to Damon. Those still on their feet felt their strength fail, their knees shaking uncontrollably.

"Ahhh..." Damon groaned, rubbing his temple. "Another failure... though it’s better than the last attempt. I managed to isolate the consciousness, but I still lack the necessary finesse."

He scanned the room, looking at those still clutching their weapons.

"Does anyone else wish to volunteer as a test subject?"

Chaos broke out.

Weapons hit the floor with loud clatters as men scrambled to escape, but the entire exit was blocked by ice. Glowing symbols flickered across the walls and floor—runes pulsing with light to form a single command.

Close.

It was obvious. Matia had integrated runes into her magic. There was no way out.

The most logical decision had already been made by their leader.

The Black Crow remained on the floor, pressing his forehead against the cold stone. One by one, his followers gave in, dropping to their knees in submission.

Observing his men kneeling, Black Crow felt a dark sense of relief. At least they were now all in the same boat.

"You are all nothing but cowards," Damon stated coldly. "You lacked the courage to venture deeper into Yari. Instead, you stayed here to play the role of petty tyrants under the thumb of the Chainbearers."

Damon walked slowly toward the throne Black Crow had previously occupied, his boots making a crunching sound against the frost. He sighed.

The entire gang—or at least the leadership that mattered—was now bowing before him.

It was a pity. He wished he had possessed this level of power before departing from Valerion. He would have taken great pleasure in exterminating the Charkata family back then.

But that didn't matter now. Everything would happen in due time.

"Do you desire to be something more...?" Damon asked, his innate charisma flooding the room. His voice carried an underlying heat, like a roaring fire.

"You have lived under the Chainbearers for so long... have you forgotten your heritage? You hail from a higher world. You are the descendants of Aetherus and his brother Lazarak. You come from a realm governed by true gods."

He paused, allowing his words to settle before continuing.

"So why do you now hide and grovel before this lower-realm trash?"

Dividing people was simple. Manipulating them was easier. Igniting hate was the easiest of all.

Hate was the fastest way to spread a creed; that was why Aetherus was revered while Lazarak was cast aside.

Hatred and conflict were the ultimate catalysts.

Damon intended to give these people a reason to exist again.

"Has this lower-realm scum already crushed your spirit? Have you brought shame upon your ancestors?" he challenged them. "If you still possess even a spark of the warrior spirit you were born with, then you will follow me."

He tossed several branding seals onto the floor, which slid across the ice and stopped in front of the kneeling men.

"I am offering you a choice: freedom..." Damon said with a chilling tone.

"Or death."

Black Crow felt a surge of fire in his chest, but more importantly, he was a pragmatist.

He pressed his head even lower against the ground.

He chose freedom under the shadow of this new master.