My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 839 - 840: Systematic Take Over

The takeover had been far smoother than he initially anticipated. To his credit, Damon had managed to pull it off successfully.

However, a new complication now loomed over him.

Logistics.

Managing supply lines was a grueling task, particularly since the majority of his inventory moved through secret, unofficial routes he had established in the shadows. These were channels that remained invisible to the Chained and bypassed the city of Yari almost entirely.

Having been a member of Quick Hand during his youth, Damon possessed extensive experience in logistics, specifically regarding illicit trade. Consequently, he had already built a distribution network that appeared to be ordinary surface trade on the outside, while secretly weaving through forbidden zones and lawless districts.

The nature of his smuggled goods was straightforward.

He focused on the fundamentals: food, clean water, mana cores, and even medicinal potions.

Yet, as these supplies moved, so did the influence of Lazarak’s faith.

It trickled through the slums via meticulously designed propaganda, hushed sermons, hidden symbols carved into stone, and secret meetings held within decaying ruins.

The faith even began to seep into the inner city organically, without Damon having to make a single deliberate move.

And what form of propaganda could be more potent than purist, supremacist hatred masked as a holy religion?

It was purist because he singled out one group, elevating them above all others.

It was supremacist because that perceived purity provided them a justification for feeling superior.

And it was racist because it demanded a cold, calculated hatred toward an entire race, labeling them as inferior beings.

Was this a moral path?

No.

Was it a successful one?

Absolutely.

Did it serve Damon’s interests and advance his long-term goals?

Without a doubt.

"Staying on the agenda is our top priority."

Damon reclined against his throne, crossing one leg over the other as a hooded follower knelt before him to provide a status report.

"My lord," the man reported with a bowed head and a steady tone. "We have successfully occupied the majority of Grinding Gate and converted the local population to the faith. Our analysts suggest that the lower-realm scum authorities may soon detect the anomalies—specifically the mana core shortages, the drop in illness, and the unusual death rates in this sector."

He paused briefly before adding with caution, "This irregularity could attract unwanted eyes."

Damon gave a casual, indifferent shrug.

"Yes, I am aware. They haven't noticed yet. For the time being, I believe we should begin our move toward the inner city."

The follower bowed low and exited the chamber.

Damon let out a slow breath as the faint, uneven sound of approaching footsteps resonated through the hall.

Turning around, he saw Lazarak standing there.

The god had manifested in the shape of a ten-year-old boy. His hair was a mess, his complexion was ghostly pale, and deep shadows were etched beneath his weary eyes.

"At this pace..." Lazarak whispered, "they will discover us in a few weeks. Perhaps even days, depending on their efficiency."

Damon shook his head in disagreement.

"No. Three days at most. That is when they will take notice. However, they will fail to grasp the true depth of our reach."

He folded his arms across his chest.

"In the worst-case scenario, they will classify this as an anomaly and dispatch Chainbearers to eradicate it. An estimated twelve thousand people across the Grinding Gate districts will be slaughtered."

He went silent for a moment.

"And we will allow it to happen."

Lazarak bit his lip, his small fists trembling at his sides.

"Is there no alternative?" he questioned. "Or... can we not prevent this?"

Damon shook his head again, more slowly this time.

"No. Not without risking complete destruction. Grinding Gate is home to sixteen million souls. Any other course of action puts every single one of them at risk."

Lazarak took a shallow, shaky breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Are you forcing me to choose between two evils?"

"I am not asking you to do anything," Damon answered with composure. "This choice is mine. Not yours."

Lazarak lowered his gaze slightly.

"Yes. But choosing to do nothing is also a choice," he murmured. "In that regard, I am an accomplice. I desire the best result, yet I cannot expect to keep my hands clean."

He looked up, his eyes now filled with resolve.

"So listen well."

"Do whatever is required for victory. I shall share the sin, the shame, and the glory with you. You are not merely my weapon... and I cannot hide behind your mercy forever."

Damon rested his chin on his hand, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm.

"Outrage."

He laced his fingers together.

"I want pure outrage. I want a blaze that cannot be extinguished. I want them to witness their friends, their families, and the people they suffered alongside being murdered by the Chained."

His gaze grew dark.

"With that, Lazarak, every piece of the puzzle falls into place."

He could already envision the scene: the streets drenched in blood, fire consuming the stone, and chaos ripping the city asunder.

Damon stood up from his throne.

"For centuries, the Chained maintained order by keeping the prisoners submissive, terrified, and devoid of hope," he remarked. "That equilibrium has been shattered. Now, an equal and opposite force exists on the other side."

He turned toward Lazarak, a thin, sharp smile spreading across his face—one so predatory it looked almost demonic. For a fleeting second, Lazarak imagined he saw horns concealed beneath Damon’s hair.

"We... we have finished the preparations to create your next shadow," Lazarak stated, his voice tight with suppressed grief. "I cannot guarantee it will work. If we fail, the cocoon will be lost."

"And if we are successful," Damon said tonelessly, "I will acquire a formidable shadow."

Lazarak turned to leave, his movements heavy.

"I am sorry it had to be this way, Lazarak," Damon called out behind him.

Apologies were something he almost never offered.

Yet, he had offered one now.

"It must be painful for you to lose your followers. As a god, you likely feel as though you have failed them."

Lazarak tightened his grip, then spoke, echoing Damon’s own philosophy back to him.

"If an all-powerful god exists, then he is malicious. And if he is benevolent, then he is powerless."

He took a slow, deep breath.

"I am weak. I cannot be anyone’s savior. I do not hate that this decision had to be made... I hate that I am weak enough to make it necessary."

Damon walked forward, stopping right next to him.

"Yes," he whispered. "But people often mistake their own wickedness for an act of god, just as they claim their successes as their own brilliance. We shouldn't hold gods responsible for everything when our own paths brought us to this point."

He turned away.

The sound of his footsteps faded softly as he disappeared into the gloom.