My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 917 - 918: Hungry Soil

The assault was swift, brutal, and utterly startling, leaving the whole expedition team helpless as they watched the enormous stag and its rider get hauled toward what seemed like inevitable doom.

A number of knights fidgeted in their seats, their hands automatically grabbing for the reins and their swords.

Right when they prepared to charge ahead and rescue him, a dark shadow slithered across the earth like slick oil and leaped onto Renata’s stag. The atmosphere wavered, and Damon appeared on top of it, his complexion ashen and strained.

“Phew. That was too close. I nearly got killed.”

Renata went rigid, her grip clenching on the reins while something moist hit the dirt next to her.

Blood.

Damon wobbled a bit in the saddle. Odd black roots twisted out from under his armor, stabbing through ripped metal and skin without mercy. His face bore slashes, fine lines running down his cheek and jaw, with blood flowing unchecked. That explained his pallor.

He drew in a sharp breath between his teeth and fetched a vial of healing potion. With his opposite hand, he seized one of the black roots and yanked it out. Chunks of flesh tore away with it. Without pause, he pulled another, then yet another, layers of his own skin and muscle stripping off as thick, dark sap resembling ichor spilled onto the woodland ground.

Even the battle-hardened veterans who had endured endless fights gaped in astonishment. Some gulped audibly. The ones loyal to House Brightwater shook off their shock and hurried toward him.

“My lord, are you all right?” a ashen-faced healer inquired, moving nearer without delay. Her blue eyes gleamed keenly despite the shadowy forest glow. Silver hair tumbled from under her helmet, which she clutched in one arm while lifting the other.

She started to weave healing magic, a soft glow forming around her hand.

Damon raised a hand smeared in blood and shook his head.

“It’s okay. My body heals way quicker than yours could.”

He swallowed the potion in a single fluid gulp.

He spoke the truth. The potion itself wasn’t key. He’d only used a basic one.

Ever since that near-fatal dip in the pool at the Holy City, Damon had acquired divine energy. From that point, his body gained a regenerative ability. That very ability had preserved his life.

As he’d been dragged down, the initial two seconds brought total disbelief. For a fighter of his caliber, those two seconds marked the divide between life and demise. The creature under the soil had skewered him, yet his body was already mending. The agony snapped him from his daze just in time to wrench loose and escape via shadow.

“We must press on,” Seras commanded, her words slicing sharply through the whispers. She didn’t ease her stag’s pace.

The captain of the knights Damon had hired sat up straighter in his saddle and lifted his hand.

“Knights of the Rising Sun. Reform the lines. Guard His Excellency with everything you have.”

That was Silas, or so Damon recalled.

The knights moved at once, closing ranks around him, shields tilted outward, gazes sweeping the tree borders.

“Erhm. You don’t really have to do that,” Damon grumbled, smearing blood from his chin using the back of his hand.

Another stag drew near from behind at a steady trot. Kael was astride it, a scroll secured under his arm, with a few expedition specialists riding alongside.

“You ought to take more care,” the youthful-looking scholar remarked, his forehead creased in clear annoyance. He steered his stag nearer but maintained a wary gap from the ravenous earth.

“You know that if you perish here, these courageous folks will face execution back home.”

His voice grew firmer.

“As a noble, if you drop first while your knights survive, it’ll count as betrayal. No matter their innocence.”

A knight falls only after his lord.

Damon looked over the compact ring of protected figures.

He got it.

For them, the mission ranked below safeguarding Damon.

He breathed out gradually and shifted his eyes to the silver-haired healer.

“What’s your name once more?”

She stood tall immediately.

“I am Lana Summer of the Fourth Radiant Regiment.”

Damon eyed her shortly, then gave a nod.

He couldn’t learn every name. He hadn’t bothered at the start because it hadn’t mattered to him.

The deeper cause was harsher.

He avoided bonds.

The previous person he’d bonded with had perished, and he’d been unable to prevent it.

As a boy, Back to Back had advised him that not knowing a name means their death stirs no emotion. They stay as mere strangers in the masses.

Ironically, Back to Back wasn’t his true name.

Still, ending him had stung. Far more than Damon anticipated, even with his deep resentment for that haughty elf.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Damon murmured softly.

Renata’s stag edged ahead once more, hooves sinking into the yielding earth.

The principle was straightforward. The more time spent motionless, the more the soil craved you.

Thus, they continued onward. Methodical and unhurried, never pausing too long.

Damon stayed vigilant, his shoulders rigid even as the injuries faded. This marked just the start. Miles of tainted land stretched before them, followed by even more blighted areas.

The woods deepened in shadow as they progressed. The trees loomed taller and more warped, their limbs strangling the scant sunlight that broke through. Amid the trunks, Damon spotted hints of motion.

Eerie specters.

Whenever he zeroed in on one, whipping his head to pin it down, it scattered like mist.

Every glimpse was rapid.

“What in the world are those?” Lana breathed, her hold on her staff growing firmer.

Damon’s gaze sharpened, following a quick dart to the left until it faded away.

“Evil forest jinn. Or some type of them. They appear in various shapes. These particular ones are watching. Biding their time.”

Lana’s mount matched speed, its armor snagging fleeting beams of light through the overhead leaves.

“Biding time for what?” she wondered, spotting another dark blur in her peripheral sight.

Renata’s stag lurched unexpectedly.

It crumpled to its knees with a solid thump, air bursting from its chest in harsh gasps. Its flanks rose and fell wildly, as though exhausted from endless sprinting.

Damon leaped down instantly, his boots embedding a touch into the mushy ground. He supported Renata as she slid off.

A moment afterward, Lana’s stag faltered too, limbs quaking before it toppled onto the greedy soil.

Lana tumbled clear with practiced skill and rose to one knee, staff poised, glow building at the end.

Damon advanced and seized her wrist to halt the spell.

“Biding time until we grow weary and frail.”

The earth throbbed.

Dark roots extended like pulsing veins under the surface, then erupted skyward, coiling around the downed stags. The beasts fought feebly, then stilled as the woodland earth sapped their life.

Damon avoided glancing behind.

He pushed ahead, shoving his boots against the reluctant dirt.

“Keep going,” he stated, his tone steady and icy. “Unless you wish to end up like them.”