My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 960 - 961: Strength

Damon drew in a deep breath while observing the trolls fanning out across the open field.

The creatures advanced with speed, sealing off all possible ways to flee. In mere seconds, his companions and he were trapped amid a circle of gigantic, dark silhouettes.

The chieftain advanced toward them.

Clad in heavy crimson plating, he sported a rough helmet resembling a bucket of iron with jagged horns attached to its flanks. As he hauled a enormous club along the earth, sparks flew from the soil before he smashed its end down with a resounding boom.

"Women hand over. Mana cores, mana crystals, money hand over. Then you go. Or me kill you."

Though his speech grated harshly, the sheer bulk of his body drove home the menace without doubt.

Damon gazed at the leader briefly.

Then a sigh escaped him.

"Hmmm. And here I thought I’d hear you speak fluent Common." He shook his head deliberately. "My disappointment is immeasurable, and my day is ruined."

His relaxed manner caused the goblins at his back to shift nervously. Their shields quivered faintly as they maintained their ranks.

Gabo hurried ahead, alarm crossing his features.

"Lord Troll," he uttered swiftly, inclining his head. "We can offer wealth and mana cores. We only ask that you allow us to leave safely. The women are part of our party. I beg you, show mercy."

Damon arched a brow.

He found himself genuinely surprised.

This goblin spoke eloquently and was earnestly attempting to bargain.

I truly misjudged goblins, Damon mused inwardly.

The troll chief erupted in thunderous guffaws.

His followers swiftly echoed him, their rumbling tones reverberating over the grassland as they taunted and sneered in their native language.

"Foolish goblins. Women will be our playthings."

"Their wealth ours."

"Think we not eat them too?"

"I want mine roasted slightly," another troll remarked with a smirk. "Fresh blood makes it taste better."

"Actually that’s called medium rare," a steady voice countered flawlessly in trollish. "Personally I prefer mine almost done."

The trolls went still.

Gradually, their mirth died down as they pivoted toward Damon.

He remained poised there, arms lax by his hips.

"You speak our tongue," the troll leader stated icily. "Man from the holy race."

Damon offered a subtle grin.

"What do you think?" he responded. "Perhaps your ears are deceiving you."

The troll squinted suspiciously.

Were they typical fighters, they would never risk harming females of the holy race. Even outlaws paused before challenging the demonkin.

Yet, these trolls had set their desires in stone.

Such captives would command premium rates in the hidden slave bazaars of urban centers.

Damon observed the leader pondering.

Little actual thought seemed to occur in that gaze, he figured.

He recalled Renata once clarifying a point for him.

Within monstrous lineages, demonkin earned the moniker of Holy Race.

A curious designation.

Regardless, Damon had zero plans to dawdle.

He cocked his head a touch.

"Actually," he declared evenly, "I have a counteroffer."

The trolls bent closer in anticipation.

Damon’s grin broadened.

"Surrender," he uttered.

"Or die."

The troll leader scowled.

Not a trace of aura emanated from Damon in his senses.

Zero pressure.

Zero menace.

Absolute void.

Impossible for this fellow to hold real strength.

No formidable demonkin would traverse paths flanked by mere goblins without treating them as minions or expendable help.

And should this individual possess funds to lead such a band...

He ought to travel by coach.

Thus, he was feeble and powerless. This realm was the Demon Continent, secure from major perils, yet trolls needed to sustain themselves.

He hoisted his colossal mace aloft.

"Die."

The breeze tore apart as the earth wailed under the mace's ferocious swing. Friction with the atmosphere ignited a crimson sheen. Such velocity had amassed over that brief span to Damon.

Gabo envisioned Damon’s form exploding into crimson spray, innards scattering as the field turned scarlet.

None of it transpired.

Damon merely lifted his palm to intercept the mace with an effortless look. The atmosphere detonated, imploding violently. A depression scarred the soil while the troll recoiled, sliding to stop. His grip quaked from the collision, compelling him to drop the weapon as he gripped his aching palm.

Dust cleared, unveiling Damon unmoved and serene.

"Is that all? You wish to rob me with this insignificant amount of power."

The troll’s gaze bulged. Still, Damon’s aura eluded detection.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Damon advanced steadily, face composed.

"Surrender or die."

At those words, an axe-wielding troll bellowed and lunged at Damon. The blade failed to connect. A slick cutting noise rang out as the troll crumpled, torn asunder.

No one witnessed the act. Just the result: his demise.

Hushed stillness gripped the trolls as they stared in dread.

Witnessing a slaying and grasping its method was grim enough. But an abrupt, bloody end unfolding nearby, with the foe’s motion unseen, instilled deeper terror.

Of course, Damon had employed shadow control. From the meadow’s flora shadows, he wove slender threads. The troll had impaled himself upon them, carving his own end.

The trolls grasped a timeless law of the Demon Continent.

Strength overrides all ranks.

Then, an oppressive surge erupted as Damon unleashed his aura, bolstered by dual abilities.

[Omen of Dread] infused his presence with terror akin to a choking mist that clawed the soul, squeezed the chest, and hindered every breath.

[Terror Engine] operated differently; it amplified his might proportional to the dread he inspired.

[Skill: Terror Engine]

[Description:]

Fear — the oldest, most primal emotion. It drives, it empowers. From fear comes the will to destroy that which threatens. Power is born when others tremble before you.

[Effect:]

The more you are feared, the stronger your physical and magical abilities become.

[Type:]

Passive

[Cooldown:]

0 secs

Fear. Nothing else filled them.

It resembled confronting a demon lord.

Thud.

They dropped to their knees before this fiend.

"We swear fealty. We beg mercy."

A stir awakened in Damon’s core. His Seed of Depravity quivered faintly, expanding a fraction.