My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 1012 - 1014: Black Box Of Fate

The profound bewilderment etched on Damon’s countenance overshadowed even his animosity towards Morticai.

His gaze was fixed on the basin, scrutinizing an unfamiliar reflection. It was that of a young man, his hair dark, though not as profoundly so as Damon’s own. Bright brown eyes and features that were tragically unremarkable.

Damon had often jested about his average appearance, but following his cultivation breakthrough and the subsequent growth of his hair, he knew unequivocally that he was anything but ordinary.

"This visage is certainly not mine," he vocalized, his voice a low murmur.

Another reflection superimposed itself, a hand reaching out to gently caress his cheek as if to affirm its presence.

"No, that is undoubtedly you," the young woman stated, her inspection directed towards the looking glass beside him.

Damon tilted his head upwards, finally examining her with proper attention.

Her appearance bore a striking resemblance to Abellona.

Yet, there were subtle differences.

Her eyes were brown. Abellona’s eyes, conversely, were a crimson, crystalline hue, sharp and piercing.

"Yo... You are not Abellona, are you?" he queried, a note of disbelief coloring his tone.

She responded with a blink, her expression shifting from concern to bewilderment before she crossed her arms.

"I am quite sure I am. Did you sustain an injury to your head?"

A flicker of suspicion ignited within Damon’s gaze. This was an expression he had honed to perfection. His eyes rapidly scanned the room, charting potential escape routes and identifying any object that could be repurposed as a weapon. For all he knew, this could be an elaborate sorcery, a cunning trap, or a deceptive illusion.

"For starters, you are clad in what appears to be mere rags. The Abellona I am acquainted with would never don attire as impoverished as this."

She cast a glance downwards at her simple village attire. It was clean, recently washed, adorned with an apron showing a few mended patches. To any observer, it was perfectly ordinary for a village girl. Did he anticipate her to wear her favorite gown when the harvest festival was not even imminent?

Her gaze returned to him, in a manner that painfully evoked memories of the true Abellona.

"There is no need for such rudeness, Mugu. This is the recompense I receive for tending to you," she retorted, her voice laced with anger.

Damon fell silent.

She had addressed him as Mugu once more.

His thoughts began to churn rapidly, yet his outward demeanor remained placid.

"I am Mugu. As in, Mugu, the wicked prophet."

She regarded him with an unblinking stare, as if he had completely lost his faculties.

"Come now, Mugu. We are far beyond the age for such delusions. And why proclaim yourself the wicked prophet? At the very least, exhibit some creativity. Perhaps the hopeful prophet, or even the benevolent prophet. Fool."

Just as Damon was poised to deliver a retort, Ashcroft’s familiar voice resonated within his mind.

"I comprehend. Intriguing. To imagine you would encounter a black box."

A brief silence ensued in Damon’s consciousness before he posed a question.

"A black box?"

Ashcroft made no effort to conceal his knowledge.

"It is a seldom-encountered consumable magical artifact capable of granting wishes. It appears you have utilized it. No wonder there was a mark upon your wrist. You must have articulated a wish pertaining to Mugu."

"Wait, so it bestows all wishes?" Damon inquired, recalling the circumstances under which he had acquired it from Amadeus the lich.

"Nay. It is not quite that convenient. It cannot fulfill desires that exceed its inherent capacity. It merely establishes the circumstances that facilitate the fulfillment of your wish. Whether the wish materializes is contingent upon your subsequent choices. In essence, fate. This is precisely why it is designated as the black box of fate."

"I see. I had wished to ascertain Mugu’s past. To unravel the enigma surrounding him."

Snap. Snap.

The sharp sounds jolted him back to the present reality. The young woman resembling Abellona was snapping her fingers directly in front of his face.

"Mugu, I am concerned for you. Are you quite well? You know you can confide anything in me."

Damon parted his lips, intending to speak.

Then, inexplicably, his body began to move of its own accord.

His lips curved open. His hands rose. His voice emerged without his conscious volition.

And abruptly, Damon found himself no longer inhabiting the physical form.

"Did I startle you?" Mugu inquired, scratching his head with an air of awkwardness.

"My apologies for that. It should be nearly time for the grape harvest. Let us depart."

He reached out, took her hand, and guided her out of the small chamber.

Damon remained in place, observing, now reduced to an incorporeal spectator.

"Was I just ejected from a body?"

"No, that is not precisely what transpired," Ashcroft stated, his tone contemplative.

"This is an integral component of your wish. You desired to comprehend Mugu. The endeavor would be rendered futile if Mugu himself were absent for your observation. If my assessment is correct, this is a narrative with an immutable conclusion."

Damon folded his arms, his gaze sweeping across the surroundings.

"So, what you are conveying is that pivotal moments in Mugu’s existence are beyond my command and are merely to be witnessed. During all other times, I am permitted to inhabit his life. Is that an accurate interpretation?"

"Affirmative," Ashcroft replied, his voice devoid of warmth.

"From my understanding, Mugu represented the inaugural demon within our realm. A genuine demon in every conceivable aspect. One does not simply attain the status of a demon through mere aspiration. Demons are beings who succumb to depravity, their hearts consumed by profound resentment. The true demon lords, and even the demon god itself, all experienced a fall from grace."

Damon’s spectral form ascended towards the ceiling.

"Therefore, an event is imminent that will precipitate Mugu’s descent."

He paused, a recollection surfacing from a past conversation with Valerie.

"Mugu was forgotten by the world. Or perhaps, he himself turned his back on the world instead?"

"The precise reason is inconsequential at this juncture. This presents a valuable opportunity for you," Ashcroft remarked.

Damon’s gaze narrowed.

"And what is that?"

Ashcroft’s tone carried a hint of amusement.

"Mugu was a man of great intellect, a sage in his own right. His life was fraught with danger. By experiencing his life from his viewpoint, you might acquire sufficient philosophical insight to ascend to the seventh class, and perhaps master a few additional spells."

The instant Ashcroft concluded his statement, Damon was forcibly drawn back into Mugu’s physical form.

He observed his own hands pinning Abellona against a mound of hay. She looked up at him with adoration, and he understood that Mugu perceived her in the same manner.

Then, he kissed her.

Damon felt the surge of emotions within Mugu’s chest – bright, overwhelming, almost suffocating. He found it difficult to draw breath.

Only one emotion Damon had ever experienced with such intensity before.

Hatred.

He had never encountered anything comparable. Not even for Lilith. In comparison, every feeling he had previously known paled, like a candle beside a blazing sun.

This was boundless love.

This was Mugu’s love.

This young woman represented his entire existence.

And his world was on the verge of utter collapse.

************

Her name was Abellona, and based on Damon’s deductions, she bore a connection to the Abellona he would encounter over two hundred thousand years in the future.

This woman was Mugu’s destined love since childhood. Their affection for each other had blossomed as soon as they understood the meaning of love. They had pledged to remain united eternally.

In an ideal existence, perhaps their fate would have been thus.

But their reality was far from perfect.

The thunderous sound of hooves echoed across the plains, causing the earth to tremble. Villagers who had been toiling in the fields immediately straightened, their gazes drawn upwards. Eyes widened in alarm.

Knights in shining armor.

Majestic warhorses.

A procession of ornate carriages.

As Damon raised his head, the banner fluttering in the wind became visible.

The flag of Valtheron.

His ancestral land.

The villagers scrambled to the roadside, their movements dictated by fear. They formed orderly lines and bowed deeply. Failure to show proper respect to a noble procession courted severe punishment. Or worse.

This was an era thousands of years prior to the peasant uprising, before the common folk possessed any recognized rights. This was the age of Lysithara, the First Epoch.

Abellona grasped Mugu’s sleeve, tugging him down beside her. Damon’s instincts screamed in protest, but her grip was unwavering. He lowered himself, maintaining a slightly elevated head position to observe without attracting notice.

Though, it likely wouldn't have mattered.

Mugu’s body was already inclining in a bow.

The carriages moved past majestically.

Then, the central carriage halted.

A chilling sensation permeated Damon’s chest.

One of the knights steered his mount towards them, its imposing shadow falling over Abellona.

"You," the knight declared impassively. "My lord has issued a command. You will accompany him for the night."

This was not a request; it was a decree.

All the villagers bowed even lower. The women, in particular, seemed most apprehensive.

A lord possessed such authority. No one could intervene. She was a commoner, albeit a strikingly beautiful one.

Mugu’s fists clenched. His posture stiffened as he began to stand.

Abellona’s hand shot out, firmly gripping his, halting his movement. She bowed her head lower, her face losing its color.

"I... I beg your forgiveness... but I am already pledged," she stammered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to control it.

Before the knight could utter a response, a languid voice emanated from within the carriage.

"Mage. Ascertain if she is a virgin. If she is not, you may deliver her to the men if she resists."

Abellona had barely time to react before a robed figure materialized beside her. He grasped her wrist forcefully. A sharp prick. A droplet of blood met the metallic point of the artifact he held.

It pulsed with a white luminescence.

"She is pure, your highness," the aged mage reported.

Damon’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt.

Your highness.

This was no ordinary noble.

This was royalty.

Beyond reproach.

"Excellent. Then I shall elevate her to the status of my fourth wife."

Abellona’s legs felt weak. Mugu moved forward protectively, drawing her behind him.

She clutched his hand tightly, shaking her head at him without lifting her gaze.

Initially, he desired her for a single night.

Now, he intended to make her his wife.

Should she consent, she would forfeit everything.

Should she refuse, her very life could be endangered.

And the thought of leaving Mugu behind was unbearable.