My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 1021 - 1023: There Was An Abyss

Swiftly, time went by, and to Damon's unawareness, Mugu had been residing in Lysithara for over a year.

On the surface, hardly anything had shifted, yet beneath that calm facade, a predictable rhythm had established itself.

Mugu, much like Damon, favored his own company. However, unlike Damon, he wasn't inherently difficult. He offered politeness when required and maintained distance when he preferred. He simply didn't assimilate into the city's prevailing culture. The sole individual who consistently dedicated time to him was Nemoriel, who imparted knowledge to him with patience and spoke without any hint of judgment.

Nevertheless, Mugu had become recognized for one particular trait.

His sheer persistence.

He wasn't blessed with exceptional talent. His mana reserves were merely adequate. His magical affinity wasn't particularly spectacular. When contrasted with the naturally gifted individuals around him, Mugu appeared quite ordinary.

Yet, he persevered.

More than that, he achieved excellence.

Arcane arts. Martial strategy. Cartography. Natural philosophy. Potioncraft.

He was a constant presence. Always absorbing knowledge. Always honing his skills.

Tonight was no different from the rest.

In the deepest part of the night, a solitary figure navigated the training grounds, enshrouded by a multitude of mechanical automatons.

Incantations flared in rapid succession. Wards formed and then disintegrated. Mugu twisted, evaded, and glided across the crimson-stained floor as metallic limbs lunged at him from every direction. He slung a blade, impaling one construct to the ground, and wrenched a sword from another's grasp while crimson flowed from a deep gash on his neck, saturating his chest.

At long last, the final automaton ceased its assault.

Mugu remained standing, his breathing heavy.

He did not permit himself any respite.

He procured a recuperative draught from his satchel, snapped the stopper free with his teeth, downed its contents in a single gulp, and then proceeded to the control apparatus by the wall.

He adjusted the dial.

The difficulty escalated.

The peril intensified.

"I have outgrown my current limits," he murmured to himself. "Let me ascertain my capabilities against adversaries ten times this number."

With that, he re-entered the combat zone.

This time, the engagement was not a trial of skill.

It was an utter annihilation.

Within mere moments, he was overpowered. His skeletal structure groaned under the impact. Metallic appendages rent his flesh. He bled at a rate far quicker than his movements allowed. Ultimately, the automatons ceased their actions, their programmed task fulfilled.

Mugu lay prone, his consciousness fading.

He did not succumb to despair.

He was aware that if he remained motionless for a few hours, someone would eventually stumble upon him and offer aid in the form of a potion.

"And what is your plan now?" a gentle feminine voice descended from above. "Your utter disregard for self-preservation will undoubtedly be your undoing."

Damon, observing from the periphery, identified the speaker instantly.

Valcara

She emerged into view and knelt beside Mugu, her expression stern and devoid of any discernible warmth.

"Are you utterly bereft of reason? What sort of individual inflicts such harm upon their own person? If you cannot tend to your own well-being, how do you possibly anticipate growth?"

Mugu drew in a breath laced with agony.

"Will you offer me a scolding," he rasped, "or extend your assistance?"

Her gaze sharpened.

"You seem unaware of the individual with whom you are conversing. Perhaps I ought to impose a penalty upon you."

Mugu offered no response. He lacked the requisite fortitude.

With a subtle gesture of her hand, a soft luminescence enveloped him. Bones realigned themselves. Wounds closed and rejoined. Blood ceased its flow.

The instant he could regain his footing, Mugu inclined his head in gratitude, turned, retraced his steps to the control dial, and reactivated the challenge once more.

Valcara's eyes widened considerably.

"Have you taken leave of your senses? You were on the brink of annihilation, and you intend to repeat the ordeal?"

Mugu paid her no mind.

He engaged in combat.

He experienced defeat.

He fought anew.

He was vanquished once more.

Repeatedly, throughout the night, until the heavens began to lighten with the burgeoning dawn.

Initially, Valcara remained present due to sheer vexation.

Subsequently, she stayed out of concern that he might genuinely perish.

In time, she found herself observing with meticulous attention. Then, she began to analyze quietly. And finally, without conscious realization, she found herself offering silent encouragement.

At length, as the initial rays of dawn illuminated the arena, Mugu achieved his objective.

Valcara applauded before she could restrain herself.

Mugu sank to his knees, his attire saturated with his own dried blood.

He rose with deliberate slowness and proceeded toward the egress.

She mended him once more with a mere flick of her digits.

"Restorative potions do not come without cost," she remarked. "You must be expending the greater portion of your allocated funds on them."

Mugu offered a slight nod. Lysithara bestowed rewards in the form of financial stipends for dedication, meticulous research, and notable accomplishments. He dedicated almost all of his resources to pushing his boundaries.

"You ought not to depend so heavily on such potions," she advised further. "It will foster a degree of resistance."

Mugu reached into his pouch and presented her with a small phial.

"I have concocted a new variant," he stated evenly. "Its efficacy is elevated. The drawback is intense suffering for the individual consuming it."

She caught the vial and examined the viscous fluid within. A solitary glance at the listed components caused her brow to furrow.

"Do not tell me you combined subterranean fungi with a bloom of deception. Are you truly out of your mind?"

Mugu inclined his head.

"No. My methods are simply effective."

Valcara released a sigh.

"Indeed. That serves to confirm it. You are quite mad."

She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.

"What designation do you bear?"

"Mugu."

She paused, considering.

"Mugu. In the runic language, that name roughly translates to ’wicked one.’" Her gaze sharpened. "Wait. I do recall you. You’re the individual who traversed the Duhu Mountains about a year ago."

A faint smile graced her features.

"Follow me," she instructed.

She turned and commenced her walk.

Mugu cast his eyes down at his still blood-soaked attire, ingested a recovery potion to mend the lost blood, and then followed her without uttering a sound.

As they emerged into the open, she raised a hand and summoned a carriage with the effortless grace of a commoner, not a dignitary involved in the city’s governance. Mugu trailed a step behind, uncertain whether to engage in conversation or simply remain an observer.

Two districts later, they disembarked and boarded a monorail. The journey proceeded in silence. Upon their arrival, they found themselves standing before an expansive institute constructed of white stone. Gleaming letters were etched above the entrance:

West Avenue Mental Health and Metaverse Institute.

"Ah, we have arrived," she stated casually, already heading inside.

The instant she reached the reception desk, she pointed directly at Mugu without any hesitation.

"I wish to enroll him for therapy and a comprehensive mental health assessment, if you please."

The robed woman attending the desk looked up, then immediately became more upright.

"Welcome, Lady Valcara. Are you here to register a new disciple?"

Valcara promptly shook her head.

"Certainly not. He is the absolute last person I would ever consider taking on as a disciple. He is, in fact, quite mad. Please attend to him. I will settle the charges should his health insurance prove insufficient."

Mugu remained rooted to the spot, utterly dumbfounded. She had transported him across the entire city for this very purpose. Even more disheartening, a sage had openly stated she would never accept him as a disciple.

Why? What was amiss with him?

"Immediately, Lady Valcara. I shall summon a specialist."

"Thank you," she replied with pleasantness, as though she had not just delivered an insult.

She took a seat on a nearby chair, crossing her legs. Mugu stood still, his gaze fixed upon her.

"What was that about?" he inquired, his voice tight with suppressed emotion.

She lifted her head, a flicker of mild bewilderment in her eyes.

"A mental health facility. We investigate all matters within this city, do you not recall?"

"No. Not that," Mugu retorted, his fists clenching at his sides. "Why would you refuse to accept me as a disciple? Is there something fundamentally wrong with me?"

She observed him for a brief moment before shaking her head.

"No. Not precisely. I simply believe you are unwell. Therefore, I wish to assist."

She paused, then added with composure,

"Regarding the matter of discipleship... let us merely say we are not destined to be connected. Indeed, I can ascertain this very moment. It is possible we shall never converse again after today."

Before he could offer a reaction, she reached out to take his hand.

"I shall now divine our intertwined destiny."

Her fingers encircled his palm. Her eyes emanated a white glow, and a tranquil smile touched her lips—an expression common to one who had performed this act countless times.

Moments ticked by.

Then, her smile faltered.

Her countenance grew pale. Her fingers relaxed their grip. She gazed at Mugu, unblinking, as if perceiving something far beyond him.

"Well?" Mugu prompted, feeling a prickle of unease. "Do we share a destiny, or not?"

Her breath hitched. Her shoulders trembled subtly.

"I... I must depart."

Before Mugu could utter another word, Valcara’s form disintegrated into a myriad of light sparks and vanished.

Damon hovered nearby, observing with a perplexed expression.

What exactly had she seen?

Damon’s curiosity piqued, and he drifted after Valcara.

From his understanding, this very juncture would eventually evolve into something far more personal. She would, in time, accept Mugu as her disciple. Her affection for him would blossom. Yet, Mugu, consumed by his fixation on Abellona, would never reciprocate her feelings. Eventually, she would succumb to death and become one of the spectral figures tethered to the bridge.

It was at that very bridge that Damon had first encountered her: a spectral apparition on the path leading to Lysithara. Upon seeing him then, she had mistakenly identified him as Mugu.

However, here, within this dreamlike recollection, none of that had yet transpired.

Not yet.

Valcara emerged from the institute and involuntarily collapsed onto her knees beneath the sheltering shade of a stone archway. Her palms pressed into the ground as if to stabilize a world that had begun to spin erratically.

"What... did I witness?" she whispered, her voice quivering. "Why is this my foreseen future? I am destined to fall in love with him... no... no... and it will result in naught but ruin."

Affection did not instill fear in her; she was not a woman prone to fearing emotional entanglements.

What truly petrified her was something considerably more dire.

She drew in a sharp, ragged breath, her fingers tightening their grasp on the fabric of her robe.

There had been a specific point preceding her demise when Mugu’s destiny had simply... ceased to exist.

It was not obscured.

It was not hidden.

It was gone.

"In its place..." she choked out, her eyes wide and unfocused, "there was an abyss."