My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 1027 - 1029: A Slow Wicked Smile

Existence itself was an enigma.

Spreading his wings, Damon surveyed his surroundings, a baby girl held with utmost care in his embrace. Prior to his ascent, he inscribed several protective sigils onto her delicate form, each emblem emitting a soft glow before merging with her skin, an arcane shield against the immense atmospheric pressure.

His proficiency in rune magic had experienced a remarkable surge.

Likewise, his dominion had expanded.

He launched himself skyward.

The wind shrieked past as he soared over a colossal mountain range. Then, adjusting his wings, he caught an updraft and descended in a fluid dive, eventually touching down several kilometers onward.

In the distance, a city floated serenely among the clouds.

His wings retracted instantly.

He wished to avoid detection with his demonic appendages. This was territory of the Goddess Race, and he was a great distance from the Demon Continent.

He had arrived in the Sky Continent.

"Gahhh gahhj guiu."

Ranar uttered peculiar, delighted sounds upon their landing. From her tone alone, Damon discerned she was relishing this far more than was appropriate.

He lifted her slightly with a single hand.

"You have a true fondness for peril, don’t you?"

She surged towards his face, tiny hands outstretched, brimming with restless vitality.

Damon commenced his walk towards the distant metropolis. From afar, it presented a breathtaking spectacle, with clouds drifting so near they appeared to caress its ramparts.

Over the preceding days, Damon had been lost in deep contemplation.

Reflecting on numerous matters.

Foremost among them was his personal philosophy.

The creed that had forged his life. The sacred utterance of the Unknown God.

We are not granted a choice in our birth.

But now, from a parental viewpoint, Damon pondered.

Would his daughter, in time, perceive her arrival into the world as an act of flagrant cruelty? As an imposition of existence without her consent?

Damon harbored no resentment towards his progenitors for his own genesis. He revered his father. He cherished his mother.

What he detested was the soul-crushing tedium of existence.

Yet, when he gazed upon Ranar, he perceived no such monotony.

He saw the sun.

Radiant. Exquisite. Cherished.

And the more profound this sentiment grew, the more he dreaded the possibility that he had erred in bringing her into such a world.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Damon reached the city gates and passed through unnoticed.

For the moment, his desire was to return to Soltheon. Given his fortune, navigating blindly without knowledge of secure pathways would invariably attract misfortune.

The initial inn he encountered appeared adequate.

Two chambers. A sleeping place. Rudimentary conveniences.

He assessed it.

Then he considered Ranar.

And determined it fell short of his requirements.

He departed.

The subsequent establishment demanded a higher price.

Still insufficient.

He devoted hours to a meticulous search, moving from one lodging to another, applying ever-stricter scrutiny, until Ranar's loud cries emanated from his arms.

Damon froze.

He had no alternative but to accept the nearest lodging that met his criteria.

Within the room, he attempted to observe the external world via his shadow clone, only to realize its absence. Three years of unconsciousness must have led to its dissolution.

"Ah..."

He exhaled and closed his eyes, seeking a moment's respite.

The instant slumber claimed him, Ranar awoke and commenced her wailing.

Damon jolted upright and attempted to soothe her, cradling her awkwardly and murmuring unintelligible sounds, yet he was utterly unqualified for the task. Her cries only intensified.

Before panic could fully consume him, Scar deftly liberated her from his grasp.

Croft began fanning her with his impressive wings.

From Damon’s shadow, a vial of minotaur milk was produced and presented.

In mere moments, she was placated and drinking peacefully.

Damon ran a hand through his hair, observing their practiced efficiency with a touch of sheepishness.

"Erm... thank you."

The following day, Damon located an airship bound for Soltheon and secured passage for departure the subsequent evening.

Prior to his departure, he dedicated time to procuring provisions Ranar might require for their voyage.

The journey spanned nearly three weeks owing to the perils inherent in aerial travel across the Sky Continent. There were no oceans here, no coastlines, only an unending expanse of sky and drifting landmasses.

At long last, the airship began its descent.

They disembarked in the capital city of Valtheron.

Damon stepped off the airship, holding a remarkably cross Ranar.

He peered into her miniature mouth. Her initial milk teeth were emerging, a clear explanation for her foul disposition.

The initial aspect that captured his attention was the pervasive atmosphere.

The capital was immersed in celebration.

Banners adorned the towering structures. Airships meandered overhead, releasing cascades of rose petals that drifted down upon jubilant throngs.

"What in the blazes is transpiring here? Have we achieved victory in the war, or some such feat?"

Clearly, this was not the case. Based on his acquired knowledge during the journey, the war persisted. The Outsiders had made no significant advances beyond seizing the Coil. The Demon Race had established a presence on Soltheon within the last three years, but they had conspicuously avoided major population centers.

Damon intercepted a pedestrian and drew him aside.

"What explains these festivities? Why the celebratory mood?"

His hood obscured much of his visage, yet the man seemed unfazed. He offered a bashful smile.

"My, haven’t you heard? Lord Ravenscroft is getting married today."

Damon blinked.

Ravenscroft.

The only unmarried lord was Xander.

Which meant—

"Today is his wedding? To who? Who would marry that villain?"

Of course, Damon already knew the answer. It was Emilia Highgon. They had been practically betrothed the last time he checked.

So, Xander was succeeding in life while he was still—

"Where is the wedding venue?" Damon inquired.

The man gestured towards the imperial palace.

Damon gave a slow nod.

"I see. Did they hold this event to boost morale?"

Why else would they make it so grand? Whether Damon wished to admit it or not, Xander was a war hero. Young, skilled, handsome, and honorable. A perfect figurehead.

"They must have made this wedding extraordinarily lavish to reassure the populace that all is well," Damon muttered to himself.

He stroked his chin.

"Which implies that things are not going well at all."

Well, he might as well attend. It would be inconvenient if everyone assumed he was deceased.

He could already picture the emotional reunions.

Lilith would undoubtedly be present. So would everyone else of importance.

He glanced down at Ranar, who had dozed off in his arms.

Introducing her might be somewhat awkward, but it would be manageable.

He also needed to inter Wendy in the Brightwater family tomb so that her daughter could visit her remains in the future.

The wedding venue was far more magnificent than usual.

Knights were stationed in formation. Military parades marched by in disciplined ranks. Levitating pavilions held distinguished guests hovering above the main celebration area.

The cacophony was nearly unbearable, so Damon melted into his shadow and moved unseen.

A colossal projection hovered over the main square, broadcasting the ceremony's interior to the commoners gathered outside.

Damon passed through the grand entrance. The fourth-class advancement guards did not even register his presence.

Inside, the great hall extended widely and soared tall. At the altar stood Xander and his bride, facing a priest from the temple who was presiding over the ceremony.

Damon lounged casually near a pillar as the music subsided for the pronouncements of vows.

"Do you, Xander Ravenscroft, take Emilia Highgon…"

While the vows proceeded, Damon surveyed the hall.

Almost every person he knew was in attendance.

Lilith stood alongside her father and grandmother.

Leona was present, as was Matia, who, surprisingly, wore a white dress that suited her far better than Damon had anticipated.

Eva stood with Luna and Iris.

His grandfather was there as well.

The Elf King and Queen graced the occasion with their presence, accompanied by Sylvia standing beside them.

Damon's brow furrowed.

Why were so many formidable figures gathered here in person during a time of war? They could have dispatched representatives.

"Is there a reason all of them are in Soltheon simultaneously?" he questioned himself.

He failed to notice that Ranar had awakened.

As the bride and groom shared a kiss, breaking the solemn silence, a baby's cry abruptly cut through the hall.

Every head swiveled toward the sound's origin.

Toward Damon.

He looked down at Ranar and let out a soft sigh.

"There, there. Don’t cry…"

The instant they heard his voice, Xander froze mid-motion.

His eyes widened considerably.

"Th-that voice… Damon? You’re alive?"

Damon raised an eyebrow, a hint of irritation surfacing.

"In the flesh. What did you assume? That I was no longer living?"

Leona hurried forward, her expression full of relief.

"You’re alive. You truly aren’t dead. I knew it. You wouldn’t perish."

Damon was about to reply when Ranar let out an indignant cry at Leona’s closeness, baring her tiny milk teeth in a surprisingly aggressive manner.

He gently drew her closer to his chest as her gaze remained fixed on Leona.

"Hush now. Don’t make a fuss. You’ll startle my friend," he said tenderly.

Leona’s eyes widened slightly in confusion.

Perhaps it was finally time to address the obvious elephant in the room.

"…Where did you acquire a baby?" she inquired cautiously, a thread of concern entering her voice as if she suspected Damon might have abducted someone's child.

Damon prepared to answer, but his gaze landed on Evangeline.

A slow, mischievous smile began to spread across his face.

"Oh, this little one? You can tell from her appearance she isn’t mine. She actually belongs to Eva. Observe her hair and her eyes."

Every single head in the hall turned towards the baby.

Then, they shifted their attention to Evangeline.

The resemblance was unsettlingly convincing.

Evangeline’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

The presented evidence was fabricated.

Yet, it was damningly persuasive.