My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 1029 - 1031: The Talk Under The Moon

Beneath the cool shade of a garden pavilion within the imperial palace grounds, Damon held his daughter, Ranar, cradled in one arm as she slept. Her small form was positioned awkwardly, upside down across his forearm, her legs dangling as if untouched by gravity. He had grown accustomed to such unconventional poses.

His daughter was no ordinary child. Achieving first-class advancement shortly after her birth had indeed drawn attention, though not as much as one might expect. The world was preoccupied with far more significant threats. In the grand scheme of things, Ranar's early achievement was but a minor disturbance.

Damon raised his eyes toward the moon, his gaze fixed upon its silent luminescence.

The sound of soft footsteps announced an approaching presence. Someone settled down beside him on the cold stone bench.

He had anticipated Lilith finding him first.

Instead, he turned and offered a smile to the white-haired elf who now sat beside him.

"Sylvia. I am not surprised you found me," he said.

She didn't reply immediately. Her head tilted slightly towards him, her eyes calm and observant. Over the span of three years, the last vestiges of her childishness had vanished. She had blossomed into a striking young woman, possessed of a composed and self-aware demeanor.

Her eyes rolled with a hint of mild irritation.

"Didn't I tell you that old elves carry a musty scent?" she stated plainly, as if directly accessing his thoughts.

"I didn't say anything," Damon murmured, a stray strand of his hair being stirred by the breeze.

"You didn't need to. It was not merely a wild guess."

She shifted her gaze upwards, towards the night sky.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? The moons. They seem so distant from all our troubles."

After a brief pause, she added softly,

"The moon knows no troubles."

Damon regarded her for a moment before shaking his head.

"The moon also doesn't ask questions. It has no desire to know. Because it doesn't seek to know, it is not burdened by the answers."

Sylvia's lips curved into a subtle smile at his response.

Damon's voice deepened.

"We are not like the moon. We yearn to know, for learning signifies growth. Ignorance is not a blessing; it is a transgression."

Sylvia lowered her head, the cascade of her hair obscuring her expression.

"I once believed I wanted to know everything. I questioned everything. Now, I can know all there is, but is the price truly justified? Why does knowledge always demand a sacrifice?" she whispered.

"To gain something, something must be given up," Damon responded quietly. "When you read a book, you invest time and attention. There is invariably a cost associated with knowledge."

She fell silent, her thoughts visibly turbulent behind her eyes.

"I suddenly feel as though I was better off not knowing at all. Ignorance truly is bliss. I don't even wish to ask questions anymore."

Damon observed her intently. This was not a complaint, but rather an unburdening, a shedding of emotional weight.

"There is someone who believed you cannot control how the world treats you, only how you respond to it," he said. "She thought that you cannot stop the rain, only choose whether to get wet. You cannot prevent a broken heart, only decide whether to fall in love. You cannot ward off sadness, only determine if you will choose to care."

His gaze drifted back to the moon as the memory of Valcara surfaced.

"That individual reacted in precisely the wrong ways. She stood firm in the downpour. She allowed herself to be shattered by love. She chose to care and consequently suffered for it."

He looked down at Ranar, gently adjusting the slumbering infant in his arms as she stirred.

"When I consider it logically, I cannot comprehend it. That is because logic was absent. She followed her heart. Ultimately, she lived her life on her own terms."

His eyes returned to Sylvia.

"I believe the issue is that you are accustomed to others providing you with answers. Teachers. Parents. Books. Sages of the past. Deities. If you have a question, find your own answers. The knowledge might not feel so burdensome if it is something you have chosen."

Sylvia's eyes widened slightly.

"Choose my own answers. But I could be mistaken."

He offered a faint smile.

"Then continue your search until you are no longer mistaken."

"For the correct answers," Damon added softly, though a hint of uncertainty still colored his voice.

Sylvia studied him.

"Did you find it then?"

He blinked. "Find what?"

"The right answer."

Damon shook his head, his arm tensing instinctively as the baby shifted once more.

"I am not even certain I comprehend the correct questions."

A small smile touched Sylvia's lips.

"Then shall I pose one for you?"

Damon nodded. "Go ahead."

"You should be asking me why one of my eyes is a shade darker than the other."

Damon focused on her face. Now that she had pointed it out, he could see it. One eye possessed a subtly deeper hue. It was so faint he would never have noticed it himself.

A quiet disquiet began to stir within him.

"Did you know my eyes were altered by a god?" he inquired, turning the thought back towards her.

"Yes," she replied calmly.

That confirmation settled everything.

She had entered into an agreement.

Just as he had.

Sylvia tilted her head back towards the moon, her expression strangely serene.

"My heart overflows with tears. Once they flow, my purpose shall be met. The reflection will vanish entirely."

Damon's mind raced. The Lake of Tears.

He finally understood.

Should Sylvia ever reach that place, the objective of the unknown god would be achieved.

She had truly placed herself in peril for his sake. It was only natural, of course.

Damon let out a slow breath and averted his gaze. In the end, none of it truly mattered. The sole path to victory lay in the destruction of the Lake of Tears.

"We are not going to emerge victorious, Sylvia," he stated, his voice low and tinged with melancholy. The burden of adulthood now rested upon him differently. When he had nothing substantial to lose, defeat had not felt frightening. Now, he had far too much to safeguard.

The realization embedded itself within him like a solid stone.

"Victory is beyond our grasp."

He ran a hand across his face.

"No one triumphs against the unknown god. It matters not how astute we believe ourselves to be. Nor how cunning. What could we possibly achieve against someone who dictates the very essence of fate?"

Sylvia remained silent for a short interval. Then, she slowly started to shake her head.

"That is not the understanding I have gleaned from all of this," she responded softly. "If anything, as an oracle, I perceive the unknown god to be profoundly sorrowful."

Damon cast a glance in her direction.

"Imagine possessing absolute dominion, yet consistently failing when it matters most," she continued, her gaze fixed on a point far beyond the palace's confines. "You construct a tower that ascends to the very heavens. You lay an impeccable foundation. You gather the most exquisite materials. Every single step is meticulously planned. And just as you place the final brick, the entire structure crumbles."

Her fingers tightened subtly in her lap, as if she could vividly witness the event unfolding.

"He outwits everyone. He overcomes every obstacle. He vanquishes all his adversaries. Yet, he still loses. Not merely a battle. The entire war. His ultimate objective perpetually eludes his grasp."

Sylvia's voice softened considerably.

"It is entirely possible to make no errors and still face defeat. Such is simply the nature of existence."

She looked at Damon directly.

"That is precisely the nature of the unknown god. He articulated it himself. He might be employing deception, but I do not believe so."

A faint, delicate smile graced her lips.

"I have discerned the solution to defeating him. That was my recompense for carrying this immense burden. It was my final inquiry."

Damon leaned forward infinitesimally. "What is the answer?"

"It is remarkably straightforward," she declared. "It is a riddle."

"What riddle?"

She smiled enigmatically.

"I am unaware of it. And that is perfectly acceptable."

Damon simply stared at her, bewildered.

"I do not require complete knowledge," she elaborated. "I do not need to inquire about everything. I possess the capacity to ascertain things independently."

As these words left her lips, Damon sensed it distinctly.

Her aura underwent a transformation. It surged upwards sharply, then settled into something more substantial, deeper. Her very presence shifted as she transitioned into the subsequent cultivation realm. A quiet ripple of power emanated through the surrounding atmosphere.

She drew in a slow, deliberate breath, as if perceiving something imperceptible to anyone else.

"A riddle unknown to me. There is no question posed. Therefore, the unknown god is not seeking answers. Perhaps, then, the focus is on the self."

Damon's brow furrowed. "Are you suggesting the method to defeat him is internal rather than external?"

Sylvia gently shook her head.

"I do not possess the answer. And that is perfectly fine. It is conceivable that the solution lies not in confronting him at all. Whenever resistance arises, he invariably crushes it. I believe it is more prudent to allow him to ascend. To permit him to reach for his final brick once more. When he does, it shall crumble anew."

She regarded him with a calm gaze.

"Our sole necessity is to endure."

"You articulate it with such ease," Damon remarked, extending his hand and taking hers.

She smiled and gently squeezed his fingers.

"Should we falter, I shall fall alongside you."

A brief moment of silence ensued.

"Because I love you."

Damon offered a smile at her words, a warmth piercing through the heaviness in his chest.

"However, I am now a single father," he stated with a lighthearted tone.

Sylvia let out a soft chuckle.

"I solemnly pledge not to be a wicked stepmother."