My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 1037 - 1039: Battle In Whispering Forest

Damon achieved his objective; the vote yielded results heavily in his favor. A mere handful opposed him, his own grandfather among them.

The elder locked eyes with Damon for a significant duration before his shoulders slumped. He then vacated his seat and approached his grandson.

To his grandfather, Damon was not merely a hero destined for the goddess races; he was kin. Damon's demise would signify the world's loss of a hero, but for the old man, it meant the loss of his own blood.

Heroism was not a necessity for Damon. A quiet military appointment, far removed from the front lines, could have been arranged by his grandfather. Damon would have been required only for occasional meetings, and his safety could have been assured with Jarvis attending in his stead while he remained at home.

However, Damon possessed a disposition that compelled him to confront challenges directly.

Ultimately, the elder resigned himself to the grim reality that his grandson was willingly marching toward impending disaster.

The emperor cleared his throat.

"Ashergon is a formidable dragon. While your courage in confronting an Old One is commendable, we acknowledge the severity of the circumstances. Should you require any military support from the empire, state your needs now. Your command over three army divisions remains intact."

Damon gave a slight bow of his head.

"There is no need for concern. I require only Evangeline and the Brightwater Knights. However, I request command priority once Ashergon manifests."

"Very well, then," the emperor acquiesced.

While Damon kept the specifics of his strategy undisclosed, the demon representatives observed him with silent intrigue. The nobility of the goddess race, meanwhile, engaged in hushed discussions amongst themselves.

Following an arduous half-day session, the council concluded. Damon then found himself enduring a lengthy admonishment from his grandfather regarding the perils of recklessness and the inherent value of life.

Damon offered a sigh, provided nods at opportune moments, and eventually managed to extricate himself.

Three days hence, Damon stood prepared for deployment.

Evangeline, mounted atop an armored unicorn, radiated brilliance as her golden armor shimmered under the sun. The magnificent creature restlessly pawed the ground.

"I understand your desire for self-destruction, but why involve me in this folly?" she inquired, her voice laced with palpable irritation.

Damon, astride a magnificent dark destrier – a bicorn captured and subjugated from the demon continent – met her gaze. Its ebony hide harmonized with the dark hue of his armor, and it exhaled slow wisps of mist from its nostrils.

"Is the reason not self-evident? I wish to meet my end beside someone beautiful."

Evangeline's eyebrows flickered. Her fingers instinctively moved to adjust her hair before she consciously halted the gesture.

"I see. So, your madness persists. If you seek suffering, endure it in solitude. Do not drag me into your abyss."

Damon perceived the subtle blush ascending the tips of her ears and allowed a smile to grace his lips. She remained remarkably susceptible to his teasing. This time, he refrained from pressing the matter further. His expression transitioned, softening into a more serious mien.

"In truth, I have a profoundly crucial reason for requesting your presence."

Evangeline turned her head towards him, her curiosity piqued.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

Damon directed his gaze towards the sun, observing the elongated shadows cast across the field.

"Darkness may soon descend. I desired a convenient torch nearby to illuminate my path."

Evangeline raised her hand and delivered a forceful punch to his arm.

"Who in the blazes are you, and what have you done with Damon?"

The designated battlefield lay deep within the territories of the Brightwater Domain. To Damon, this expedition felt less like a deployment and more akin to a homecoming.

The final bastion before the untamed wilds was the city of Gladstone, an advanced stronghold hastily erected during the prior campaign to secure the lands surrounding Lysithara. Beyond its formidable walls lay the untamed expanse of the Whispering Forest.

Remnants of human endeavor marred the forest's periphery. Fortifications stood sentinel where ancient trees had once thrived. The very scent of the earth had transformed, replaced by the acrid aroma of ash, the tang of iron, and the pervasive smell of trampled soil. Civilization had forcefully subjugated nature with stone and fire.

However, as they ventured deeper, an unnerving phenomenon began to manifest: the forest started to whisper.

This sound transcended mere auditory perception. It permeated the skin, traced unsettling paths along the spine, and coiled within the recesses of the mind. Every soldier felt its presence – the undeniable signal that they had breached the true threshold.

Their prior incursions near Lysithara had already attracted the ire of Ashergon, whose lair resided far beyond the city, in the opposite direction. The great dragon, still reeling from ancient injuries and bordering on madness, perceived only a singular truth: these were intruders within his sacred domain.

Upon reaching the forest's edge, an additional, formidable obstacle became apparent.

The forest defied conventional understanding of spatial distance.

Any individual daring to step within its confines risked instantaneous, unpredictable displacement. A single person might advance three paces only to reappear miles away. An entire army, entering in unison, could be fractured into isolated units within mere moments.

Consequently, the final forward operational base was established just outside the treeline.

Yet, displacement was not the most terrifying aspect.

The forest possessed an unnerving capacity to learn.

The longer an individual remained within its embrace, the more sentient it became of their presence. If a name was uttered, or spoken aloud by another, the forest registered the memory. Once it knew you, it could unerringly locate you.

Numerous perils lurked, and it was precisely here that the demons proved their worth.

These were seasoned warriors, familiar with cursed territories across the entirety of the Doom Continent – places that consumed individuals and seemed to possess a malevolent, living hatred. In comparison, the Whispering Forest was merely another challenge to overcome.

Their strategy was straightforward: carve a passage through the forest.

This act was certain to provoke the forest’s wrath and elicit a fierce resistance. However, by confronting an organized and well-prepared force, the isolated wanderers who often became lost beneath its dense canopy would be spared.

Apprehensions were present.

Many recalled the calamitous event when Emperor Rasnet attempted to incinerate the Evil Forest. His actions inadvertently summoned the dark spirit Rashi Ignath, and within days, the forest had reclaimed itself, resulting in the deaths of thousands who perished in agony.

This time, the demons placed their faith in rune magic.

They enacted measures to suppress the forest’s regenerative capabilities, effectively holding the land in a state of enforced stasis. A broad road was meticulously carved through the dense woodland. Along this newly established route, small fortresses were erected at intervals of several kilometers. Each fortress was equipped with teleportation arrays, facilitating instantaneous travel between the front lines and the secured rear positions.

The system was truly remarkable.

Yet, it lacked any degree of concealment.

From the sky, every single structure was plainly visible.

This made each one susceptible to destruction by Ashergon.

While this vulnerability alone might have been manageable, an additional complication had surfaced.

Ythar had been partially resurrected through the intervention of Ittorath. The very earth forming the foundation of the Whispering Forest was composed of Ythar’s remains. With this fragment of life revitalized, the forest ceased to behave as a mere hostile environment.

It now displayed clear intent.

Its opposition felt calculated, precise, and intensely personal.

As if this weren't sufficient, occasional incursions from external parties, seeking to exploit the prevailing chaos, added to the difficulties.

Ashergon was not allied with these outsiders, but he overlooked them. They were few in number, potent in their abilities, and more importantly, they operated within the heart of Lysithara. Despite his arrogance, the dragon did not consider Lysithara as part of his dominion; instead, he governed the region surrounding this once-great city, now left in ruins.

Perhaps even the dragon harbored a sense of regret for its diminished state.

During its zenith, Ashergon did not reside anywhere near it.

Damon drew a slow, deliberate breath at the airship's helm. The chamber was hermetically sealed, a marvel of both arcane energies and engineering, designed to withstand extreme pressure and gale-force winds. Despite these precautions, the lingering scent of blood and ash still permeated the air.

An aura of despair clung to the atmosphere. Here, fear possessed a palpable weight.

It might have been his mixed heritage, being two-thirds demon, that allowed him to discern the dread with the same clarity as smoke tasted upon the tongue.

The airship settled at the fort with a low, resonant shudder. As Damon disembarked, the first detail to capture his attention was the presence of hundreds of intricately carved, shimmering runes embedded in the walls and ground, each one radiating a contained, potent energy.

Evangeline, her expression hardening, descended beside him. The stench was overwhelming, a gagging miasma that scraped the throat, reminiscent of a neglected slaughterhouse where the cleaning had long been abandoned.

Far in the distance, visible for miles, plumes of smoke ascended into the heavens. The forest appeared to convulse, engaged in a furious struggle. Eerie, unnatural entities writhed within its verdant embrace, resolutely defending their territory while launching ceaseless assaults from the concealing shadows.

This place was akin to a lower realm of torment. Yet, this infernal domain would persist.

By the time a path was forcibly opened through this formidable forest, countless lives would have been irrevocably lost, never to return.

Then, it arrived.

A deafening roar echoed across the expanse, causing the very trees to tremble. An profound silence descended upon the world. Even participants locked in combat momentarily ceased their struggles, directing their gazes towards the heavens.

Damon felt the fine hairs on his arms stand on end.

A subtle smile graced his lips.

It appeared that even now, Ashergon continued to inspire a primal fear within him.

A soft, quiet chuckle escaped his lips, his laughter the sole sound within the confines of the fort.

Within his mind, Ashcroft’s voice resonated powerfully.

"How audacious of that insignificant lizard who fled from me."

Damon's laughter intensified. That was precisely right. How could he harbor fear towards Ashergon when Ashcroft had defeated it, and he, Damon, had triumphed over Ashcroft?