My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 1123 - 1124: Who Did This

It was depressing, but how could one even hope to win against a true god?

Damon had already accepted that he couldn’t.

So he did the only thing he could with his limited power.

He walked into the chamber at the center of the Tomb of Lesser Gods.

The moment he stepped inside, the familiar voice of the blind old Daoist drifted through the quiet hall. The old man sat exactly where Damon had left him, bound in chains within the Lake of Tears, softly reciting a poem Damon had heard before.

"...The Weeping Star came first, and the god who gives names devoured its light. All names that followed were lies."

"...The Weeping Star came first, and the god with no name devoured its light. All names that followed were lies."

"...To speak his name is to invite him in."

"...So the goddess took it, carved it from the hearts of men and cast it into the void."

"...In oblivion, she bound them. In silence, she damned herself."

"...He called her Bride, but the veil she wore was never white—it was woven of false fates."

"The god who blessed names hated his own..."

Damon stood quietly, listening until the old man’s voice faded into silence. Then he finished the final line himself.

"Oh... tragic tale of the Abyss and his Bride."

The blind old Daoist smiled faintly.

"Surprising. You are familiar with this poem. Beautiful, isn’t it? The tale of the God of the Abyss... a tragedy that carried his shame."

"His shame?" Damon asked, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t imagine what the Unknown could possibly be ashamed of.

The old Daoist laughed.

"Hahaha... it seems you don’t know everything. Then again, those Archons like to keep things to themselves. It is better not to involve yourself in their messy family."

His smile slowly faded.

"After all... even Unknown left."

"I suppose it is a tragedy." Damon folded his arms across his chest. "It makes me wonder who would create and spread such a poem."

"Who else?" the blind old Daoist replied with a chuckle. "The God of Inspiration."

"Oh... right." Damon nodded slowly. "I remember. He’s called Muses, right?"

The instant those words left his mouth, Damon felt every hair on his body stand on end.

His eyes instinctively dropped toward the still waters of the Lake of Tears.

An eye...

A single enormous eye stared back at him from beneath the black water.

It blinked once.

Then vanished without a ripple.

Damon’s breathing caught for the briefest moment.

"You should not take the Lord’s name in vain," the blind old Daoist said calmly. "You’re fortunate he didn’t mind... or perhaps he simply didn’t care."

Cold sweat rolled down Damon’s back.

It had only lasted an instant.

But he was certain.

Muses had looked directly at him.

Taking a slow breath, Damon unconsciously took a single step away from the lake.

"Gods are so powerful..." he muttered quietly. "...yet they are so cruel."

"I do not think so," the blind old Daoist replied. "They are powerful, yes, but each serves their own purpose. They maintain balance. Think about it. There is more than one absolute being with limitless power and endless possibilities, yet they restrain themselves with rules... and with each other."

Damon frowned.

"So what you’re saying is... if I follow their rules, I win?"

The old Daoist laughed again, shaking his head.

"That depends entirely on their whims. If you ask me, you have a better chance defeating a god in philosophy than through force. No amount of power you could possibly imagine would even faze them."

He smiled broadly.

"The bodies they possess here are merely avatars."

His chained fingers lightly tapped the surface of the lake.

"Their true bodies..."

He let out a long sigh.

"...are an entirely different story."

"I already know I can’t win." Damon interrupted him before he could continue. His eyes lowered slightly. "I don’t need you to remind me."

Was there really no way?

Before either of them could continue, a tiny pair of feet padded across the stone floor.

A small toddler waddled through the doorway, using the enormous doorframe to steady himself.

"Dada..."

Damon slowly turned around.

Little Godric stood there with both hands gripping the frame, his bright eyes lighting up the moment he saw Damon.

"Dada!"

Damon let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"Don’t call me that."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I’m not your father."

"Kaaaas... hahaha..."

Godric laughed happily, completely ignoring him.

"Dada!"

Much to Damon’s annoyance, he stepped forward anyway. His figure blurred before disappearing into the shadows. A heartbeat later he appeared beside the child, bending down and lifting him effortlessly with one arm.

Godric immediately reached toward Damon’s hair with both tiny hands, giggling to himself.

Damon carried him back to the center of the chamber.

The blind old Daoist tilted his head toward them before clearing his throat.

"Congratulations, congratulations, Junior. I didn’t realize you and your Dao companion had a little one."

Even though he was blind, Damon somehow knew exactly what expression the old man was making.

Sure enough...

"You should probably make sure you aren’t wearing a green hat."

The old Daoist smiled.

"This child looks nothing like you."

"I have no idea what a green hat means," Damon replied flatly, lifting Godric slightly higher as the little boy stubbornly continued trying to grab his hair, "but I know exactly what you’re implying."

"He’s neither mine nor Lilith’s."

His expression softened slightly.

"He’s the son of someone who used to be a friend."

"I see..."

The old Daoist nodded.

"Then take him back."

"I can’t."

Damon answered quietly.

For a brief moment his gaze drifted elsewhere before he looked back at the old man.

"If I were you, I’d worry more about breaking out of your seal."

The blind old Daoist chuckled.

"I don’t have to."

He smiled confidently.

"You simply have to free me."

Damon looked at the old man chained within the center of the Lake of Tears before letting out a scoff.

"Yeah... right."

"As if I’d willingly unleash someone far more powerful than me when I have no idea what his true intentions are."

He shook his head.

"You know what we call that where I’m from?"

"A fool."

His gaze drifted across the chamber toward the countless silent figures entombed around them.

"...Besides..."

"I’d have to free them too."

Just as he finished speaking, Damon sensed another presence.

He turned toward the entrance.

Matia stood there quietly.

She had entered so silently that even Damon hadn’t noticed until now.

"What happened to you..."

His eyes swept over her armor.

"...You look like a mess."

She didn’t answer immediately.

She merely gave a small nod.

She looked far worse than the last time Damon had seen her.

Deep gashes ran across her armor. Her helmet had been dented in several places, dried blood stained almost every piece of her equipment, and countless scratches covered what little metal remained visible. Some wounds looked old, others fresh.

She looked as though she had crossed an entire continent without stopping.

"Don’t tell me..."

Damon narrowed his eyes.

"...you flew all the way here from the Frost Continent."

She nodded again.

He let out a slow breath before finally paying attention to her aura.

His eyes narrowed.

He really should have checked her status first.

She had reached the peak of the Sixth Class.

"Who did this to you?"

"My father."

Her answer came without emotion.

Then, after a brief pause, she added,

"I won."

She said it matter-of-factly...

As though somehow that made everything else acceptable.