My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 1192 - 1193: Fate’s Cruel Jest

It was a day he never forgot.

His mother had left. He still remembered the expression on her face, the look in her eyes, and the warmth of her soft hands as they clasped his face.

She had given him a gentle kiss on the cheek and told him to be good.

She promised she would be back.

But she never did.

Even to this day, Damon held onto that promise in a small corner of his heart. He just wanted to see his mother. He just wanted her to keep her promise.

To come back home.

He glanced at his daughter, then smiled faintly.

"My parents were in the First Class Advancement, and the war had reached its most brutal phase. The Empire needed people who could fight, so those in the First Class Advancement were conscripted. Even people in my little village were taken."

He stared into the fire.

"That was the last time I saw my mother and father."

His voice became quieter.

"Until one day, a man known as Linga Felt came back. He brought back what was left of them."

"Which was nothing save for a broken sword and mother’s pendant."

Damon’s hands slowly tightened.

"They were dead. Victims of a war that was never theirs to fight."

Ric listened carefully. He had never seen Damon so somber.

But Damon wasn’t finished.

"That wasn’t the end of anything. It was the beginning."

His gaze hardened.

"The kind villagers betrayed us. Our relatives did too. So I had to take my sister out of there. Our hope was in the capital, but the world is quite cruel to nameless children."

He looked down at his hands.

"I survived because I was willing to do whatever it took. I... I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Things that were wrong. Things no one should ever have to do."

As he said that, Damon glanced at them.

Perhaps it was his human side, but a small part of him still wanted them to think he was perfect.

Growing up was realizing that your heroes were human too.

"It was only later that I met Linga Felt once more. By then, I was much older, far removed from the little child he remembered. That was when I learned the truth behind my parents’ deaths."

He glanced at Ric before lowering his voice.

"It began with a man called Godric Ravenscroft."

"Your uncle."

Ric lifted his head slightly.

"My uncle?"

Damon nodded slowly.

"Yes. Godric Ravenscroft was the brother of your father, Xander Ravenscroft. He was the grandson of Grand Duke Ravenscroft, who was a good friend of my grandfather, the Grand Duke of House Brightwater."

He paused before continuing.

"The person you were named after."

"Godric was also someone who had been betrothed to my mother in her youth."

He sighed softly and stirred the fire.

"That didn’t work out, since my mother didn’t marry him. You see, when my mother left, she wasn’t openly disowned. Instead, House Brightwater declared her dead. She was supposed to have lived a peaceful life far from the world of nobles."

"That did happen, did it?" Ranar whispered.

Damon shook his head and took a deep breath.

"During the war, she ran into Godric Ravenscroft. As you can understand, he would have felt humiliated. I know I would have. But more than that, he was disgusted. She had married a mere commoner. For someone with such a strong sense of noble pride, it was unacceptable."

He stared into the flames.

"From what I learned from Linga, he tried to convince her to return to her rightful place. But she refused. She was, after all, a Brightwater. Being stubborn was simply part of her nature."

A faint smile touched his lips before disappearing.

He opened and closed his palms, still wondering whether he should tell them more or simply leave it there.

But he had already come this far.

He might as well continue.

"Since she refused, Godric had to get rid of her. Maybe it was a moment of impulse. Perhaps it was a long-thought-out plan. I don’t know."

His expression gradually became colder.

"But during the battle, he unleashed a horde of lesser demons upon them and trapped them there to die."

"There was no definitive evidence to prove he had done it. After all, it was a war. At most, he could have been charged with incompetence as a commander."

Damon’s gaze shifted toward the distant mountains.

"That said, one person survived."

He paused.

"Linga Felt."

He took a deep breath as the mountain wind swept past them. The sounds of battle from the distant city were growing quieter.

"Linga tried to expose him through the military, but at most, it was considered the ravings of a madman who had witnessed the madness of war. He just wanted someone to blame."

Damon’s lips curled into a bitter smile.

"How could he possibly fault the kind and perfect Godric Ravenscroft?"

He shook his head.

"So Linga was discharged, and what Godric had done was left only to him. No one would ever know."

A cold expression settled over Damon’s face.

"Until I found out."

He looked back at Ric.

"When Linga told me, I was consumed by hatred. I swore that Godric would not live another moment."

The fire crackled between them.

"So I infiltrated House Ravenscroft."

A faint smile appeared on Damon’s face.

"It was easy. They were so confident in their name and power that they never imagined someone would dare enter their home. I walked right into Godric’s room."

Damon still remembered the man he had found there.

A wasted man drinking alone in the darkness.

"What I saw wasn’t what I expected. There wasn’t some proud noble sitting there. All I saw was a man consumed by his own guilt, fear, and paranoia."

He paused, remembering the conversation.

"We spoke for a short time. I didn’t care much for his words. Whatever he was going to say to me was a moot point."

Damon’s voice became quiet.

"Then I killed him."

Silence descended around the fire.

"I expected to feel something."

His eyes lowered.

"But there was nothing."

He slowly exhaled.

"There never is."

"His death didn’t bring back my parents. It didn’t undo years of grievances. It only dulled my rage for a time."

He looked toward Ric.

"That was how Godric died."

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

"The truth behind Amon."

Ric lowered his head when he heard that. Somehow, he felt guilty for what had happened, even though he knew he had nothing to do with it.

"I’m sorry," he muttered.

Damon reached out and gently placed a hand on his head.

"Don’t be. This wasn’t your fault."

He ruffled Ric’s hair before his expression became solemn again.

"But there is more to this sad tale."

His hand slowly fell back to his side.

"After all, this is the reason you ended up in my hands."

Damon stared into the flames.

"Fate has a cruel irony, my dear boy. And one of those ironies was when your father, Xander Ravenscroft, came to me seeking help to avenge his brother."

He gave a faint, humorless smile.

"Fate is a cruel jester."