My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 2 Philosophy Of The Weakest

'Existence is forced upon us; we never asked to be born. Today was miserable, and tomorrow promises to be worse. Yet, in time, all things shall pass. Everything eventually fades…'

Damon Grey had carved these words into his soul. He had first discovered the silent mantra engraved on a shattered stone tablet, nearly lost beneath the tangled roots of a prehistoric tree. He had found them during his most desolate hour, a time when yielding to the void of despair seemed far more enticing than taking another step forward.

Even though the inscription was broken, the legible fragments gripped him tightly. Within those lines, he discovered the stubborn will to survive rather than simply giving up.

The opening sentence resonated as a cold, hard truth: "We are not asked to be born…" Damon had no say in his arrival; it was a choice made by others that left him as a mere pawn in the game of destiny. Whether one was a Young Master of a noble house or a commoner, blessed with talent or cursed with none—the lottery of birth dictated one's path in life.

For Damon, that path was paved with insignificance and constant suffering.

The second line was a perfect reflection of his daily reality: "Today was a horrible day… tomorrow will be worse."

Life was an unending battle, a relentless cycle of misery he endured as a penniless, orphaned commoner. He was powerless against the whims and cruelties of those with higher status and greater strength.

And yet, the phrase "In the end, it will all come to pass… all things fade" provided a flicker of comfort. If no state was permanent, then his agony must also have an expiration date. His suffering, however overwhelming, was not infinite. That realization kept him breathing, serving as a desperate justification to avoid total surrender.

By tethering himself to these words, Damon managed to find the grit to keep moving, surviving each day with a dying ember of hope. He had scraped through life until he finally entered the academy, but here, surrounded by elitists who viewed him with contempt, his sense of hopelessness only intensified.

His burdens hadn't disappeared; they had simply transformed, causing his remaining hope to fray at the edges.

As he retreated into the thick woods, warm tears flowed down his cheeks. He bit his lip until the copper taste of blood filled his mouth, the physical pain ignored as his mind clung to that dark mantra like a prayer to a silent god. Deep within, his heart burned with a growing Qi of resentment.

'I am not some bug to be crushed…' he hissed under his breath, his footsteps heavy with a mixture of fury and exhaustion.

He eventually reached a hidden clearing deep in the forest. This spot, furnished with a battered training dummy and a few basic tools he had salvaged from the academy, served as his makeshift Cultivation grounds. In this place, he could train in solitude, safe from the mocking gazes of classmates who treated him like a joke because of his lack of power.

With vision blurred by moisture, Damon approached the rack and gripped a wooden sword. He lunged at the dummy, each swing more violent than the last, attempting to break his internal frustration through physical exertion.

His palms were rubbed raw and his skin split, yet he refused to stop until his sweat was stained with blood and his muscles were too weak to lift the wood. He collapsed to his knees as the sun began to set, drowning in his own feelings of impotence.

While he sat there in a daze, the sudden snap of dry leaves underfoot alerted him. Multiple shadows stretched across the ground, forming a tight circle around his slumped form.

A heavy boot suddenly slammed into his midsection before he could stand, knocking the wind out of him and sending him tumbling backward.

Gasping for air and clutching his stomach, he looked up to find Marcus Fayjoy. Marcus was flanked by his usual sycophants—Lark Bonaire, Isaac Regardi, and several others. Usually, they followed Xander Ravencroft, but Marcus was the one leading the harassment today.

'I truly loathe the nobility,' Damon thought with venom as he forced his trembling body upright.

"Well, look who we found—the academy's resident failure," Marcus sneered, his expression full of arrogance.

"Did you really think you could bump into Xander and walk away without a proper apology?"

Damon felt his heart sink. It was obvious they were just looking for a reason to torment him. Despite the shaking in his voice, he stared back with a spark of defiance.

"I already apologized. What else do you want?"

Lark Bonaire stepped forward, a nasty grin appearing on his face beneath his shock of green hair.

"Oh, the trash thinks he has a voice," he jeered.

"The disgrace of the academy is actually looking down on his superiors."

The group closed the distance. Damon looked for an opening to flee, but he had been caught off guard, and they had him completely boxed in.

Lark initiated the assault, throwing a heavy punch that clipped Damon's head and sent him reeling toward Marcus.

Seizing the moment, Marcus raised his hand and discharged a freezing blast of ice magic at close range, the impact throwing Damon back.

He crashed into Isaac, who wore a cruel smile while channeling earth Qi into his hand. With a sharp strike, Isaac drove a stone-hardened fist into Damon's chest, knocking the breath from his lungs and floorng him.

Damon rolled away by instinct, barely avoiding a second ice projectile. As he tried to scramble up, Lark intercepted him with a brutal kick to the ribs.

The boys laughed, their taunts filling the air as they pinned Damon to the dirt, wrenching his arms behind his back. He fought to break free, but the gap in their strength was too wide. Lark knelt over him, sneering as he delivered a direct punch to Damon’s face. A sickening crack echoed as blood began to pour from his nose.

With his vision swimming and his energy fading, Damon gritted his teeth, holding onto the last shred of pride he possessed.

Marcus stood behind him, his voice dripping with condescension.

"Come on, Grey. Why don't you show us that famous shadow attribute magic? Let's see if it actually does anything."

Lark gave a mocking snort and punched Damon again, the force of the blow causing the others to lose their grip as he fell into the dirt. They stood over him, chuckling at his broken state.

Lark stepped in closer, a smirk on his lips as he wound up for a final kick to Damon's head. However, Damon moved with desperate speed, ducking the strike and driving his fist directly into Lark's groin with everything he had left.

The color drained from Lark's face. His smirk vanished instantly as he collapsed to the ground, wheezing in pure agony.

Damon scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily. Without looking back, he bolted into the thicket, disappearing into the long shadows cast by the dying sun.

For a second, Marcus stood frozen, watching Lark writhe on the grass. Then, his shock turned into a towering rage.

"Get up!" he barked at his lackeys, his eyes flashing with fury.

"Hunt him down! Do not let that trash escape!"

The group mobilized instantly, following Marcus's lead. The sound of their heavy boots and angry shouts tore through the quiet of the twilight as they gave chase.