My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 860 - 861: She Knows

The pair appeared ragged and exhausted as they warped away from a massive, sweeping wing that tore through the very air with violent force.

Thud.

They tumbled into a pile of discarded garments hidden somewhere in the city’s depths.

Sylvia let out a low groan as sharp agony radiated through her frame, yet she bit her lip, stifling the cry before it could be heard. She refused to show Lilith even a glimmer of vulnerability.

Lilith rose slowly, using the back of her hand to wipe away the crimson trail leaking from her nose. Despite the rough landing, her movements remained graceful. Though bruises began to surface on her skin, they did nothing to mask her striking beauty.

"Just as I thought..." she whispered. "Stealing the elixir was never going to be possible."

Predictably, their luck had run out. Success was never meant to be that simple.

They had successfully infiltrated the Black Tower and even reached the chamber housing the elixir. What they hadn't anticipated was Seraph Null making a personal appearance.

Sylvia ground her teeth, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides.

"Let's go again. This time—"

"No," Lilith cut in, stopping her mid-sentence. "We need to retreat. The others should have finished gathering by now."

Sylvia turned her gaze toward the distant shadow of the Black Tower, glaring fiercely before exhaling and nodding in reluctant agreement. Seraph Null would be on high alert now, as would his Chained Knights.

"What is the plan then?" she inquired, her voice controlled as she scanned Lilith’s face. "Are we regrouping with Damon?"

Lilith gave a slow nod, her crimson locks dancing in the breeze.

"We are. I suspect he has already finished writing that miserable suicide note of his by this point."

Sylvia stood up, smoothing her white hair back over her shoulder.

"Do we intend to snap him out of it?"

"It’s futile. If we couldn't do it then, we won't succeed now," Lilith answered, turning to walk away.

Sylvia paused for a heartbeat, looking at the tome hovering silently before her, then followed after her companion.

They had been fortunate. Together, they possessed great power, but against a seventh-class entity, flight was their only option.

Sylvia felt a pang of worry for Damon, but beneath that concern was a strange, unsettling spark of anticipation at the thought of seeing him. Without thinking, she brushed her hair again, adjusting it as if her appearance truly mattered in this chaos.

Her eyes shifted back to the book.

"How much of a butterfly effect have we triggered this time?" she whispered.

She felt a small portion of her elven life force wither away—a familiar, tightening sensation in her chest—before the answer manifested.

"Hmm. You are being quite generous lately," she remarked under her breath.

...

Despite his gloom, Abellona’s words had resonated within him.

Damon felt a slight relief, even if the heavy burden in his heart remained. He understood now that he couldn't simply die and leave this mess for others to clean up. At least, not yet.

Aside from her encouragement, things were progressing. Familiar faces arrived daily, and word was quietly spread through those with connections.

Xander resided in the city's most prestigious district, making it impossible for everyone to meet there. Only the elite could access that zone. Damon had not yet ventured there himself, though Yuka von Penrose was, as usual, acting as Emilia Highgon's shadow.

Using Yuka as a messenger, they established a meeting spot in a more reachable part of the city.

They utilized signals and historical references that only those from the Third Epoch would recognize.

The War of the Five Sages was a common topic for academy students, mercenaries, and scholars alike. They spoke of the Peasant Revolution that shifted the world order and the more recent Demon Wars.

To the Chained Knights monitoring the communications, it was gibberish. To the initiated, the message was crystal clear.

Between Damon’s and Abellona’s networks, assembling everyone was a simple task. Abellona took the lead in issuing the summons, as her reach far surpassed Damon’s.

Renata arrived on the second day.

Just as expected, she took charge immediately. With cold efficiency, she turned the disorganized crowd into structured units with specific roles.

Healers and those with utility powers became the medical corps. Mages were grouped into a heavy-hitting battalion. Tanks were assigned to the front lines for defense, while assassins were tasked with intelligence and scouting. Those with administrative talents were diverted to handle logistics.

Every individual became a cog in the machine.

However, there was one resource still being ignored, and Renata approached Damon to address it.

She stood behind his seat, her fingers laced loosely behind her back.

The night felt unnaturally still, as if the city was holding its breath before the coming storm.

"This place seemed so quiet before we arrived," Damon remarked, his eyes lingering on the city's glow.

Renata did not share his sentiment.

"It was and remains a breeding ground for segregation and cruelty, fueled by tribalism and racism. I would hardly call that peaceful."

Damon let out a long breath.

"What is peace to you, Renata? To me, it is the status quo. The same boring routines, the same faces, the daily grind. The people here view that as peace, even if it’s built on the exploitation of our kind. That is their reality."

She sighed heavily.

"Then they will suffer the consequences of their actions."

Damon sensed the icy fury in her tone, a flicker of killing intent she couldn't quite suppress. She must have endured a great deal.

"And what will those consequences be?" Damon asked softly. "A city consumed by slaughter. Thousands of lives lost. It doesn't change anything. War is always the same."

He gave a dry laugh.

"The irony isn't lost on me. We are the children of Aetherus. We truly live up to the name 'children of war.' We’ve made conflict so common it feels like a routine. I suspect the moment we leave this place, we’ll be thrust right back into another demon war."

Renata looked at him, her eyes searching his.

"Is this because of Prince Waton’s passing? That alone shouldn't trigger a full-scale war. If anything, the goddess races have the upper hand in the current war games."

Damon shook his head.

"It isn't just that. It's a feeling. From the second we return, everything we know will start accelerating toward an inevitable end."

She watched him silently for a moment, seeing the exhaustion etched into his features.

"Is that why you’ve been so weary lately?"

Damon folded his arms.

"I believe the term you're looking for is 'depressed'."

"It would be improper to speak to my lord in such a manner," Renata replied, bowing her head slightly.

"But I am not your lord, am I? You’ve known that for a while," Damon said. "What I don’t get is why. Are you just waiting for the right moment to kill me?"

Renata remained unfazed. She was well aware he wasn't Ashcroft; she had deduced that long ago. Though they shared similarities, the distinctions were obvious to her.

"No. Why would I ever betray you?" she asked calmly, as if she had been waiting for him to bring it up.

Damon leaned back.

"You're wasting your opportunity. Or are you afraid I'll out you as a demon hiding among us?"

Renata’s face remained a mask.

"If you did that, the danger to you would be far greater than to me. I could just as easily turn the accusation back on you. I could even claim you murdered the real Damon Grey and took his place. Lord Ashcroft."

Damon laughed.

This woman was dangerous. She really had seen right through him.

"Then why stay silent?" he asked. "I'm not Ashcroft. I'm just a thief who took his power."

Renata hesitated. She hadn't expected such blunt honesty, but it was clear he had seen through her as well.

"As far as I'm concerned, Ashcroft is a myth. The Demon Lord of Domination is a symbol for demons to worship, but he is an evil I don't actually know. You, however, are an evil I understand. I have known you longer. You are someone I can comprehend."

She smiled, her voice taking on a softer edge.

"Damon Grey. A human transitioning into a demon. I know your origins and how you became what you are. I understand you, at least a little. I learn something new every day. You have a taste for tamberry. You adore your sister. You care for your friends but hate admitting it. Leona is your closest confidant. Your heart belongs to Lilith Astranova, even if you confuse those feelings with simple lust."

She paused to take a breath.

"You are also a relative of Grand Duke Brightwater, making you the last person anyone would ever take for a demon."

Damon was impressed. Her knowledge was far more extensive than he realized.

"So, what happens now?" he asked.

Renata took a deep breath.

"Nothing. I made my choice when I picked you. It is irrelevant whether you are Ashcroft. My choice was the follower, the dominator. The prophecy never specified it had to be Ashcroft. That was just an interpretation."

She leaned in close, whispering near his ear.

"Besides, you're quite a cutie. I don't mind at all."

Damon turned to her with a deadpan expression.

"You realize I could kill you right now and claim you were a demon."

"You certainly could," she said playfully. "But I'm still breathing, aren't I? And you wouldn't do that to such a lovely senior."

Damon chuckled.

"You've been holding back on the teasing this whole time, haven't you?"

She gave him a familiar, flirtatious smile.

"It's my little guilty pleasure."

He looked at her seriously.

"So, what's your deal then? You know my life story. I'm curious how a demon lived under the noses of the goddess races and joined an ancient noble house."

She shrugged, leaning back and casually sitting on his belongings.

"It's a long tale. Are you sure you're ready to hear it?"