My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 899 - 900: My Child

Simply put, the Holy Child was nothing more than a fabrication. The High Templar had concocted it right on the moment. In essence, it served as a mere honorific for Damon, who struck the High Templar as sacred and infused with the goddess's sacred might.

Damon, naturally, grasped that underlying schemes were at play here, yet the Temple found itself unable to simply release him.

Firstly, Damon stood as a rare genius of his time, a true prodigy who surged through the levels even swifter than the formidable Seras Blade.

Secondly, his name rang out far and wide—more infamous than famed, true, but renowned all the same. As the Grand Duke's grandson, his ties ran deep into powerful circles.

Yet the key factor lay in his astonishing feat: drawing divine energy straight into his core without perishing.

The High Templar summoned the Nine Elders of Conflict for counsel, and by the hour Damon regained awareness, their verdict stood firm.

Rather than dragging him out into the open, they escorted him deeper into the Temple's chambers. Upon arrival, a throne of gold awaited him, while an attendant approached bearing a dark chest etched with layers upon layers of enchanted wards.

He fought to keep his composure, though thrill nearly boiled over inside. Such intricate seals promised an artifact of immense holy potency, regardless of its contents—perfect for safeguarding his existence.

One of the shrouded Nine Elders claimed the box, weaving a spell with his hand before unlocking it. A gleam burst forth, revealing to Damon—

A strip of pale cloth.

He blinked in disbelief.

This counted as a holy relic? He hesitated briefly, then invoked his appraisal ability to examine it.

[Holy Shroud]

[Type: Holy]

[Description]

For countless years he had knelt in penance, seeking forgiveness for his wrongs, but redemption eluded him. The goddess's effigy stayed mute until Lazarak broke loose from Eidolon. Believing it his sacred duty to halt the fleeing deity, he pursued with unyielding faith, his mind clouded in doubt.

[Effect]

Worn by the bearer, this shroud bestows a sacred glow. The greater one's divine power, the more radiant and pious they appear.

Damon found himself speechless. It amounted to nothing but a pious-looking scrap of material. What use could he possibly have for such a thing?

'A utterly pointless holy artifact.'

It hailed from that pitiful guardian on Eidolon's initial level, no doubt. So that explained his fate in the outer realm.

With both hands extended in grave dignity, Damon accepted it, all while inwardly raging.

The High Templar whispered solemn invocations.

"Chosen by the goddess herself, accept this Holy Shroud. Claim it now."

Damon inclined his head deliberately and grasped the shroud.

......

In the Temple's grand square, the Grand Duke positioned himself amid a throng of esteemed visitors summoned by the Temple, alongside top-ranking priests.

The turnout exceeded his forecasts. Familiar figures dotted the assembly, including some unbidden like Seras Blade, whom he suspected the Temple had called forth.

Still, unease gnawed at him over the elusive Nine Star Elders' full attendance, coupled with Damon's prolonged seclusion—over a full day now.

The elder understood his grandson's temperament all too well. He wasn't one to bow to appearances or show undue respect.

Drawing in a steadying breath, he resolved that if the Temple sought to trouble his kin, he would confront them head-on.

No matter the fallout.

He offered a subtle nod to a modest lord who appeared eager to ingratiate himself with the family, though in reality, this guise belonged to one of Jarvis's many disguises.

Right as he prepared to advance and demand answers—

A procession of veiled women in pristine white emerged, their voices weaving sacred chants. Trailing them came a youth with raven locks and a regal circlet, draped in a pale shroud. A white covering bound his eyes, as though shunning the taint of mortal vice.

His presence radiated untainted calm, yet carried a sharp edge hinting at conflict and ruin.

It seemed this figure had been handpicked by the goddess in person.

Hushed awe fell over the gathering as the dignified saint descended the Temple's sweeping stairs.

From the pinnacle, the High Templar lifted his arm.

"I proclaim, in the Temple's long history, we at last unveil the Holy Child long sought—the forerunner of a dawning age."

Damon held his features steady.

This elder proved utterly brazen. Hadn't they devised the notion scarcely thirty minutes prior?

"The Temple has scoured every corner for the Child of War, the authentic Child of War, favored by the goddess of ruin and champion of her divine kin."

"Nobles and guests, the Holy Child will now bestow his graces."

Damon puzzled over his response, though he'd already schemed to exploit this farce.

He approached the assembly. His gaze, unerring despite the blindfold, fixed first on Xander Ravenscroft, drawn here by his clan's deep bonds to the Brightwaters.

Halting before him, the covering over his eyes proved no hindrance to sight—in truth, he'd donned it of his own whim, deeming it a fitting touch.

With deliberate slowness, he extended his hand, his tone dropping to a hazy murmur, laced with an otherworldly haze.

Xander arched a brow.

What game was this? His glance shifted to Damon's fingers, each adorned with a gleaming band.

"My child... press your lips to the ring and receive my sacred favor."

That voice—deep, unwavering, tinged with a slurred solemnity like an inebriated priest—

Xander itched to scoff, yet the throng succumbed to Damon's commanding sacred presence.

"Kiss the ring. Kiss the ring."

Biting back fury to sidestep discord, Xander complied. This was the Holy Empire, after all; piety demanded adherence. He never dreamed a despiser of faiths like Damon could morph into a saintly figure.

He bent forward and touched his lips to the ring.

Damon slid his palm to the back of Xander's neck, pressing firmly with a sly, barely concealed grin.

"Blessings upon you, my son."

Turning next to Emilia Highgon beside Xander, he found her sighing in resignation before she followed suit.

"You are blessed, my child. I foresee dark clouds gathering around this one... tread warily."

Xander flinched inwardly but mustered a grin as Damon progressed, granting boons to the line.

The elite throng queued eagerly for sacraments from a youth of seventeen, shadowed by tales of larceny, illicit trade, and wholesale slaughter.

But what of it? Divine essence coursed through him.

Damon arrived at Evangeline, positioned near their grandfather.

He dipped his head toward the elder, who stood tongue-tied before his own blood. He silently prayed Damon wouldn't force a ring-kiss or paternal title upon him.

After a brief, wordless exchange, Damon coughed lightly and eyed Evangeline and Luna.

Without a glance their way, he proffered his hand. Evangeline stifled the impulse to strike him then and there, settling for the ring's kiss.

His palm settled atop her crown.

"Within you burns a tempest of fury, my child. Seek ways to temper it. You are blessed."

Luna held still, convinced he wouldn't press her.

"Ahem. Ahem."

He thrust his hand forward. She recognized the necessity.

This was her sibling. Since when had he grown so audacious?

She leaned in and kissed the ring.

He lingered a beat.

"The Holy One insists on a cheek's kiss too."

He bent low.

Iris, at Luna's side, shot him a fierce stare.

Such an act strayed from sacred rites.

Yearning for the ordeal's end, Luna hopped up lightly and pecked her brother's cheek.

"Ahem, ahem... blessings be yours. Fine child."

His eyes flicked to Iris. She muttered complaints but kissed the ring.

"You carry laziness, child. Strive more. Your mentor shines as a peerless prodigy—emulate his splendor. You are blessed."

Her jaw clenched.

He served as her instructor.

Through sheer gall, he'd lauded himself.

Spotting Lilith Astranova next, who ducked behind her father to evade the ritual, Damon advanced, shadowed by the veiled singers' soft melodies.

He offered his hand to her. His gaze dipped briefly to her form, pausing to savor her allure.

Damon presented his ring-laden fingers.

His triumphant smirk told her compliance was inevitable.

"Tsk." She tutted sharply and kissed the ring.

Damon cleared his throat, his eyes straying once more to her figure. Lilith, with her flowing crimson tresses and sweeping emerald dress, commanded attention.

"Preserve your abundance... and let the worthy one savor the rewards of your gifts."

Her gaze spasmed.

This scoundrel alluded boldly to claiming her intimately.

Damon pivoted to Abellona, tormenting her briefly before shifting to the Temple's own ranks.

He halted before Father Dantalion, extending his hand.

"Danny, my son... receive my grace."

Father Dantalion clenched his teeth.

An ancient powerhouse, now dubbed son by this whelp.