My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 960 - 961: Strength

Damon drew in a deep breath while observing the trolls fanning out over the meadow.

They advanced swiftly, blocking all possible routes of retreat. In mere seconds, their group found themselves encircled by massive, looming figures.

The chief advanced.

Clad in heavy red plating, he sported a rough helmet resembling a bucket of iron adorned with welded horns on the flanks. Flames erupted from the earth as he hauled a gigantic mace across the soil before crashing its tip down with a resounding boom.

"Women hand over. Mana cores, mana crystals, money hand over. Then you go. Or me kill you."

Though his speech was coarse and rumbling, his enormous build conveyed the danger unmistakably.

Damon gazed at him briefly.

Then he let out a sigh.

"Hmmm. And here I thought I’d hear you speak fluent Common." He shook his head slowly. "My disappointment is immeasurable, and my day is ruined."

His relaxed demeanor caused the goblins at his back to shift uncomfortably. Their shields quivered faintly as they maintained their ranks.

Gabo hastened ahead, alarm evident on his features.

"Lord Troll," he uttered rapidly, inclining his head. "We can offer wealth and mana cores. We only ask that you allow us to leave safely. The women are part of our party. I beg you, show mercy."

Damon arched a brow.

He was genuinely surprised.

The goblin spoke eloquently and was earnestly attempting to bargain.

I really underestimated goblins, Damon thought.

The troll chief erupted in thunderous guffaws.

His companions swiftly followed suit, their bass tones resounding through the meadow as they taunted and ridiculed in their native language.

"Foolish goblins. Women will be our playthings."

"Their wealth ours."

"Think we not eat them too?"

"I want mine roasted slightly," another troll remarked with a smirk. "Fresh blood makes it taste better."

"Actually that’s called medium rare," a serene voice responded flawlessly in trollish. "Personally I prefer mine almost done."

The trolls halted abruptly.

Gradually, their chuckles died down as they pivoted toward Damon.

He remained poised there, arms loosely at his sides.

"You speak our tongue," the troll chief stated icily. "Man from the holy race."

Damon offered a subtle grin.

"What do you think?" he countered. "Perhaps your ears are deceiving you."

The troll squinted.

If they were typical fighters, they would never risk harming women of the holy race. Even outlaws balked at challenging the demonkin.

Yet, these trolls had already set their minds on their desires.

The women would command premium prices in the hidden slave bazaars of the urban centers.

Damon observed the chief pondering.

Not a lot of pondering was occurring in those eyes, he figured.

He recalled Renata once clarifying a point to him.

Within the beastly races, demonkin were frequently dubbed the Holy Race.

Fascinating moniker.

Regardless, Damon had no desire to squander time.

He cocked his head a bit.

"Actually," he stated evenly, "I have a counteroffer."

The trolls bent closer.

Damon’s grin broadened.

"Surrender," he declared.

"Or die."

The troll chief scowled.

He detected not even a whisper of presence from Damon.

No force.

No menace.

Zilch.

There was no chance this individual held true strength.

No mighty demonkin would roam the paths alongside a mere band of goblins unless treating them as attendants or expendable help.

And should this person possess the funds to lead numerous goblins...

Then he ought to be traveling in a cart.

Thus, he was feeble without influence. This was the Demon Continent. Though shielded from major perils, the trolls needed to earn their keep.

He lifted his enormous mace.

"Die."

The breeze tore apart as the earth wailed from the mace's ferocious passage through the atmosphere. The drag even heated it to a crimson glow. Such was the momentum accumulated over the brief span to Damon.

Gabo could already envision Damon’s form pulverized into a spray of gore, viscera scattering as the meadow turned scarlet.

None of that transpired.

Damon merely lifted his palm and intercepted the mace with an offhand look. The atmosphere detonated, imploding violently. The terrain hollowed into a pit while the troll recoiled, sliding to a stop. His limbs quivered from the shock, compelling his grasp to slip the mace as he gripped his aching palm.

The haze cleared, wafting aside to expose Damon standing composedly.

"Is that all? You wish to rob me with this insignificant amount of power."

The troll’s eyes bulged. He still sensed no presence from Damon.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Damon advanced steadily with a serene visage.

"Surrender or die."

As those words left his lips, a troll wielding an axe bellowed and lunged at Damon. The blade never neared him. A moist rending noise resounded as the troll collapsed, his frame torn asunder.

No one witnessed the event. Only that he perished.

A hush descended as the trolls stared in dread.

It was dreadful enough to witness a slaying and grasp the method. But an execution unfolding directly before you, brutal and abrupt, without catching the foe's motion, proved infinitely more horrifying.

Of course, Damon had employed shadow control. Drawing from the meadow's foliage shadows, he crafted slender filaments. The troll had merely collided with them and carved himself up.

The trolls grasped a single fact, an eternal verity of the Demon Continent.

No order surpasses raw might.

Then, akin to an oppressive tide, Damon’s presence surged forth, bolstered by his pair of abilities.

[Omen of Dread] bestowed an emanation of terror like a choking mist that invaded the soul, squeezed the chest, and hindered respiration.

[Terror Engine] varied somewhat; this ability amplified his strength proportional to his possession.

[Skill: Terror Engine]

[Description:]

Fear — the oldest, most primal emotion. It drives, it empowers. From fear comes the will to destroy that which threatens. Power is born when others tremble before you.

[Effect:]

The more you are feared, the stronger your physical and magical abilities become.

[Type:]

Passive

[Cooldown:]

0 secs

Fear. That was all they felt.

It was like confronting a demon lord.

Thud.

They dropped to their knees before this fiend.

"We swear fealty. We beg mercy."

Damon sensed a stir within his core. His Seed of Depravity quivered faintly, expanding marginally.