My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 975 - 976: Who is This Damon Grey

Sylvia's expression hardened, the previous warmth evaporating as she switched on the communicator once more. A soft radiance emanated from the crystal in her grasp, pulsing against her skin. Distant, rhythmic sounds seeped through the device—the synchronized thud of boots marching somewhere far away.

She narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharpening.

So, he was fully embroiled in it already.

Her look drifted, icy and piercing.

"Did I not mention that ancient elves possess a musty odor?"

The statement was delivered in a flat, purposeful tone.

Beside her, Daphne’s lips trembled slightly. She took an involuntary breath through her nose, brows knitting together just for a heartbeat before her visage turned stony. There was no scent. She was certain of it.

Sylvia was simply being disparaging.

"Ahem... ahem."

The voice filtering through the crystal was composed and melodious, carrying a playful edge as if no concern in the world could vex him.

"Ah, Sylvia... how have you been? I think of you every single day. Each passing moment apart feels like a slow death."

Sylvia's expression melted despite her defenses; the tension in her frame slackened just a bit as she replied with a softer tone.

"You are lying... such a liar."

A sharp, staged intake of breath echoed from across the connection.

"I would never dare deceive you," Damon remarked, his voice feigning injury. "You know very well that I am an honest man."

A faint curve appeared on Sylvia’s lips.

Before she was able to respond—

Kadelas surged forward, his robes billowing as his aura flared outward, his gaze fixing aggressively upon the crystal.

"Enough. Silence yourself, you wretch."

The atmosphere surrounding him seemed to constrict with his mounting fury.

There was a fleeting silence from the speaker.

Eventually, Damon spoke again, his tone calm and curious.

"Who is this? Do I know you? Is it not obvious that we are having a private moment?" He made a soft clicking sound with his tongue. "Honestly, Sylvia... I know you are kind-hearted, but you really shouldn't allow your subordinates to be so disrespectful."

Kadelas ground his jaw.

Visible veins pulsed at his temple against an otherwise stoic complexion, and his fingers clenched tightly as he fought the urge to shatter the communicator.

He knew.

He knew that the voice on the other end recognized him perfectly well.

And yet—

"I am Kadelas Moonveil," he declared, his voice cold and precise. "Ruler of the Moon Glades."

A brief interval followed.

"Oh... truly?"

Damon’s demeanor underwent an instant shift.

"So you are delusional, then."

A pause ensued.

"Very well, let us be frank. I am Seras Blade, the legendary hero. No—actually, I am Athor the Great Sage. On the weekends, I moonlight as Ashcroft the Demon Lord." He continued without drawing breath. "I also operate a minor side enterprise serving as the Emperor of Valtheron."

Kadelas’ vision wavered for a split second.

His hand jerked.

Whether the reaction stemmed from the lingering exertion of his clash with Rexagon or a sudden surge of boiling rage, he could not tell.

"Enough..." he muttered, pitching his voice even lower and colder.

"Sylvia!" Damon’s voice suddenly sharpened with righteous indignation. "Command your men to capture this dog and punish him! How dare he treat my future father-in-law in such a manner!"

Total silence descended.

The surrounding elves froze in place.

Even the elders, individuals who had walked the earth for centuries, exchanged startled glances, their faces marred by disbelief. They had no idea who Damon was, but one reality had become painfully obvious.

The man possessed a rare, terrifying gift.

He was capable of inciting fury with effortless ease.

Sylvia remained silent.

She did not even offer a visible reaction.

Instead, Daphne moved forward, her face taut as she assumed command of the exchange. Her eyes remained locked on the communicator, piercing and resolute.

"Cease this madness," she commanded, her tone anchored in firmness. "I demand to know why you unleashed a great dragon here."

There was a pause.

It felt entirely intentional.

As if he were weighing his response.

"Hmm..." Damon hummed lightly. "To what are you referring?"

A beat later—

"What dragon?"

It was a flat denial.

Clean.

Shameless.

As if he would ever openly admit to dispatching a dragon upon the Moon Glades.

Damon leaned back, the communicator dangling loosely in his grip as he inhaled slowly. His political standing was secure now. Rock solid. Admitting to such a feat would be nothing but foolishness.

Yet, silence would not suffice.

They required an explanation.

Not the absolute truth.

Just a hint of it.

His fingers tapped the crystal once before he spoke, his voice turning casual and reflective.

"Ah... this brings back memories," he mused. "When I was younger, I recall being hunted by a band of elven assassins. Quiet, efficient types. Certainly not mercenaries."

He ceased speaking, allowing the insinuation to linger.

"They felt... sponsored."

Silence returned to the other side.

Damon let the quiet stretch until it became suffocating before he proceeded.

"A dragon is not some mundane blade one hires in the shadows," he remarked, his voice gaining a sharper edge. "If one appears in a specific location... it is because someone either directed it there or failed to stop it."

Kadelas’ jaw tightened further.

His gaze grew fierce as he stepped closer, his presence pressing against the crystal as if he could manifest through it.

"So you admit you were the one who sent the dragon to the Moon Glades," he stated, every word dripping with self-control. "Confess it."

"I admit—"

Damon cut himself off.

The hesitation hung in the air.

Then he resumed, smooth and untroubled.

"—to absolutely nothing."

A scoff ensued.

"If Rexagon the Gravewing attacked you, what relevance does that hold for me?" Damon continued. "I am not even currently present. You are reaching, Kadelas."

He clicked his tongue lightly.

"Everyone knows you suffer from a... situation regarding your daughter. You perceive conspiracies where none exist." He let out a soft, bored sigh. "I mean, I might be attempting to win her over, but that is irrelevant. A completely separate topic. Let us not confuse matters."

Kadelas’ fingers convulsed.

His practiced composure suffered a visible fracture.

Daphne intervened before he could interject, her eyes narrowing as she latched onto the slip.

"So you did orchestrate it."

"I did no such thing," Damon replied instantly. "I am completely unaware."

"You mentioned Rexagon by name," Daphne snapped. "None of us uttered his title. Not once."

The atmosphere grew static.

For a fleeting second, the very winds seemed to die down.

Damon scoffed through the crystal, sounding entirely dismissive.

"So a person is no longer allowed to make an educated hypothesis?" he mocked. "I utilized basic logic. Massive destruction, overwhelming power, bruised pride... that implies a dragon. From that point, it is simple elimination."

He paused, his voice adopting a contemplative quality.

"That is hardly irrefutable proof that I convinced a living calamity to descend upon you out of petty, small-minded spite."

Daphne’s grip on the device tightened.

There it was.

Zero proof.

Nothing concrete enough for retribution.

Only words.

Only implications.

Just enough to incite flames.

Without a single answer gained.

"You are truly despicable," she spat, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "Did you spare a thought for the lives here? Millions could have perished."

Damon exhaled softly.

"A tragedy," he remarked. "Though, I would argue that at a certain scale, a million deaths merely becomes a statistic."

A momentary pause followed.

Then, sounding almost listless—

"Not that I played any part, naturally."

His tone shifted back to one of calm, calculated measure.

"However, had I been involved... purely hypothetically... I would have wagered on Kadelas to handle the situation."

Kadelas’ eyes narrowed to slits.

Damon carried on, unhurried.

"The word is that Rexagon is currently wounded. He is not exactly at peak performance. He would struggle to survive a prolonged engagement."

Another pause.

Then, quieter—

"Again, not that I have any connection to the event."

A hint of amusement drifted into his cadence.

"I possess faith in your abilities, Kadelas."

A heartbeat later, he added:

"I truly believe in you."

Damon fell silent for a moment, the rhythmic sound of a march still echoing behind him through the magical link.

Then—

He began to sing.

"Kadelas, Kadelas, he manages so well... and if he falters, well, the Moon Glades fall—"

His voice dripped with mocking lilt, sounding lighthearted and shameless, as if entertaining himself at their expense.

Kadelas’ face darkened, his fingers cramping at his sides as the veins in his neck bulged visibly.

"Regardless," Damon continued flippantly, breaking off his tune. "I believed. No, I *had* faith in you."

There was a short pause.

The marching did not cease.

"If nothing else," he added, his voice sharpening slightly, "I will be seeing you soon. I shall ensure a formal legal document is drafted. Attempting to slander and frame me for your little dragon incident... that is a severe accusation."

A muffled scoff followed.

"Everyone knows such a claim is ludicrous. A mere human commanding a great dragon? Preposterous."

His voice returned to a smooth, neutral pitch.

"Goodbye, sir."

Then, just before the connection severed—

"Oh... and Sylvia?"

There was a slight shift in his tone, muted and almost sincere.

"Look after yourself, will you?"

Snap.

The link vanished.

Deep silence persisted.

Only the faint static of residual mana lingered in the air before even that dissipated.

The elven elders exchanged glances, their faces grave as the burden of the conversation settled heavily upon them. Some wore frowns, others narrowed their eyes, but none dared to break the silence immediately.

At last, one of them stepped forward, voice hushed.

"Who... is this Damon Grey?"

Kadelas did not offer an immediate response.

His complexion had flushed deep crimson with fury, his jaw clenched tight, his gaze fixed on the now-dim crystal as if it had personally spat in his face.

Sylvia, by contrast, offered a faint, enigmatic smile.

Daphne exhaled slowly, raising a hand to her temple before she shook her head.

"Someone," she declared, her tone weary but certain, "who is incredibly difficult to manage."