My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 976 - 978: Balors Again

A subtle smile played on Damon's lips as he slipped the orb from the elven assassins into his pocket, his fingers lightly tracing its surface before it vanished into his cloak.

"Ah... that should keep them thinking about me for a while."

His eyes drifted ahead, remote yet pleased.

Kadelas must be furious at this moment. After so long, equilibrium had finally returned. They had dispatched assassins against him once, subtle and untraceable.

Now, his response had come.

Not through shadows, but with a far more resounding strike.

An assassination attempt on him... countered by a threat against the king and his whole realm.

Damon breathed out steadily.

"I should be worried," he whispered to himself. "I just made an enemy of a mighty dragon."

He halted briefly, then gave a slight shake of his head.

"Nah... not a big deal."

A subtle grin pulled at his mouth.

"I’ve already made enemies of gods and ancient monsters. What’s one more oversized lizard?"

This was pure fact.

The goddess. Ashcroft. The outsiders.

Now a dragon.

By now, it hardly fazed him.

His attention turned to the troops advancing behind. Trolls and goblins marched in orderly ranks, their footfalls firm, discipline sharpening daily. Once chaotic beasts, they now resembled a true army.

The view gratified him.

Power seemed... innate.

He began to grasp it. Began to live it.

Like a demon lord.

Sudden motion interrupted his reverie.

A goblin dashed up to him, kneeling instantly upon arrival, head bowed in deference.

"My lord, our scouts have found trouble ahead."

Damon fixed his calm, focused gaze on the goblin.

This goblin spoke no guttural tongue.

It was smooth.

Precise.

'Their smarts have truly grown,' Damon observed inwardly, noting the goblin's poised stance and crisp words.

"What is it?" Damon inquired.

"My lord, a powerful horde of balors is moving along the road ahead. I advise we change course and avoid confrontation."

Damon regarded him briefly, a faint smile emerging.

Avoid?

Why evade them?

Those balors weren't barriers.

They were assets.

"We advance," Damon declared straightforwardly.

The goblin showed no delay. He inclined his head and spun around, sprinting off to pass on the order.

From behind, Renata approached, her arms encircling him as she pressed against his back. Her words came in a gentle murmur by his ear.

"You’re really becoming a demon lord," she whispered. "That’s... kind of hot."

Damon cast a sidelong look at her embracing arms, his face staying unruffled.

"Senior... can you not?" he drawled. "Men and women shouldn’t be this close."

His voice held little conviction.

"I don’t mind," Renata answered, her tone playful as she pressed closer a bit.

Then her voice softened, growing earnest.

"Aren’t you drawing too much attention to yourself? We’re supposed to stay low. We came here for information."

Damon's eyes narrowed a touch.

She had a point.

But—

"The fastest way to gather information," he replied evenly, "is through manpower."

He looked forward, tone unwavering.

"That was the original objective. Now... I want something else."

"Ashcroft’s fragments."

Renata's hold tightened just a fraction as she heard.

"So you’re joining the event in Trace," she noted.

"Yes."

"And Seras?"

Damon answered without pause.

"She’ll be fine. We give her what she needs, then regroup later."

His stare intensified subtly.

"When the time comes... we take the Ouroboros seal."

Renata grinned against him, her voice lightening once more, yet laced with keenness.

"I see... so we deal with the balors, build strength, then move toward Trace."

She angled her head faintly.

"We’ll be seeing more people soon. More conflict."

A brief silence.

"You planning to keep your head down?"

Damon released a soft exhale, then strode ahead, slipping from her grasp toward the vanguard of the marching troops.

"No," he stated bluntly.

His words held sufficient volume for the women close by to catch.

"I’m knocking heads."

True to form, mere minutes later in their march, they encountered them.

A modest band of balors floated low through the sky, their enormous shapes slicing the heavens like suspended fiery comets. Towering nearly ten meters, their forms resembled fused molten stone and charred remains. Glowing fissures traced their bodies like throbbing arteries, while their eyes blazed with unrelenting, savage fire.

In their grasp, whips stretched long—twisting, alive ropes of flame that lashed and curled independently.

Damon eased his pace, lifting his steady gaze to assess them.

'Balors...'

Such beasts abounded on the demon continent. Viewing them nearby drove home one brutal reality.

This realm bowed not to peace.

It yielded to strength.

'So this is what demon lords must command,' he mused, eyeing how they suspended in air, their mere aura warping it with scorching waves. 'No surprise the goddess races failed to claim this territory.'

Even this handful could raze cities.

Balors seldom fell below fourth class advancement.

These... all fourth class.

Yet one differed.

Bigger.

Burlier.

The heat encircling it pressed thicker, heavier.

Fifth class.

Damon's gaze rested on it momentarily before moving on.

Were he anyone else—even a fifth class—they'd have fled by now.

Balors weren't mere brawlers.

They commanded magic.

And relished deploying it.

The beasts pivoted in flight, their focus snapping to his party. One after another, they wheeled, fiery stares pinning Damon and his following force.

Then they advanced.

Their wingbeats rang out ponderous and deep.

Flap.

Flap.

Every stroke hurled blasts of heat, the air growing hotter by the instant as they dipped lower, narrowing the gap.

The goblins grew rigid.

Trolls adjusted their weapon holds.

Even the atmosphere thickened.

Damon stood motionless.

'Will they strike immediately... or—'