My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger Chapter 978 - 980: Lord Ash

Staying low-key turned out to be incredibly tough with a budding army right under your nose.

Damon commanded a full flock of balors. Not merely one or two, but an entire flock. One had even achieved the Fifth Class Advancement. Facing a beast like that was a nightmare.

Additionally, he controlled demon trolls and demon redcaps, all birthed by his own hand. A unique breed, loyal solely to him.

Damon observed Gotrog weaving through the troops, his enormous body contracting and growing as needed while he arranged the forces. The balor soared above, its flaming whip snapping through the sky to strike any stragglers, shoving them back into position with ruthless precision.

Under his command, the army gradually aligned itself.

Renata shot a glance at Damon, obviously struck by the sight.

"This Gotrog guy is really good at this."

Damon gave a faint nod, his gaze fixed on the formation as it grew tighter and more orderly.

Suddenly, they came upon another group.

A compact marching force emerged on the road ahead, advancing in neat rows. They had noticed Damon’s band, yet oddly, the central command carriage displayed no hint of alarm or readiness for instant combat.

Not for the moment, anyway.

Rather, a detachment of cavalry peeled away from their lines.

Death cavaliers on horseback charged ahead, armor rattling, exuding a thick aura of death.

The leader up front lifted his hand, thrusting a flag aloft.

It displayed the emblem of a bull and a griffin.

The standard of demon lord Zagan.

As though that sight alone could cow them.

Gotrog dropped down at once, reducing his size upon landing next to Damon. He bent closer, voice hushed yet buzzing with held-back thrill.

"My liege, this force is affiliated with the demon lord Zagan."

Damon kept his eyes forward.

"And so what."

Gotrog’s mouth twisted into a savage smile.

"As expected."

He stood tall, grasping the intent fully.

The riders arrived and stopped right in front of Damon’s army.

"We are cavaliers in the service of the demon lord Zagan," the leader declared, tone steady. "We accompany his offspring, Prince Zanat."

His eyes scanned Damon’s troops before narrowing a bit.

"You do not bear a flag. Identify yourselves."

Damon stayed quiet.

He hadn’t considered that detail.

Indeed, they lacked a banner.

Before a reply could form—

Gotrog sprang into action.

His flaming whip cracked sharply through the air.

It descended without mercy, turning the cavalry leader and his steed to ashes in one devastating blow.

The other riders went rigid.

Gotrog advanced, his aura surging, his words booming like thunder.

"You dare address my lord while seated on your steeds?"

His power erupted, crushing down on them like an avalanche.

"Fall to your knees and grovel."

The cavaliers were forced flat to the earth.

Their frames quaked, held fast by overwhelming might.

"What insolence," Gotrog snarled icily. "You dare insult my liege."

He pivoted a touch, eyes darting to the far-off army.

"Men. Go. Bring their leader here to apologize."

Damon blinked.

That... ramped up fast.

So that served as the pretext.

He peered forward as his forces rushed ahead.

Weapons lifted high. The earth shook beneath their onslaught.

The enemy barely managed a response.

Chaos rippled through their lines amid barked commands. Magical shields sprang up, glowing barriers erected in haste.

Spells flared to life.

Energy bursts ripped toward Damon’s charging horde.

The balors acted as one.

They lifted arms, summoning a towering barrier of hellfire that engulfed the assaults.

Flames consumed the sorcery.

Another balor strode forth, intoning deeply, its chant echoing powerfully. A surge of energy washed over Damon’s vanguard, bolstering their might, toughening their hides, readying them for the fray.

Collision loomed unavoidable.

And Damon merely observed.

The redcap goblins struck first, demonic glow in their eyes as they unleashed piercing, feral shrieks.

Then the noise erupted.

A slick splatter of blood spraying forth.

Flesh collided with flesh, blades clashed against armor, and spells detonated wildly over the field.

Damon observed wordlessly.

His minions shredded the opposition.

It wasn’t even a contest. Nowhere near balanced.

The redcaps sliced through the vanguard with savage speed, their compact bodies darting unpredictably as they slashed and tore into protected foes. The trolls followed like a battering ram, pulverizing barriers with brute force.

Overhead, balors ruled the heavens.

Fire poured down in precise streams. Whips scourged ranks, incinerating troops and shields without distinction. Fire blasts engulfed whole enemy units.

They possessed no counter.

No ground to stand on.

No hope whatsoever.

In short order, the fight concluded.

Damon stood amid the aftermath.

A youthful demon groveled in fetters, shivering, face twisted in shock. Corpses of his followers littered the dirt around him.

"My... my army..." he whispered, voice quivering between terror and rage.

His head rose gradually.

"Who... who are you..."

A crisp snap rang out.

A whip lashed behind him, dropping another corpse.

Damon showed no response.

He was still absorbing it all.

This hadn’t been a fight.

It was pure massacre.

The upgraded monsters proved far too potent. He hadn’t even enhanced the balors proper. He’d held back, aware of the steep price.

Even so, this display...

Proved utterly dominant.

’A genuine demon legion...’

That marked the key distinction.

Every subordinate was demonic.

No rivalries. No scorn. No clashes.

Balors viewed them not as inferiors from outside, but as juniors in the pecking order.

That cohesion...

That order...

Changed everything.

Damon advanced a step, fixing his stare on the prostrate youth.

"Zanat Zagan," he stated evenly. "Son of the demon lord Zagan."

The young demon tensed.

"You have been defeated."

Damon’s tone held steady.

Slaying him would prove simple.

Yet meaningless.

He operated as a demon now.

And demons grasped one truth above all.

Strength allowed deals.

"You fought well, Zanat," Damon continued, aura radiating, intangible allure saturating the space.

Zanat raised his gaze, features hardening as eyes locked.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Damon shook his head.

"Not at all."

He offered his hand.

"I bring you glad tidings."

A beat.

"Join me."

Zanat eyed the hand, then the face. He drew a deep breath, steadying himself.

"And if I refuse," he murmured softly. "Will you kill me?"

Damon’s lips twitched upward faintly.

"I will not."

Another lull.

"I will let you walk away."

His words stayed serene, nearly offhand.

"Alone. With nothing but the clothes on your back."

Zanat went still.

Damon’s look intensified subtly.

"No army. No honor. No glory."

The implications hit home.

Two thousand strong, demolished.

Seized.

Departing thus meant more than defeat.

Total ruin.

For an aspiring demon lord, such humiliation outstripped death.

Zanat clenched his jaw.

His mind whirled.

’He leads balors... fourth class... what is he...’

His gaze rose once more, appraising Damon intently.

Should he pledge to him...

Link his lineage to such a figure...

A route remained open.

Opportunity to regroup.

Opportunity to ascend.

He breathed out deliberately.

"I will join you," Zanat declared finally.

His tone firmed up.

"I only ask one thing."

His stare grew firm.

"That you continue to be victorious."

A short silence.

"So that I do not bring shame to my father’s name."

Damon regarded him briefly.

Then a smile formed.

Chill and assured.

"Very well."

"You can rest assured."

His eyes sparked subtly.

"I will be victorious."

Zanat found solace in those words.

On the demon continent, stability rested on might alone. This resolution wasn’t the direst fate.

Yet doubt lingered in his heart.

Another loss... clashing with rival heirs henceforth... spelled doom.

’I can only pray fortune smiles on me,’ he mused darkly.

Zanat drew himself up despite the chains, then bowed his head decisively.

"I, Zanat Zagan, swear my fealty to you. As long as you honor me, I will honor you."

Damon’s eyes tightened faintly.

That vow irked him.

It rang too provisional.

For an instant, infernal power churned inside, rebelling against it. His hand nearly rose to end him—

Then came the rush.

A pulse.

His seed of depravity quivered fiercely, then grew.

Potency surged into his core, dense and potent, racing through his blood like molten heat. His pulse thundered as hellish energy ballooned.

Damon went rigid.

He nearly gasped aloud.

Beyond that—

He sensed it.

His level stirred.

Not a full leap, not quite, but edging toward the Fourth Class Advancement’s peak.

Zanat’s pledge had empowered him.

Damon breathed out steadily, schooling his face to composure.

Zanat peeked up, eyeing him once more.

"My lord... you remain anonymous."

A hesitation.

"May I know your name?"

Damon paused briefly.

Of course.

A title.

Damon wouldn’t do.

Amon was out.

Something fresh.

Something suitable.

Something resonant.

Something destined to echo.

Damon’s expression shadowed as he announced.

"I am Ash..." drawing from Demon lord of domination Ashcroft’s moniker.

He held the moment.

"Lord Ash."

Zanat bowed low instantly.

"Lord Ash."

The forces echoed behind.

Balors. Trolls. Redcaps. Fresh captives.

All dropped in sync.

Damon held the epicenter.

Watching mutely.

A name now proclaimed.

And therewith—

Something ignited.