My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger-Chapter 989 - 991: Hold Back
Damon let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. He still could not understand it.
A demonkin had appeared out of nowhere, seized a tower, and yet no one from the Demon Lord’s side had come to question him.
No suspicion. No inquiry. Nothing he even had a background prepared based on the experience of the higher ups and still no one came to ask questions.
Were they truly that confident in the magic woven into the city of Trace?
’Magic on the demon continent is far more advanced than anywhere else.’
He was not exaggerating.
Rune craft here was mastered to a degree far beyond anything he had seen outside Lysithara. The structures were deeper, the logic more intricate, the intent behind each symbol sharper. From what he understood, rune craft was tied directly to the Unknown God. This form of magic had originated from him.
And the demons had preserved its most complete version.
For the past month, Damon had done little besides study. He refined his understanding of rune structures and experimented with improving his spell casting.
Ashcroft had used words alongside runes.
If he remembered correctly, the spell had gone like this.
Damon rose from his seat, leaving the untouched tamberry cakes behind. He lifted his hand and slowly gathered mana into his palm, watching the energy coil between his fingers.
"Tinder to spark, ember to glow,
In this place, let fire grow.
With a breath, let flames flow,
Consume all—Inferno."
The moment he spoke the last word, he felt his mana drain.
Nothing happened.
He exhaled through his nose.
’Figures. There’s more to it than just reciting the spell. There has to be a—’
He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Runes," he muttered.
Two things could be stopping him. The first was affinity. This was a fire spell. Ashcroft could cast it because his domination attribute allowed him to impose his will over any element, including flames.
The second was the runes themselves.
Damon raised his hand again. This time, instead of shadow mana, he summoned the Flames of Ashborn, a fusion of fire and shadow that flickered darkly across his palm.
With careful precision, he traced a rune in the air. Not the entire chant. Just one word.
Inferno.
A magic circle formed around it, faint and humming.
He spoke again, voice steady.
"Tinder to spark, ember to glow,
In this place, let fire grow.
With a breath, let flames flow,
Consume all—Inferno."
The moment he said the final word, the rune ignited.
A pillar of violent black flames erupted forward, tearing through the chamber, smashing through reinforced walls, and forcing the tower’s defensive barrier to flicker wildly as it absorbed the damage.
Damon lowered his hand slowly and stared at his smoking fingers.
’So that’s how it works.’
This was not a simple blast of fire.
The flames carried intent.
They began as tinder, became ember, grew with breath, flowed as fire, and culminated in inferno.
’Each word is a guide for the spell.’
If he could decipher this structure...
He could create his own spells.
’There has to be a way to cast without drawing runes at all.’
"Clap. Clap. Clap."
Damon turned his head slightly.
Gotrog stood behind him, clapping his massive flaming hands together, sparks scattering across the floor with each impact.
"Magnificent spell casting, my lord. Truly beautiful."
Damon didn’t respond. His gaze remained on the lingering scorch marks as his mind dissected what had just happened. Intent. Wording. Mana flow.
These were the pillars of spell work.
He sighed softly.
It was pointless.
He was not a mage. In high-speed combat, he would never have the time to cast like this. He was not Ashcroft, who could weave spells mid-motion.
’Maybe Iris can use this.’
Gotrog knelt before him. Wendy and Renata remained seated, observing quietly as the tower slowly repaired itself at the expense of Damon’s mana. Lana and Matia stood rigid like knights, refusing to sit even when ordered.
"My lord," Gotrog said, bowing his head, "the battles will soon begin. The tower lords will commence their struggle for dominion. We have received directives from His Excellency, the Demon Lord Baal, through the Snake Temple. The tournament begins in three days."
Damon did not turn around. He folded his arms loosely.
This was irritating.
He had been sent here as a spy, tasked with rising as high as possible behind enemy lines.
The mission to steal the Ouroboros Coil was still active. The higher-ups never expected him to simply walk in and take it. This mission was designed to last years.
To beings who had lived for centuries, a few years meant nothing.
He had simply risen too fast.
"My lord," Gotrog continued, "I suggest we recruit from the masses outside the tower. They are eager to serve you. They only wait for your command."
Damon rubbed his temple with two fingers.
This entire competition was essentially a tower defense game.
Capture a tower. Defeat the demon within. Add it to your territory.
You had to both conquer and hold.
Whoever possessed the most tower keys at the end would rule.
Simple in theory.
Impossible in practice.
If you grew too powerful, the others would ally against you.
The design was obvious. Either dominate, or cooperate. Weed out the weak until only true lords remained.
Damon finally turned to Gotrog.
"Give my order," he said calmly. "Only the mightiest demons may serve me."
He paused, eyes sharpening slightly.
"If they wish to follow me, let them prove their worth. Tell them to bring me the heads of ten enemies."
Gotrog grinned and immediately left to spread the command.
Damon stepped toward the broken wall as the tower finished repairing itself, stone knitting back into place.
He did not care about the competition.
He cared about something else.
If he was too overwhelming, the Demon Lords might start looking at him too closely.
He exhaled quietly.
"Guess I’ll have to hold back... a lot."
