My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Chapter 917: Chapter 918: Hungry Soil

It was quick, violent, and shocking, and the entire expedition force could only watch as the massive stag and its rider were dragged into almost certain death.

Several knights shifted in their saddles, hands reaching instinctively for reins and weapons.

Just as they were about to surge forward to save him, a black shadow slid through the ground like oil and sprang onto Renata’s stag. The air rippled, and Damon materialized atop it, his face pale and drawn.

“Phew. That was a close one. I almost died.”

Renata stiffened, her fingers tightening on the reins as something wet struck the ground beside her.

Blood.

Damon swayed slightly in the saddle. Strange black roots writhed out from beneath his armor, piercing through torn metal and flesh alike. His face was lacerated, thin cuts tracing down his cheek and jaw, blood running freely. That was why he was pale.

He inhaled sharply through his teeth and pulled out a vial of healing potion. With his other hand he gripped one of the black roots and tore it free. Flesh came with it. He did not hesitate. He ripped out another, and another, strips of his own skin and muscle peeling away as dark sap like ichor dripped to the forest floor.

Even the veterans who had survived countless battlefields stared in disbelief. A few swallowed hard. Those who served House Brightwater forced themselves into motion and rushed to him.

“My lord, are you okay?” a pale faced healer asked, already stepping closer. Her blue eyes were sharp even in the dim forest light. Gray hair spilled from beneath her helm, which she held under one arm as she raised her free hand.

She began channeling healing magic, light gathering faintly around her palm.

Damon lifted a bloodied hand and shook his head.

“It is fine. I can heal my body much faster than you can.”

He downed the potion in one smooth motion.

He was not lying. It was not the potion that mattered. He had only taken a low level one.

After nearly dying in that pool in the Holy City, Damon had gained divine energy. Since then, his body had developed a healing factor. It was that factor that had saved his life.

When he had been pulled under, the first two seconds were pure shock. For someone on his level, two seconds was the line between survival and death. The thing beneath the ground had impaled him, but his body had already begun knitting itself together. The pain had jolted him out of shock just long enough to tear himself free and slip through shadow.

“We need to keep moving,” Seras ordered, her voice cutting cleanly through the murmurs. She did not slow her stag.

The leader of the knights Damon had purchased straightened in his saddle and raised his hand.

“Knights of the Rising Sun. Change formation. Protect His Excellency with your lives.”

That was Silas. At least Damon thought that was his name.

The knights shifted immediately, tightening their formation around him, shields angling outward, eyes scanning the treeline.

“Erhm. You really do not need to do that,” Damon muttered, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand.

Another stag approached from the rear at a controlled pace. Kael rode it, parchment tucked under one arm, several expedition experts flanking him.

“You should be more careful,” the young looking professor said, brows drawn together in visible frustration. He guided his stag closer but kept a careful distance from the hungry soil.

“You realize if you die here, these brave men and women will be executed upon their return.”

His tone hardened.

“You are a noble. If you fall first and your knights live, it will be treated as treason. Even if they are innocent.”

A knight must die before his lord.

Damon glanced around at the tightened circle of armored bodies.

He understood.

To them, the expedition came second. Protecting Damon came first.

He exhaled slowly and turned his gaze toward the gray haired healer.

“What is your name again?”

She straightened at once.

“I am Lana Summer of the Fourth Radiant Regiment.”

Damon studied her for a brief moment, then nodded.

He could not ask them all their names. He had not asked in the beginning because he did not care enough to.

The second reason was colder.

He did not want attachments.

The last person he had grown attached to had died, and he had been powerless to stop it.

When he was a child, Back to Back had once told him that if you do not know someone’s name, you feel nothing when they die. They remain just a face in a crowd.

Funny enough, Back to Back had not been his real name.

Even so, killing him had hurt. More than Damon had expected, despite how much he hated that arrogant elf.

“I will remember that,” Damon said quietly.

Renata’s stag shifted forward again, hooves pressing into the soft dirt.

The rule was simple. The longer you stayed still, the more the ground wanted you.

So they kept moving. Slow, deliberate, never lingering.

Damon remained alert, shoulders tense despite the fading wounds. This was only the beginning. They had kilometers of cursed terrain ahead of them, and beyond that, more cursed regions.

The forest grew darker as they advanced. The trees twisted higher, their branches choking what little light filtered down. Between the trunks, Damon caught glimpses of movement.

Strange apparitions.

When he focused on one, turning his head sharply to catch it fully, it dissolved like smoke.

Each one was fast.

“What are those?” Lana whispered, her grip tightening on her staff.

Damon’s eyes narrowed, tracking a flicker to the left before it vanished.

“Evil forest jinn. Or one variation of them. They come in many forms. These ones are observing. Waiting.”

Lana’s steed kept pace, armor catching brief rays of light that pierced the canopy.

“Waiting for what?” she asked, catching another black flicker at the edge of her vision.

Renata’s stag suddenly stumbled.

It dropped to its knees with a heavy thud, breath exploding from its lungs in ragged bursts. Its sides heaved violently as if it had been running for days without rest.

Damon swung down at once, boots sinking slightly into the soft soil. He steadied Renata as she dismounted.

A heartbeat later, Lana’s stag buckled as well, legs trembling before collapsing into the hungry ground.

Lana rolled free with disciplined precision and came up on one knee, staff raised, light gathering at its tip.

Damon stepped forward and caught her wrist before she could cast.

“Waiting for us to get tired and weak.”

The ground pulsed.

Black roots spread like veins beneath the surface, then shot upward, wrapping around the fallen stags. The animals struggled weakly, then went still as the forest floor drained them.

Damon did not look back.

He stepped forward, forcing his boots through the resisting soil.

“Keep moving,” he said, voice calm and cold. “Unless you want to join them.”