My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Chapter 1020: Chapter 1022: Myth Of Kings

Lysithara was beautiful.

For a village boy like Mugu, it was overwhelming.

His head turned constantly as he walked, eyes wide, drinking in everything. His gaze lingered on the countless magic seals etched into walls, glowing faintly like living things. Runes drifted in the air, forming and dissolving in patterns he could not begin to understand.

He was not familiar with this kind of magic.

Everything was… refined.

The roads were smooth stone, clean enough to reflect light. Buildings stood tall and elegant, crafted with precision and care. The people walking those streets were dressed in fine fabrics, their movements calm, their expressions composed.

It felt like everyone here was a noble.

“Is this heaven?” Mugu muttered under his breath.

“No. It is not.”

The voice came from the side.

A man stepped out from a nearby room, dressed simply in a light tunic. His posture was relaxed, his expression calm, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that did not match his appearance.

“This is Lysithara. A place of learning. It looks perfect, yes. But it is far from it.” He paused, folding his arms lightly. “That is fine though. Perfection is an unreachable ideal. Something we chase, not something we attain.”

Mugu turned fully toward him, brows furrowing.

“If it is unreachable, why chase it? Would that not make it meaningless?”

The man’s smile widened slightly.

“Inquisitive. Willing to learn, yet still willing to question. You are well suited for this place.”

He took a few steps closer, studying Mugu more carefully.

“Tell me then. What do you understand about philosophy?”

Mugu said nothing.

The man continued anyway.

“Perfection is an ideal precisely because we cannot reach it. And perhaps we hope it does not exist. Because once something is perfect, it no longer changes. It no longer grows.” His gaze sharpened. “Even the goddess is imperfect. She grows, despite being infinite and boundless.”

Mugu’s eyes narrowed.

“That is blasphemy.”

“Is it?” the man replied calmly. “Is questioning blasphemy? If so, does that not make the goddess a liar, hiding truth from us? A good god would encourage the pursuit of knowledge.”

Mugu’s jaw tightened.

“A good god?” he echoed, voice hardening. “If such a thing existed, I would not be here.”

His hands clenched at his sides.

“If god is real, then it must also be cruel. Otherwise it would punish the evil in this world.”

Images flashed through his mind.

Abellona being taken.

Chains biting into his wrists.

The stench of death beneath the ship.

The horrors of the mountains.

He lifted his head, eyes cold.

“God is either dead or deaf. And if not…” his voice dropped, heavy with venom, “then god is evil. The goddess of doom has earned her name.”

For the first time, he spoke the poison inside him without restraint.

He was no longer the same man.

He hated the wicked who preyed on the innocent.

He despised the strong who allowed it.

The man burst into laughter.

“Hahaha… bold.”

He wiped at his eye as if amused beyond measure.

“If you said that anywhere else, you would be executed. Or at the very least beaten within an inch of your life.” He tilted his head slightly. “There is a group spreading their beliefs. They call themselves the Temple. They worship the goddess quite fervently. They would not appreciate your perspective. They are nothing but a lowly cult.”

Damon, watching from within, understood immediately.

In this era, Lysithara stood above all.

The Temple was nothing more than a fringe group.

But in the future…

They would rise.

“Good to know those bastards were active this early,” Damon muttered.

The man extended his hand toward Mugu with an easy smile.

“Lysithara does not concern itself much with gods. We have temples, yes, but they are mostly used to study religion. Psychology. Belief. There are also those who attempt to understand the gods themselves.” His eyes lit up as he spoke. “Other worlds, higher realms, the nature of divinity. The sages here are deeply interested in what lies beyond the veil of the heavens.”

He paused, noticing Mugu’s blank stare.

“Ah… right.” He cleared his throat, regaining himself. “I get carried away.”

He placed a hand on his chest.

“My name is Nemoriel. I am a student of the city lord, Vathren. One of many.”

Mugu looked at him for a moment, then mirrored the gesture.

“I am Mugu.”

Nemoriel happily led Mugu through the city before bringing him to one of the dormitories.

The moment Damon stepped inside, he froze.

He did not move.

He simply stood there in Mugu’s body, staring.

The interior layout was painfully familiar.

“This is one of our oldest dorms,” Nemoriel said cheerfully. “It was among the first buildings constructed when Lysithara was founded, so it sits close to the center. Most of the old structures have been replaced over time. This one might meet the same fate soon. Though for some reason, Lady Valerie and my master insist on preserving it.”

Damon’s breath hitched.

He realized with a jolt that he was currently inside Mugu.

His hand rose slowly to his chest, feeling the heavy beat of a heart that was not his.

Memories surfaced.

Two children in a desert, sitting cross legged in the sand, asking him for stories.

He had told them about the War Halls in the Aether Academy. He remembered sketching the layout roughly in the sand so they could imagine it better.

Just a crude drawing.

Just a story.

And yet the walls here, the structure, the plan… it was unmistakable.

“Hey,” Damon asked through Mugu, trying to keep his voice steady, “what is the story behind this place?”

Nemoriel chuckled.

“Oh, you noticed? Not many people do. Probably because of the rumors. Not many people stay here for that reason.”

“Rumors?” Damon asked, brow lifting.

“Yes. An old founding legend. I am fairly certain Lady Valerie is the one who spread it. She can be… mischievous.”

“Founding legend?” Damon pressed, curiosity growing.

Nemoriel stroked his chin thoughtfully as he guided Mugu down the corridor.

“It is said that the founders of Lysithara once had a king. The King of Lysithara. A ruler shrouded in mystery. By the time the city truly flourished, no one could remember him. Not his name. Not his face. Only that he was powerful and wise.”

Nemoriel’s expression shifted playfully. He leaned closer and lowered his voice.

“Legends say his astral form still wanders these halls, searching for subjects who remember him. If you fail to say his name, he steals your shadow and takes it with him forever.”

Damon merely glanced at him, expression flat.

“And that,” Nemoriel continued, straightening up, “is why Lysithara has city lords instead of kings. Lord Vathren inherited the position from another city lord, and the one before him from the founders. The ruler here is always a lord because the prophecy says the king will return one day.”

He waved a hand dismissively.

“Do not take it seriously. I am sure Lady Valerie made most of it up.”

He did not seem impressed by his own story.

“That is also why this dorm is mostly empty. Some say strange things happen here.” He looked at Mugu, expecting some reaction.

Mugu’s face remained rigid and unreadable.

Nemoriel studied him for a moment.

“Hmm. I suppose someone who crossed the Duhu Mountains would not be frightened by a ghost story.”

They stopped in front of a room.

“Well, try to get along with the others,” Nemoriel said as he opened the door.

Damon could not stop himself from chuckling softly.

In the War Halls, his own dorm had been in this exact position.

And now Mugu was stepping into a room laid out almost the same way.

For the first time, Damon understood something clearly.

His actions in the nightmare of Lazarak had not been without consequence.

Lyn and Sithara could not remember him. They did not know who he was.

Yet somehow, they had recreated fragments of what he told them.

A shadow of a memory.

A shadow of him.

“Here,” Nemoriel said, handing Mugu a book. “A guide for newcomers.”

Damon took it automatically, but Mugu surfaced again, staring at the book, then at Nemoriel. His cold expression faltered into something awkward.

“I… I cannot read.”

Nemoriel did not laugh.

He simply smiled and placed a hand gently on Mugu’s shoulder.

“That is not a problem. I can teach you. Or you can enroll in reading and writing classes. It is part of the practical curriculum for rune magic, though not many take it since rune magic is still an underdeveloped field.”

He stepped back toward the door.

“Get some rest. If you need anything, there is a call button by the bed. I will also get you a communicator so you can reach me.”

He had been nothing but kind, despite Mugu’s ragged appearance.

“I… thank you,” Mugu muttered quietly.

Nemoriel smiled once more and left, closing the door behind him.