My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger

Chapter 430: Chapter 432: Nostalgia

Damon had experienced a lot for someone so young. Sixteen—wait, no... actually, he was seventeen now.

Not that it mattered.

What mattered was that he’d already lived through more than most people ever would. Years of trauma stacked atop each other like corpses in a pit, festering, warping, and crushing what was once a clear mind. He had endured.

But slowly, surely... he had broken.

The only thing keeping his sanity intact was a single crown that rested upon his head.

And looking at his situation now—

That same crown felt like the reason his head would fly.

Damon sat stiffly beside arguably the most powerful man in the empire. Or at the very least, one of them.

The Grand Duke.

A being who had reached the Seventh Class—a realm of advancement where even kings walked lightly. That kind of power was no longer made for fighting battles. No. It existed as a threat—a deterrent. The sort of force that sat still and unbothered, because if it moved, entire nations would fall.

Damon had seen such beings before—monsters and men alike.

He remembered Ashergon, the dragon.

How it had incinerated a whole region with a single breath.

He lifted a fork and took a quiet bite of food.

’Why am I even thinking about that right now...?’

He forced himself to not steal glances at the Grand Duke. But he could feel it.

That gaze.

That weight.

The old man’s sizing me up...

His stomach turned, not from fear—but from the sheer tension. Not even the fragrant sweetness of tamberry cake could settle him. And it smelled just like how his mom used to make it.

’Damn it... of all things, why that?’

He kept his head lowered—not out of disrespect, but discipline.

Damon might be a commoner, but he knew etiquette. He’d been trained.

The maids had taken the fabric he used to conceal the Pale Crown and insisted on dressing him in something more fitting—a noble’s attire, with a hood to obscure the artifact.

But the crown still glimmered.

It always did.

Hard to hide something cursed with such radiance.

The Grand Duke finally lifted his wine glass.

Dinner was over.

Now came dessert.

The scent of tamberry cakes filled the air as the maids began clearing the table and rolling out plates of extravagance—layered fruit tortes, honey-glazed pastries, frosted confections and—

Damon didn’t even want to look.

It was too much.

But then the silence broke.

A silence that had lasted since the Grand Duke arrived and sat at Damon’s side.

His voice, low and deliberate, cut through the room like a blade.

”What would you like for dessert... is there anything you would prefer?”

He was looking at Damon. Only Damon.

Evangeline froze—so tense she looked like her dress was sewn from needles. She fidgeted in place, eyes wide.

Everyone turned toward Damon.

Xander especially looked like he’d just seen a ghost. His eyes locked on Damon in disbelief.

The Grand Duke—this relic, this walking fortress of power—hadn’t spoken to anyone outside his family in nearly two decades.

Even the Emperor had been refused once.

Xander had heard the story from his grandfather. The Emperor sent a summons, and the Grand Duke responded with a simple, legendary phrase:

”Screw off.”

And now, this man was asking Damon what dessert he preferred?

Xander didn’t know what Damon had done, but—

’Damon, you bastard... what did you do...?’

If this went south, Xander swore he’d fall to his knees and beg for Damon’s life.

Meanwhile, Damon remained still, only slightly narrowing his brow.

He didn’t sense any hostility from the Grand Duke... but that absence of hostility made his nerves scream louder.

So much so, his Remorseless skill activated on its own—

a passive trigger for when his mind perceived battle.

His thoughts calmed. His breathing leveled. His smile returned.

”I have a fondness for tamberry cakes, Your Grace...”

The Grand Duke chuckled, a slow, amused sound.

He reached out with his hand—ignoring the maid who rushed forward, pale with fear.

He raised his hand, stopping her.

The gesture alone nearly made her faint.

He served a slice onto Damon’s plate—then another for himself.

Damon’s heart remained steady. His mind clear.

He picked up his fork and took a bite.

Soft. Sweet. Delicious.

His eyes widened ever so slightly.

It was real.

The last time I tasted this...

It brought him back. A place of warmth and bitter memory.

Home.

A woman with golden locks.

No...

The last time he’d eaten tamberry cake—

He was in the nest of a vile beldam.

Still, the expression on his face didn’t escape the Grand Duke.

”Do you like it?”

Damon lifted his head. Voice calm.

”It’s delicious. The taste is nostalgic. The flavor is... reminiscent of home. The last time I had tamberry—”

The Grand Duke leaned in slightly.

”I see. When was the last time?”

Damon glanced at Evangeline.

She shook her head lightly—warning him. Begging him not to do anything reckless.

Still, Damon didn’t like being cornered.

Didn’t like being pried into.

He decided to steer the conversation himself.

”The last time I had tamberry cake was in the nest of a Rank Four Beldam... right before I tossed her into dragon flames.”

Leona sighed and smirked. Damon’s eyes slid her way. She knew he was under pressure—intense scrutiny—and he needed backup.

She chuckled.

”I was certain we would all die in that place...”

They changed the topic.

The Grand Duke shifted slightly, his gaze flicking toward Cassian, who sat across from him.

Cassian let out a slow sigh.

’You were too aggressive, Father... You’ll scare him off...’

He sipped his wine and offered a thin smile, then glanced at the Grand Duke again.

’Nineteen years as a shut-in and now you suddenly want my help...’

But he understood. He truly did.

So he softened the tension, pivoting the topic gently.

”Ah, yes. My father absolutely adores tamberry cakes. I think he’s the only one in our entire family who still does.”

Damon noticed the shift—subtle but calculated.

’Hmph. I’d expect no less from a noble trained in court politics... they really know how to steer the tone.’

He nodded once, lifting his own glass.

”My mother used to make tamberry cakes. Quite like this, actually. That was where the nostalgia came from.”

The Grand Duke’s hand trembled slightly.

”Y-your mother... Tell me, what was she like?”

Damon’s expression darkened.

His response was a single, quiet word.

”...Dead.”