The shadow spread across the hot sand, crawling like a living thing as it devoured the remains of the dead.

Damon's face was slightly pale, but he did not forget to let Lyn and Sithara extract the mana cores.

The two children hurriedly knelt beside the corpses, hands moving with practiced urgency as they pried the glowing cores free and packed them into their bags. Their movements were quick, almost reverent, as if afraid the desert itself might steal the prize if they lingered too long.

Damon glanced back at Matia.

She stood with her sword raised over the rattling form of a skeleton that had crawled up from beneath the sand. Without hesitation, she brought the blade down in a single, clean sweep.

The skull separated from the spine and rolled across the dunes before dissolving. Damon's shadow surged forward, swallowing the remains before they could even hit the ground.

Damon exhaled slowly.

He clenched his palm, then unclenched it, the motion stiff, irritated. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth.

"I still haven't gotten any closer to using my attribute to its full extent."

Lazarak turned toward him. His toddler-like form had grown slightly larger after weeks of travel, his presence heavier, more defined, though his expression remained calm.

"You can touch souls now," Lazarak said.

"But instead of modifying them, you break them."

Damon frowned, his shoulders tensing as another wave of mana drained from him. He could feel it leaking away, faster than he liked.

They had been traveling through this desert for weeks. Altogether, Damon had been in this world for three, maybe four months.

During that time, he had captured monsters and used twisted soul experimentation.

It was progress. Dangerous progress, but progress nonetheless.

Apparently, when using shadow energy, he could directly interact with souls and even mold them.

In theory.

In practice, most of the time he crushed them outright.

And when he did manage to modify them, the results were… grotesque. Bodies warped into formless, twitching masses that barely resembled what they once were.

Still, there were benefits.

He could now manifest physical shadows. Harden them. Shape them. But only where shadows already existed.

He had named it Shadow Manipulation.

Mastery Level One.

Other than monsters, the greatest danger they faced was the desert itself. The sand drained mana and lifeforce relentlessly. The heat during the day was suffocating, the cold at night bone-deep and merciless.

And yet, after so long…

They had finally reached it.

Damon slowed and lifted his gaze.

He could see it in the distance.

"So that's Yari…"

Lazarak crossed his arms, staring past the dunes.

Before them rose a behemoth of a city. Even in this cursed desert, its massive brown walls towered over the dunes as if attempting to claw their way toward the sun itself. Weapons lined the battlements, embedded with magical arrays for offense and protection.

Massive chains were draped across the city like restraints on a sealed monster. Each chain was thicker than the city gates themselves.

Armored guards patrolled the walls in constant motion. Below, the gates stood open, allowing fully equipped squadrons to enter and exit, mounted on strange, monstrous beasts. People in varied clothing moved through the gates with carriages, weapons, supplies, and tools.

Barriers separated different sections of the city, rigid and deliberate. Segregation, enforced by magic.

The most striking difference between guards and civilians were the chains.

Every guard wore them. Some around their necks. Others carried them in their hands like weapons.

Damon's gaze drifted past the walls, taking in the brown houses and structures built from an unknown sand-like material. All of them shared large windows.

All except one.

A towering black spire pierced the sky, stretching impossibly high. Just looking at it made Damon's head spin.

And yet, he smiled.

"So that's the place we need to go…"

He stood atop the dune, cloak fluttering slightly, his expression sharp.

Lazarak chuckled softly.

"We've arrived."

Damon resisted the urge to spread his shadow perception over the city. He could already feel powerful auras even from this distance.

"Let's go," Damon said quietly.

"If my friends are alive, they should be here."

Lyn slid down the dune after him, boots skidding through the sand.

"How would you even find them in a city this large?"

Damon didn't slow.

"I don't need to," he replied.

"They'll find me instead."

Sithara hurried after them, her steps light, excitement barely contained.

"Really? What's your plan?"

Damon glanced sideways at Lazarak, a thin smile forming.

"I… well. I'm going to start a cult."

"A cult?" they both echoed, confused.

Damon said nothing more.

That wasn't the full plan anyway.

He couldn't defeat Seraph Null at third class. Lazarak would have to fight him. And for Lazarak to regain his full power faster, he needed followers, Faith and Worship.

After all, he was a god.

Still, Damon saw the problem.

Lazarak could defeat Seraph Null, but not kill him.

If it came to that, Damon might have to use Mutuwa, the spear named after death itself, on Seraph Null.

Which meant Damon would lose his only guaranteed way to die.

His gaze slid toward Lazarak through his peripheral vision.

'Did he plan that?'

It was suspicious. A god of peace giving him a weapon and encouraging suicide.

What if Lazarak had known this outcome? What if he had ensured Damon would be forced to use Mutuwa on someone else?

If that was the case…

Then Lazarak never intended for Damon to kill himself.

As they approached the city gates, Damon felt the guards' attention lock onto them. The soldiers atop the walls shifted, weapons subtly repositioning.

Lazarak sighed.

"I knew entering through the front gate was a bad idea."

Damon remained calm. Worst case, they killed the guards and disappeared inside. The city was large enough to vanish in.

As they reached the crowd, the guards moved toward them.

But they didn't stop at Damon.

They walked straight past him.

Toward Matia.

One of them grinned, eyes glinting with something ugly. He looked almost fae-like, save for the heavy chain looped around his neck.

"Well, well… what do we have here?"

"A woman in armor."

The other laughed.

"Come on, sweetheart. Why don't you come show us a good time?"

Matia didn't react.

She didn't tense and didn't flinch. She simply stood there, sword resting at her side, eyes forward.

Damon sighed.

Those fools were about to get themselves killed.

'Oh well. It's not like we came here with peaceful intentions.'

He was about to intervene when Matia inevitably slaughtered them.

Before he could—

"What are you two idiots doing?"

A cold voice cut through the air.

"If they have no brand, mark them and send them on their way."

The two guards glanced at each other, irritation flashing across their faces. They shot Matia one last glare before reluctantly reaching into their armor and pulling out a small branding seal.

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