My Living Shadow System Devours To Make Me Stronger-Chapter 232: We’re All Gonna Die

Sylvia communicated with the half-dead goblin, her face paling with each response.

The creature's voice was hoarse and grating, its words broken and guttural, but the message was clear enough.

As it spoke, it gestured toward the violet light on the distant horizon.

The glow had spread from the south to the north, blanketing the entire region—except for the western sky, which was an ominous shade of gray. There, bleak-looking mountains loomed in the distance.

Slightly off to the south, another mountain stood, isolated. Even from here, Damon felt an unnatural sense of dread just looking at it.

Sylvia took a deep breath, her expression ashen.

"Hush Hush refers to whispers…" she murmured.

She hesitated before continuing.

"The reason he likened it to death… is because right behind us, beyond those dwarf mountains and ridges… lies the Whispering Forest."

Damon's jaw tightened.

He exhaled slowly.

"So we're still in Soltheon… that's good."

Xander, who had remained quiet until now, paled.

"Good? What's good about being in uncharted lands? The Whispering Forest is a death zone—just like the Evil Forest."

Damon nodded. He already knew their situation was bad—which was precisely why he needed them all to stay calm.

Even so, his fists clenched.

Evangeline bit her lip, her gaze shifting toward the violet light on the horizon.

"What about that direction? If we can't go west, why not east? Or south? Or north?"

Sylvia shook her head.

"There's a mana anomaly in that direction. It's created a gravity zone that has engulfed the entire region. Anyone who approaches gets crushed by the ambient gravity attribute magic."

A heavy silence followed.

This wasn't unheard of.

When mana lingered too long in a place, it could either form dungeons or create anomalous zones, where magic ran wild.

This was one of those zones—a mana anomaly.

They could manifest with any attribute—sometimes all at once—and were often compared to storms at sea.

Only worse.

The worst of them were spatial storms, which could tear reality apart.

Gravity anomalies were almost as bad.

Damon sighed.

"That explains the tremors in the ground…"

Leona, who had been listening intently, crouched down.

"What about the demon army?"

Sylvia turned back to the goblin, speaking softly.

The creature trembled at the mention of the army.

"They originally camped near the anomaly," Sylvia translated, "but it started shrinking—moving in their direction. So now they're attacking it, hoping to break through."

Damon narrowed his eyes.

"That doesn't make sense."

If their goal was simply to escape, why not head southwest?

Avoiding the Whispering Forest was logical—but the southwest was a different matter.

Sylvia must have had the same thought. She turned back to the goblin and gestured, pointing southwest.

The goblin froze.

Then—

It shook its head violently, trembling as if she had touched upon some unspeakable taboo.

"Jeekkekekekkekeke!"

It choked on its own fear, its breathing turning ragged.

Then, in a panicked frenzy, it gestured wildly toward the southwestern mountain.

Sylvia's face grew steadily paler.

The goblin rasped out words in its broken, grating language.

Damon managed to pick out a few:

"Winged one… ash… death, death…"

Then a phrase that sounded like:

"Many, many army… hot, hot…"

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Each fragmented sentence only made his gut sink deeper.

Sylvia inhaled sharply, then exhaled, steadying herself before speaking.

"We're near the nest of Ashergon."

Damon's breath hitched.

Ashergon.

The name alone carried a weight of dread—a dragon whose presence alone could spell absolute devastation.

Sylvia continued, her voice laced with tension.

"Near its nest lies a ruin—one crawling with drakes and wyverns that serve it. Approaching it means death."

She hesitated, then delivered the final blow.

"The demon army tried passing through. Of their three thousand troops… they lost 2,645.

In just seven minutes.

And the dragon hadn't even appeared."

Xander sucked in a sharp breath.

A cold silence settled over the group.

Sylvia pressed on, her voice subdued.

"The scouts stationed here haven't reported back to the main force yet. They were sent into the Whispering Forest… to search for a safe exit. Or at least… somewhere that doesn't mean certain death."

Damon's fists clenched.

There was no safe exit. Not yet.

Sylvia wasn't finished.

"On the outskirts of the forest, the scouts found a ruined city."

A flicker of hope?

"They claim this city may have a waypoint—one that could be used for teleportation out of this region."

Damon's head snapped toward Evangeline.

"We're not far from Brightwater Dukedom—assuming we can get past the Whispering Forest and everything around it."

Evangeline nodded, though her expression remained grim.

"If it's a city, then it has to be an ancient ruin… I've heard of it before.

The one called the 'Path of Kings.'"

Matlock swallowed hard, gripping his head as panic settled in.

"What—what do we do now?! If the demon army learns about this place, we'll be hunted down!"

His breath grew ragged.

"We need to run—run far away—"

Damon exhaled through gritted teeth.

"Run where?"

His voice was flat. Cold.

"We're surrounded by death. There is no hope."

A heavy silence followed.

Then, his fingers curled into a tight fist.

If they were first-class advancements, maybe—just maybe—there would be a sliver of a chance.

Even then… death would still be almost certain.

His frustration boiled over.

He turned and kicked the goblin.

The creature squealed weakly, too broken to fight or flee.

Sylvia reached out, gripping Damon's wrist.

"Their group was nearly wiped out in the Whispering Forest before they found the city… Right now, there are only twenty-seven Red Cap goblins left."

Her voice dropped further.

"And they're led by three war trolls."

Damon's stomach twisted.

War trolls.

Monsters nearly as bad as lesser demons.

They weren't just stronger than normal trolls—they were war incarnate.

A single one could wipe out an entire party of first-class advancement adventurers.

But what made them truly terrifying wasn't their brute strength.

It was their intelligence.

Their cruelty.

Their obsession with the hunt.

Once a war troll picked up a trail, it would not stop—not until every last target was dead.

The blood drained from everyone's faces.

Matlock collapsed to his knees, trembling.

Tears streaked down his face as he clutched his head.

"We're all gonna die… We're all gonna die…"