Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 369: Work First, Think Later

He shook his head slightly. Now wasn't the time to get tangled up in that mess. "Right," he muttered, forcing himself to refocus. "Work first, think later."

With that mantra firmly in place, he turned around, eyes roaming over the chaotic destruction he'd left in Cassius's training hall. Damian grimaced slightly, scratching his chin.

"Yeah, Cassius will definitely kill me if he sees this," he muttered with a sigh. "Better fix it before he finds out."

Stepping back into the room fully, Damian rolled up his sleeves, cracked his knuckles, and reached out a hand, palm up. He felt the mana in the air respond instantly, drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet.

He closed his eyes briefly, channeling his mana.

"[Fix]," he murmured softly.

The air shimmered around him, a gentle hum filling the space as tendrils of blue and silver magic began to weave together, spreading out from his fingertips like delicate threads. The cracked stones beneath his feet began to vibrate and shift, pieces knitting back together with a quiet grinding noise. Broken pillars, splintered walls, even shattered summoning circles slowly restored themselves, the damage erasing itself piece by careful piece.

Damian kept his hand steady, pouring more mana into the spell, guiding it carefully. Repair magic wasn't flashy. It wasn't destructive. But it was delicate—one wrong move, and instead of repairing the wall, he could accidentally fuse the rubble into a weird new sculpture. That happened last week, and Evelyn wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

After several long, careful minutes, he lowered his hand. Most of the damage had been fixed—walls restored, cracks sealed, runes redrawn. Sure, there was still debris scattered around, but the heavy lifting was done. He felt a dull ache throb behind his eyes; even minor repairs like this were taxing if he rushed them.

"Right," Damian sighed, "time for the cleanup crew."

He raised his hand again, snapping his fingers sharply. "Summon."

Inky darkness pooled around him, shifting and forming into humanoid silhouettes—his faithful servants stood at attention.

"Clean up the rest of this, would you?" he asked tiredly. "Sort the rubble, dust things off, and uh, maybe hide the scorch marks so Cassius doesn't notice right away."

They nodded silently and dispersed, their shadowy forms gliding smoothly across the hall, picking up scattered stones and sweeping up ash like ghosts tidying up after a haunted party.

Damian exhaled heavily and walked to the side of the room, dropping into the chair Cassius usually occupied when watching Damian's training sessions. It felt strange sitting there—like stepping into a parent's shoes or something. A shadow servant quietly approached, handing him a steaming cup of tea with practiced ease.

"Thanks," Damian murmured absently, taking a slow sip.

The warmth soothed his tired body, but his mind was still spinning.

What to do next?

How to strike at Ralvek?

That man was untouchable right now, protected by layers of politics, power, and public opinion.

Damian couldn't just waltz into his fortress and blast him with a [Hellfire Spear].

Tempting, but suicidal.

No, he needed something subtler. He needed to chip away at Ralvek's power piece by piece—strike at the people around him, dismantle his resources, and expose the horrific experiments he'd been conducting behind closed doors. Those sick creations of his would be Ralvek's undoing if the public saw them. Damian would make sure of it.

He leaned back, eyes staring blankly into the tea's rippling surface.

"But who first…?" Damian muttered to himself, running through a mental checklist. "The senators covering for him? The council members who conveniently look away?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I swear, this is like fighting a hydra. Cut off one head, two more take its place."

The tea was growing colder in his hands, and he took another absent sip, grimacing at the bitterness as his thoughts spiraled deeper. If he moved openly against Ralvek now, the public would never side with him. Not when Ralvek still had so many puppets playing heroes and saints, masking the horror behind smiles and speeches.

He needed evidence. Something undeniable. Something so damning, even Ralvek's staunchest supporters couldn't spin it.

Damian's mind drifted back to Selena. If he did this right, if he exposed everything properly, maybe Selena's father wouldn't hesitate to give his blessing.

The High Fae Lord was wise, fair—he'd never support Ralvek's madness. But Selena's safety would be paramount. Damian had to ensure nothing about his past—Kaelan's tainted reputation—could harm her or sway her father's judgment.

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He sighed again, setting the tea aside.

"Gods, I'm overthinking this," Damian muttered irritably.

A shadow servant paused nearby, tilting its head in silent curiosity.

"Sorry," Damian said, glancing up. "Just talking to myself."

The shadow servant gave a quiet nod and continued its cleaning.