Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 411: Assassinated

Warlock Ch 411. Assassinated

He toweled off, stepped out, and faced the mirror again.

His eyes still carried the weight.

But they also carried fire.

He was running out of time.

But he was ready to move.

Damian pulled on a clean black undershirt, the familiar, almost ritualistic feeling of it steadying his heartbeat slightly. His fingers moved automatically—buckling his belt, adjusting the bracers over his wrists, sliding on the reinforced coat tailored with defensive runes stitched into the lining.

Everything felt heavier today.

Maybe it was the irony—knowing how far he'd come only to face the same kind of betrayal that broke him the first time.

Maybe it was the fading adrenaline, leaving only the cold ache behind.

Or maybe it was something deeper.

Something that said this time, you might not walk away whole.

His boots hit the floor harder than usual as he crossed the hall back toward his room.

Each step echoed differently.

Heavier.

More... final.

He didn't rush. Just walked.

Slow. Purposeful.

As he reached his door, the mana flow around him shifted subtly.

The air tasted different—like the first crackle before a thunderstorm.

They were back.

His shadow servants.

He pushed open the door with a quiet creak and stepped inside, the wards sealing automatically behind him.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the mana-infused crystals embedded into the high shelves. It smelled faintly of parchment, old leather, and rain-drenched stone.

Damian dropped onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed for a breath.

Then he straightened, cold focus snapping back into place.

The air in front of him twisted—and one by one, his shadows materialized.

Five figures, cloaked in darkness, featureless except for the faint silver markings that pulsed like heartbeats across their shrouds.

They knelt.

Damian rested his forearms on his thighs and said, voice low but sharp, "Report."

The first shadow leaned forward slightly. Its voice was hollow, like the echo of wind through empty halls.

"The fae soldiers escorting Prince Cedric were assassinated yesterday."

Damian's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Most of their corpses were corrupted," the shadow continued, "using decay magic to conceal evidence. Recovery of identities incomplete. Traces match corrupted blood spells—likely Marenvell origin."

Damian's fingers tapped once against his knee, slow and deliberate. "Tch. Sloppy."

He gestured for the next.

The second shadow spoke, a little thinner in tone.

"The fae royal court is unaware of the full incident. Instead, rumors have been circulated—claims that Prince Cedric and Princess Selena will remain in Haven longer."

Damian lifted an eyebrow. "Because of the attack?"

"No," the servant said. "The public story… is different."

A pause.

Damian's voice was quiet. Dangerous. "Spit it out."

"They say it's because Princess Selena fell in love with a warlock."

The room went very, very still.

Damian leaned back slightly, resting his head against the wall behind him, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.

"So they're already using me as an excuse, huh," he muttered dryly.

None of the servants dared to move.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing slowly through his nose.

He could almost feel Victoria's smug 'I told you so' if she ever found out about this rumor.

Focus.

He opened his eyes again. "Next."

The third shadow stepped forward.

"House Marenvell appears to be the main orchestrator. They have been sowing discord among the lower-ranked royals and nobles, exploiting minor bloodline disputes, whispering promises of power if certain blood seals are unlocked."

Damian's eyes sharpened.

They were playing deep. Using political chaos to mask an ancient goal.

"And they're using Cedric to do it," he said grimly.

The third shadow bowed its head lower.

"Confirmed."

Damian made a mental note to burn Marenvell's estate to the ground later. Preferably while smiling.

"And the fourth?" he asked.

The last shadow—slightly taller than the others—spoke in a softer, almost regretful voice.

"We could not track Prince Cedric or Sir Alric's current location."

Damian frowned.

"Explain."

"The teleportation anchor was corrupted after initial transit. Tracking magic disrupted mid-jump. Whoever set the destination used a mobile gate—likely transported them again within minutes."

Damian exhaled through his nose. Slow. Controlled. Barely.

"So they're moving them constantly," he said. "Keeping them away from any divination."

"Yes," the shadow confirmed. "By now, they are either deep underground or cloaked within high-grade noble wards."

Damian stood slowly, stretching his arms up, joints cracking in protest.

He turned to face the five servants fully, his presence solidifying around him like a second layer of armor.

"Good work," he said quietly. "Dismiss. Regroup. Keep scanning for mana irregularities linked to fae teleportation."

The servants bowed in unison, then melted back into the shadows like smoke dissolving into air.

Leaving Damian alone.

The room felt colder now.

Not because of the temperature.

Because of the choices stacking higher and heavier on his shoulders.

He ran a hand through his damp hair and sighed, staring out the small window into the stormy skyline of Haven.

The pieces were laid out.

Marenvell had moved.

The Senate had dirty hands.

Cedric was gone.

Selena was unknowingly sitting on a loaded gun.

And now, the world thought she was staying because of him.

He huffed a bitter laugh.

"Perfect," he muttered.

He was just about to drop himself back onto the bed, the weight of too many plots pressing down on him, when he heard it.

A rustle.

Soft, but not natural.

Damian's ears twitched, instincts kicking in before his brain caught up. His body stilled immediately, his senses sharpening into focus. The sound came from beyond the door—quick steps, a whisper of movement, a flutter of fabric against the stone floor.

Then, barely audible, one of Cassius's shadow servants spoke in that flat, polite tone only shadows could master.

"Princess, you can't go now."

Damian's eyes narrowed. 'Princess?'

Oh, for the love of—

Selena.

He moved without thinking.

[Shadow Step]

In an instant, he blinked out of the room, reappearing just outside his door in a faint shimmer of warped space. The mana left a thin ripple in the air as he solidified—right in front of a very guilty-looking Selena, frozen mid-step like a cat caught knocking over a vase.