Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 395: Stay And Fight

Warlock Ch 395. Stay And Fight

The sting of the river still clung to his bones. His soaked cloak hung heavy over his shoulders, dragging along the forest floor as he limped uphill, boots squelching with each step. His fingers were numb, skin tingling with that post-freezing burn as if the cold had carved a memory into his flesh.

But it wasn't just the cold that got to him.

It was this place.

He paused, eyes narrowing as the fog cleared just enough to give him a better view of his surroundings.

The clearing.

The sloping ridge.

The tall, crooked tree split down the middle by lightning long ago.

Yeah. He knew this place.

A slow, dry chuckle left him. "Hilarious."

He stood at the same damn spot he had, decades ago.

Same forest. Same weather. Same heavy sky overhead, bloated with clouds that never quite rained.

Back then, he wasn't Damian.

He was Kaelan.

Just a guy caught between duty, betrayal and survival.

He'd stood right here after leaving Haven City and his heart ripped to shreds. He remembered staring out over the trees, thinking about Evelyn's tear-filled eyes, Cassius's words that he'd refused to hear, and the choice he was too scared to make.

Stay and fight.

Or run and survive.

He chose the latter.

Back then, it felt smart. Tactical. Like he was buying time. But deep down? It was fear. Fear of what he was becoming. He was afraid of himself.

So he cut them off.

Evelyn. Cassius. The cause. Everything.

"I thought I'd never come back here," he muttered, kicking at a moss-covered root. "Should've known fate would drag me right back."

The irony wasn't even subtle anymore.

Lysandra didn't kill him.

Didn't even try.

She chased him like a storm, crashed into every defense he had, peeled him apart layer by layer—and left him alive.

He sucked in a breath, the forest air sharp and damp with the scent of wet bark and wild grass. The world felt quiet out here—too quiet, like it was watching him make his choice again.

But this time, he didn't hesitate.

"No," he whispered. "I won't run. I won't run away again."

He clenched his jaw, straightened his back, and pulled his cloak tighter as he turned toward the valley path.

Toward Haven.

Toward Cassius.

The hike wasn't easy—his legs still screamed from the frost debuff, and the regen penalty made him feel like he was hauling a boulder—but his mind stayed sharp. Focused. Every step forward was a rejection of who he used to be.

After an hour of climbing, dodging patrol guards, and avoiding a few too-curious forest beasts, the perimeter alert on his system pinged.

[Warning: You are approaching Protected Zone – Cassius Ward Property]

[Defensive Wards: Active – Warlock Class Detected]

[Friend/Foe Protocol: Pending Update]

He smiled faintly and raised his hand.

[Requesting Access: Damian Blackthorn] frёewebηovel.cѳm

Silence.

Then—

[Access Granted – Identity: Validated]

The barrier shimmered once, a wave of deep violet energy pulsing outward like a heartbeat before vanishing into mist. The clearing inside hadn't changed much. Stone archways lined with arcane glyphs glowed gently, and the path into the small manor twisted between ancient trees covered in magical moss. Little wisps danced near the roots, and a soft hum of warded magic buzzed through the air.

Cassius had always had style. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere.

The door didn't creak when he knocked. Just a quiet, magical chime—like a tuning fork dipped in moonlight.

He waited.

One breath.

Two.

Then footsteps inside. Fast. Hesitant.

The door opened, and there he was.

Cassius.

Wearing that tattered cloak like it was worth more than a throne.

He froze the second he saw Damian.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't blink.

Just stared.

Then Cassius's gaze flicked down—took in the dripping cloak, the soaked boots, the faint scorch marks still steaming off Damian's armor.

And sighed.

"Let me guess…" Cassius muttered, turning away and walking deeper into the manor. "Those explosions earlier? That was you, wasn't it?"

Damian stepped inside, squelching across the smooth stone floor. "Yup."

Cassius didn't even glance back. "And the tremor that shook the east warding post?"

"Also me."

A whisper of movement echoed through the hall, and in a blink, three shadow servants materialized—amorphous beings of swirling darkness shaped like humanoid silhouettes.

One immediately reached for the soaked cloak. Another offered a fresh black towel folded with near-religious reverence. The last began mopping the wet footprints with a kind of quiet dignity that made Damian feel like he'd just walked muddy boots into a sacred temple.

Damian peeled off the heavy cloak with a grunt and dropped the cracked mask into the servant's waiting hands. Steam hissed faintly off the cloth as it was lifted away.

"Thanks," Damian muttered to the servant as he scrubbed the towel across his dripping hair.

The servant inclined its head like a bow and vanished with a puff of smoke, along with the others. Not a single drop left behind.

Damian dropped onto the nearby couch like gravity had personal beef with his spine. "I was chased."

Cassius arched a brow. "You're always chased."

"No, I mean seriously chased. That dragon general—Lysandra—she tracked me from the city outskirts to the cliffside. Nearly froze the whole river trying to stop me."

Cassius raised the cup halfway, then paused. "Wait. Is that why you're wet?"

"Yup."

"…You jumped into the river."

"I didn't exactly have a lot of options."

Cassius took a slow sip, trying hard not to look impressed. "And the general?"

"Still breathing," Damian muttered. "Unfortunately."

"You didn't kill her?"

"She said she just wanted to talk, but the way she chased me down made it feel more like she wanted to stuff my body in a dragon urn and offer it to the elders as a warning."

Cassius snorted. "Classic diplomacy."

"Shit diplomacy," Damian grumbled. "She threw me halfway across a ravine before I even knew what was happening. I had to use [Shadow Step] so many times."