Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 177: Chop! Chop!

Warlock Ch 177. Chop! Chop!

Damian blinked, caught off guard by the rare note of sincerity. "Uh… thanks, I guess?"

The moment passed as quickly as it had come. Cassius straightened, his smirk returning as he gestured to the wreckage again. "But back to business. Chop, chop."

Damian groaned loudly, dragging his feet toward the nearest pile of rubble. "I hate you."

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"Sure you do," Cassius said, watching with amusement as Damian begrudgingly started clearing the debris with manual effort.

As Damian worked, muttering curses under his breath, Cassius leaned back against the column, his expression softening just slightly. Despite the destruction and the complaints, there was a faint sense of pride in his gaze.

"You've come a long way," Cassius murmured to himself, too quietly for Damian to hear. "Don't let me down, Kaelan."

With that, Cassius turned on his heel and strode out of the hall, the heavy doors closing behind him with a resounding thud. Damian didn't move for a moment, listening to Cassius' footsteps fade away. As soon as he was sure the coast was clear, a grin spread across his face.

"There is no way I'm cleaning this up alone," he muttered, cracking his knuckles and pulling his mana. "Summon…"

Dark shadows curled at his feet, swirling upwards like smoke as his summons materialized one by one. First, the Shadow Minions, their wiry frame twitching with barely-contained energy. Then the Mischievous Shades, their form flickering as if it were more illusion than substance. The Agile Wraiths and Stalker Phantoms followed. There were a dozen of them.

"Alright, you lot," Damian said, gesturing to the mess. "Clean this up. You know the drill—move fast, don't slack off, and don't touch anything that looks like it might still explode or crumble."

The servants sprang into action immediately, scattering across the hall with efficiency. The Shadow Minions darted to a pile of shattered stone, their small hands surprisingly strong as they began stacking debris. The Mischievous Shades hovered near a scorch mark on the wall, their intangible hands scrubbing the surface clean. The Agile Wraiths zipped across the room, moving rubble to one side, while the Stalker Phantoms silently worked on larger chunks of debris.

Damian crossed his arms, leaning back against the nearest intact wall as he watched them. "Now, this is more like it," he said, smirking to himself. "Delegation—truly the mark of an A-Class Warlock." He gazed at the warlock mark on the back of his hand. It changed again, showing he was a higher rank warlock. 'I need a glove to cover this,' he thought.

His attention was back to the servants. Damian couldn't help but marvel at how far he'd come. The last few days had been a whirlwind of battles, revelations, and relentless training. And yet, here he was—alive, stronger than ever, and became A-Class. Well, unofficially, but that was just a technicality. 'I'm even faster than my past self,' he thought pridefully.

Still, something gnawed at him. Watching his servants work was efficient, sure, but it wasn't enough.

"Alright," Damian muttered, closing his eyes and focusing inward. "Let's play around with this new power."

He concentrated, his mana pooling and swirling inside him, darker and denser than ever before. He could feel it responding to his will, bending to his command. He thought of the rubble, the mess scattered across the hall, and imagined it moving—not with his servants, but with his mind.

A spark ignited. His mana flared, and suddenly, a notification appeared in his vision.

[New Skill Unlocked!]

[Telekinesis Lv. 1: Grants the ability to manipulate objects with the power of your mind. Single-target mode for precise control, or Area mode for broader applications. Mana cost scales with size and weight of objects. Cooldown: None.]

Damian's grin widened. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

He opened his eyes, his irises glowing faintly with dark energy as he raised a hand. The nearest pile of rubble quivered, then slowly lifted into the air. With a flick of his wrist, Damian sent the debris flying across the room, neatly stacking it against the far wall.

"Not bad," he muttered, a hint of pride in his voice.

He expanded his focus, switching to Area mode. The entire hall seemed to respond to his will, rubble and debris rising in unison as if pulled by invisible strings. Damian moved his hands like a conductor leading an orchestra, directing the mess into organized piles with surprising precision.

His shadow servants paused in their work, their glowing eyes turning to watch him. Damian caught their stares and smirked. "Don't just stand there—keep working. This isn't a show."

The servants resumed their tasks, though they moved with less urgency now that Damian's new skill was doing most of the heavy lifting. Within minutes, the hall began to take shape again, the rubble cleared, scorch marks erased, and broken furniture neatly set aside.

Damian wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his breathing steady despite the exertion. "[Telekinesis]," he said to himself, admiring his work. "Definitely keeping this one."

The last of the rubble floated into place, and Damian let his mana dissipate, the dark energy fading as the room fell silent. He surveyed his handiwork, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

"Perfect," he said, clapping his hands together. "And all without breaking a sweat. Well, mostly."

Damian let his gaze wander across the room, the pristine order he'd just created with his shadow servants and new Telekinesis skill filling him with a mix of pride and nostalgia. But as his eyes lingered on the deeper structural damage—the shattered walls, scorched columns, and cracked floors—his smile faltered.

"Of course," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "Fixing the mess wasn't enough."

His thoughts drifted back to when he was Kaelan, a name that still felt like both a burden and a second skin. Back then, being a troublemaker had been second nature. Training sessions that wrecked halls, magical experiments that exploded in his face—it was all part of the chaos he thrived in. But the mess he left behind? That was his responsibility, too.