Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 193: You’re No Better Than Me

Warlock Ch 193. You're No Better Than Me

He turned back toward Victoria. She was watching him, her expression unreadable. Blood still trickled down her side, but she looked steady, her gaze locked on him like she was trying to burn him into her memory.

"You… you killed him," she murmured, almost as if she didn't believe it.

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But the memory ended there, leaving Damian with more questions than answers. Why had Victoria been behind him? What had happened after that battle?

And why did none of this explain the fire and devastation he'd seen before?

The throne room started to fade, the edges of the vision breaking apart like mist. Damian tried to hold onto it, to drag out more answers, but the memory was slipping away, dragging him back into the void.

"Wait—no! Show me the rest!" he shouted.

But it was too late. The throne room dissolved completely, and Damian jolted awake, back in his quarters. His breathing was uneven, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Damn it," he hissed, his hands shaking slightly. "What the hell was that?"

The vampire's words still echoed in his mind, taunting him. "You're no better than me."

Damian hissed under his breath, his fists clenching tightly at his sides. "No," he growled. "I'm better than you. That's why you're dead."

The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth, but he forced himself to say them anyway. He had to believe them. The alternative—the possibility that the vampire might have been right—was too much to handle.

But the vision kept replaying in his head, every detail sharp and vivid. It was clear now. He was the one who had killed Victoria's husband—if that man was even her husband. That part still felt murky. There were no portraits of him anywhere in the palace, no tributes or shrines like you'd expect for a fallen vampire lord. It was… odd. Almost as if the man had been erased from history.

And Victoria…

Damian exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he tried to piece it all together. What had she been doing in that vision? She wasn't standing beside her so-called husband, wasn't fighting with him. Instead, she had been behind Damian, not in fear, but… seeking something. Protection?

"Why would she look to me for protection?" he muttered, his voice tinged with doubt. It didn't make sense. If he was the monster who had killed her husband, why wasn't she afraid of him?

But then again, he wasn't sure of anything. The vision had been too fragmented, too focused on the fight with the vampire. There had been barely anything about Victoria herself, and the details of her actions that night remained frustratingly vague.

Damian sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. "And why did I kill him?" he muttered. The answer came to him almost immediately, though it wasn't one he liked.

"Power," he said bitterly. It always came down to power, didn't it? Jealousy, manipulation, ambition—those were the driving forces in the world he had been part of. Maybe Victoria's husband—or whoever that vampire was—had seen him as a threat. Or maybe they'd tried to use him, to control the demon king's power within him.

"Or maybe it was the demon king himself," Damian said, his voice laced with frustration. "Maybe this was all his doing. His influence. His damn power turns everything into a mess."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I guess… that's probably what happened." It wasn't a satisfying answer, but it was the best he could come up with for now.

A sharp knock on the door broke his thoughts, making him jolt upright. Before he could respond, a smooth voice followed. "Lady Victoria requests your presence in the dining room."

Damian blinked, his mind still half-stuck in the vision. "Uh… okay," he called out. He stood and began getting himself together, brushing off the lingering haze of the memory. Whatever Victoria wanted, he wasn't going to keep her waiting.

As he stepped into the hallway, he spotted Evelyn and Cassius emerging from their own rooms, both looking as though they'd received the same request. Evelyn's sharp eyes flicked to him, her expression unreadable as always. Cassius, meanwhile, seemed as calm and composed as ever, though Damian knew that was just his default setting.

Damian leaned closer to Evelyn as they walked, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You think they're going to serve blood drinks or corpses at the dining table?" he joked, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Y'know, authentic vampire cuisine."

Evelyn shot him a glare, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed her amusement. "Stop it," she said flatly. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

Cassius, walking just ahead of them, glanced back with a raised eyebrow. "If you're that concerned about the menu, Damian, perhaps you should've brought your own snacks."

"Not helping, Cassius," Damian muttered, though the faint smirk on his face remained.

The three of them reached the dining room, the heavy doors already ajar. Inside, the room was just as grand as everything else in the citadel. A long table stretched across the space, draped in a dark crimson cloth and set with an assortment of polished silverware. Candles flickered in ornate holders, casting soft, golden light over the room.

Victoria was already seated at the head of the table, her posture regal as ever. She looked up as they entered, her sharp eyes sweeping over them. "Ah, good," she said smoothly. "You're all here. Please, sit."

Damian hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning the table. To his mild relief, there were no goblets of blood or suspiciously meat-like dishes in sight. The spread looked almost… normal. Roast meats, fresh bread, and an array of side dishes that wouldn't look out of place at a human banquet.

Evelyn gave him a pointed look as if to say, 'See? No corpses.'

Victoria gestured to the empty seats near her, and they obliged, Damian ending up across from Evelyn with Cassius at his side. The tension in the room was subtle but palpable, like an undercurrent of unease beneath the polished surface of civility.