Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 385: Dark Manipulator

Warlock Ch 385. Dark Manipulator

Damian scoffed, leaning back against the wall, shoulders tense.

"They tried to twist everything," Selena continued, her voice quieter now. "Tried to make it sound like you were controlling me. Like you were some kind of villain hiding behind sympathy magic or… or seduction."

That got a short, bitter laugh out of Damian. "Classic. Paint me as the dark manipulator behind the pretty fae princess."

"Yeah." Selena clenched her fists, her tone trembling now. "They tried so hard to frame you. But the evidence was too much. The manipulation spells they claimed you used didn't match the mana signatures at the scene. The recording crystal from the trial grounds, the witnesses from the exam..."

She looked up at him again, her eyes clear.

"The narrative was there," she said. "But the audience didn't buy it. Everyone who was actually there—they weren't caught up in the council's story anymore. They saw what really happened."

Damian stared ahead, silent.

"They know you're innocent," she said finally, like it was something she needed to say, to remind both of them.

"My brother didn't want to let them go," Selena added a moment later. "He knew what they were trying to do. He pushed back. And I did too. I refused to redact my statement. I stood by what I saw."

Damian closed his eyes for a second, jaw tightening.

"That's my reason," he said quietly, "why I keep seeking more power."

Selena blinked.

He turned his head toward her, and the look on his face wasn't angry.

It was just… tired. Worn down by knowing too much.

"I know they're going to throw everything they've got at me," he said. "Lies. Magic. Leverage. Dirty tricks wrapped in pretty politics. That's how they operate. And I've seen it before. I lived through it before. I know what's coming."

Selena didn't answer. What could she say?

She thought fae politics were exhausting—endless balls and diplomacy, fake smiles, and fragile alliances that could shatter over a poorly placed gesture. But this?

This was worse.

This was rot beneath marble. Blood on clean carpets. Systemic corruption dressed up in law and protocol. It wasn't just brutal. It was methodical.

And cold.

She looked away, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her skirt. The flickering ward-lights cast long shadows across the floor. The mana glyphs still faintly pulsed, like the training hall was listening to everything without saying a word.

Damian smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

It was bitter. Resigned. Familiar.

"It's always like this," he said, his voice dry. "Powerless people are either pitied or weaponized. And powerful people? They're feared. Controlled. Or destroyed."

Selena finally looked at him again. "You think they'll try to kill you?"

"I know they will," Damian said. "They just need the right excuse. Something they can broadcast to the public and make it look justified. An attack. A scandal. A manipulated message from one of their own." He shrugged. "Hell, maybe even one of you."

Selena flinched. Not from the implication—she knew he wasn't accusing her—but from the reality behind those words.

They were all vulnerable.

Even her.

"You're not alone," she said quietly.

Damian nodded once. "I know."

"But that doesn't make it easier."

"No. It doesn't."

The silence returned.

Selena reached into the food box, pulled out the last skewer, and handed it to him.

He took it wordlessly, chewing slowly.

A soft chime echoed from one of the glyphs in the corner of the room. A shadow servant's signal.

Selena glanced toward it. Damian didn't.

He just sat there, jaw tense as he swallowed the last bite, staring at the rippling glyphs across the wall like they were a battlefield he couldn't win yet.

"We'll fight," Selena said, voice steadier now. "All of us."

Damian finally looked at her again.

And this time, when he smiled, it wasn't bitter.

It was small. Quiet. But real.

"I know," he said again.

His voice was quiet—just a whisper. Then Damian moved.

He stood up slowly, without another word. His legs ached, but he didn't show it. His body was drenched in sweat, his shirt clinging to his back, skin prickled from the cooldown enchantments humming faintly in the floor tiles. His mind was still a mess, but he had already said more than he'd planned to say today—and maybe more than he should've.

He walked past her, quiet and heavy like something unfinished.

But before he fully passed, he stopped beside her.

Still didn't say anything.

Just reached out and gently patted her head once. His hand lingered for a brief moment—warm and steady, his fingers brushing lightly against her hair. It was a simple gesture. Maybe dumb. Maybe instinctive. But somehow it said a thousand things he didn't have the energy to voice out loud.

Then he dropped his hand, turned, and walked toward the exit.

Selena watched him go, unsure if she should say anything—until the question slipped out like breath.

"Tell me, Damian," she said suddenly, her voice clear and low in the vast quiet.

He stopped near the training hall's exit. But he didn't turn around. Not yet.

Selena stood now too, eyes focused on his back. "Why does a young warlock like you act like you're old?" she asked. "Like you've lived more than a hundred years?"

She hesitated, then added, "I mean, I get it with Cassius. He is old. But you… you look like you're barely older than me."

Damian turned his head just slightly.

His expression was unreadable. Tired. But there was the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth—half a smile, maybe even a little sad.

"That's because this is my second chance," he said simply.

The air shifted around the hall, mana rippling faintly like it recognized those words.

And then he stepped through the door, vanishing into the darkened corridor beyond, leaving Selena standing there with a hundred new questions in her chest.

She didn't move for a while.

Just stared at the door, heart pounding softly.

Second chance?

What did he mean by that?