Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 418: Not A Casual Visit

Warlock Ch 418. Not A Casual Visit

Damian exhaled slowly, sliding out of the bed with practiced care, trying not to wake her.

She shifted once, reaching instinctively for where his body had been.

His heart twisted, but he hardened his resolve.

"I'll come back," he promised quietly, even though she couldn't hear him.

He pulled on his clothes quickly—tight black combat pants, a fitted shirt, lightweight armor plates hidden beneath a long, dark coat stitched with mana threads.

Before he grabbed his coat from the chair, he hesitated.

Then, muttering a curse under his breath, he grabbed the small cologne bottle Cassius had tossed at him as a "joke" two weeks ago.

"Dragons have sensitive noses," he muttered to himself.

He spritzed himself lightly, a sharp, clean scent blooming in the air—like rain on stone, with a faint kick of spice.

Good enough.

After fastening the last buckle on his boots, Damian summoned a shadow servant with a flick of his fingers.

The space next to him shimmered, and the shadow knelt silently.

"You," Damian said in a low voice. "Stay. Watch Selena. If she moves, sneezes, dreams about running off, you tell Cassius. Or tackle her. Whichever is faster."

The shadow bowed low in acknowledgment, its form blurring as it melted into the darker corners of the room.

Satisfied, Damian pulled his hood up and activated his skill.

[Shadow Step]

The room bent around him, darkness rushing up like a tide—and when it fell away, he was outside the mansion.

The wards shimmered behind him—a comforting, pulsing hum of safety.

Damian adjusted the coat around his shoulders and exhaled into the cool air, the faint scent of rain still lingering from earlier storms.

No turning back now.

He moved quickly, cutting through back alleys and side streets, his boots whispering across the wet cobblestones.

He felt them before he saw them—one of Cassius's other shadow servants, tailing him discreetly from a rooftop.

Persistent little bastard.

Damian stopped near an empty plaza, turned slightly without breaking stride, and raised an eyebrow at the figure perched above.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked dryly.

The shadow simply nodded once—silent, stubborn.

Damian huffed a half-laugh, half-groan.

"You're not gonna let me solo this, huh?" he muttered.

The shadow tilted its head almost... smugly.

"Tch."

Damian waved a hand in surrender.

"Fine. Tell Cassius that I'm going to Lysandra's place to talk."

The shadow disappeared again without a sound, melting into the architecture like a wraith.

Typical.

He kept moving.

It didn't take long.

Lysandra hadn't exactly hidden herself. She was staying in one of the fortified outposts near the perimeter wall—an old dragon enclave that doubled as a diplomatic safehouse.

Of course she was.

Because nothing about tonight was going to be easy.

Damian stopped a few paces outside the main entrance, eyeing the thick stone walls, the glittering runes embedded into the defenses, and the faint but insanely potent dragon mana radiating from inside like heat from a forge.

He could feel it prickle against his skin even from here.

Awesome.

He exhaled sharply, adjusting his gloves once more.

"Bad idea," he muttered to himself. "Worst idea."

The mana-heavy air around the outpost buzzed faintly as he approached.

Without hesitation, Damian stepped forward, his boots clicking against the stone pathway.

The outer defensive barrier shimmered when he crossed it—an intricate weave of dragon magic laced with old protective runes—and for a moment, the field flared, pulsing like it was tasting him.

Damian tensed instinctively, ready to bolt if it rejected him.

But after a brief, vibrating pause, the barrier relaxed.

Letting him through.

He grunted under his breath.

"Well. Guess that's a 'welcome' in dragon speak."

The front door swung open on silent hinges, revealing the main hall beyond.

It was... stark.

Different from Cassius' mansion, where even the shadows seemed full of life and lurking servants.

Here?

Nothing.

No footsteps.

No bustling attendants.

No guards pretending not to stare at him.

Just a wide, clean stone corridor that echoed slightly with every step he took.

It felt less like visiting a diplomatic envoy and more like walking straight into a lair.

'Great.'

He kept walking, senses sharp, feeling the subtle weight of magic woven into the very stones around him.

And there she was.

Standing in the center of the hall like she owned it—because, let's be honest, she probably did.

Lysandra.

The dragon general.

She was in her armor again, though lighter now, less battlefield-heavy and more sleek. Her silver hair was braided back tightly, and her golden eyes locked onto him the second he stepped fully into the light.

Damian stopped a few paces away, sliding his hands casually into his coat pockets, projecting a relaxed, cocky energy he absolutely didn't feel.

"Good afternoon, General," he drawled, voice light.

Lysandra's mouth twitched in something that might have been amusement—or condescension. It was always hard to tell with her.

"Good afternoon, Kaelan," she said smoothly, emphasizing the old name just to needle him. "I'm surprised you decided to visit me."

Damian huffed a laugh under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Trust me," he said dryly, "no one's more surprised than me."

Lysandra tilted her head slightly, studying him.

"Was it the impending doom?" she asked, voice cool but not unkind. "Or the realization you can't pull off miracles alone anymore?"

Damian raised a brow.

"Maybe both."

Her lips quirked in what could almost be called a smirk.

He didn't move closer yet.

Instinct told him not to.

This wasn't some casual visit.

This was a negotiation.

Or maybe a gamble with his life as the ante.

"You're alone," he said, glancing around the empty hall pointedly.

"I prefer it that way," she replied simply. "Easier to hear myself think."

"Easier to kill visitors too," Damian muttered under his breath.

Her smirk widened slightly. "Only the unwelcome ones."

Damian snorted, rolling his eyes. "Comforting."

He shifted his weight slightly, his hands flexing in his pockets.

"So," he said casually, "you said you weren't here to kill me. Still true?"

Lysandra's eyes gleamed faintly in the noon light streaming through the high windows.

"For now," she said.

Damian grinned.

"Good enough."

And with that, the real dance began.