Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives

Warlock Ch 116. I'm Too Stubborn to Die

Damian opened his eyes and gasped, his chest heaving as he sucked in a shaky breath. Sweat dripped down his temples, soaking the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. His vision was blurry at first, but as he blinked a few times, the room slowly came into focus. The familiar smell of herbs and medicine filled his nostrils, sharp and overwhelming.

He frowned, glancing around. This wasn't Malthus's lair. No oppressive shadows, no blood-soaked floor. Instead, the soft golden glow of morning light filtered through lace curtains. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the wooden furniture and the delicate carvings that adorned the walls.

It was Evelyn's room—or rather, theirs.

This was the house he'd built for her decades ago, back when he was Kaelan, her mentor, her husband. He remembered everything about this place. He'd poured his heart into its creation, crafting every detail with magic and care, hoping it would be a sanctuary for them. A home where they'd raise children. A place where they'd grow old together.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of the memories pressing down on him. "Right… That's my dream before," he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse. "But why did it suddenly turn so wrong? Why was I reborn? Why did I die? And why…" His voice trailed off, his brow furrowing. "Why was I fighting that Demon King?"

The questions clawed at his mind, but no answers came. He pushed himself up, wincing as pain flared through his chest. The wound where Malthus had tried to rip his Mana Core from his body throbbed.

His eyes landed on a mirror propped against the far wall. He squinted at his reflection, then grimaced. "Ew… I look dead," he muttered. His face was pale, his lips cracked, and dark circles ringed his eyes. Bandages covered his chest and arms, and the faint glow of enchanted salves lingered on his skin.

The smell of Silverthorn Balm and Moonveil Poultice wafted through the air, unmistakable. The former was made from enchanted silverthorn plants, known for stopping bleeding and mending flesh. The latter, a glowing paste infused with moonlight essence, soothed pain and sealed deep wounds. Both were potent remedies, and by the smell of it, someone had slathered him in liberal amounts.

'Guess I needed it,' Damian thought wryly, flexing his fingers to test his range of movement. He winced but managed to sit up further, propping himself against the headboard. His gaze drifted around the room again, taking in the untouched furniture, the faint scent of lavender that lingered in the air.

'Fifty years.' That's how long it had been since he'd last seen this room. Yet, everything looked exactly as it had before.

A small chuckle escaped him, soft and bitter. "This reminds me of the first month we lived together…" he murmured.

The memory was vivid, pulling a reluctant smile to his lips. He could still see Evelyn, blushing furiously as he teased her in the kitchen. They'd been insatiable back then, barely keeping their hands off each other. The bedroom, the desk, the sofa, the dining table—they'd turned the entire house into their playground.

The kitchen, though—that had been his favorite. He loved sneaking up behind Evelyn while she was cooking, wrapping his arms around her and whispering teasing words that made her swat at him with a wooden spoon. Those moments were as intoxicating as they were fleeting.

'No one thought I'd settle down,' Damian thought. 'Not with how I used to be.'

As Kaelan, he'd been infamous—a charismatic warlock with power to spare and a reputation for being a flirt. Women had thrown themselves at him, enchanted by his charm and his strength. For years, he'd reveled in it, moving from one conquest to the next. But everything had changed when he met Evelyn. She'd been different.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I guess that's what made me the Warlock of Eternal Bonds, then…"

The Warlock of Eternal Bonds was a legendary class, one that had only ever been whispered about in magical circles. It was said to be a dream class for any mage—a class that allowed the warlock to gain skills and build a personalized skill tree based on their intimate connections with others. Each bond strengthened both the warlock and their partners, creating a mutually beneficial relationship.

Damian smirked bitterly. "A dream class, huh?" he muttered. "Then why does it feel like a curse?"

The memories, the gaps in his past, and the presence of that Demon King all weighed heavily on him. He clenched his fists, the bandages on his arms creaking as he flexed.

"Why did I become this?" he whispered. "Why me? And why now?"

His thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps outside the door. A moment later, it creaked open, and Evelyn stepped inside. Her gaze locked onto him immediately, relief flooding her features.

"You're awake," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly.

Damian's smirk softened into a small smile. "Yeah," he said, his tone light despite the storm in his mind. "Guess I'm too stubborn to die."

Evelyn crossed the room quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hands hovered over him, as if unsure whether to touch him or let him rest. "You shouldn't be moving yet," she said, her tone firm but warm. "You're still recovering."

"I've been through worse," Damian said, though the stiffness in his body betrayed his words. His attempt to sound nonchalant wasn't fooling anyone, least of all Evelyn, whose narrowed eyes practically screamed 'You're full of it.'

Before she could fire off a retort, the door creaked open again. Cassius stepped into the room, his imposing figure filling the doorway. His expression was as stoic as ever, but his voice carried the rough edge of frustration. "Yeah, he's been through worse," Cassius said, his tone sharp. "And every damn time, it's me who has to scramble to find him, drag his half-dead ass out of danger, and fix him."