Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives

Warlock Ch 443. The Fae King

"You did well," she said simply.

Damian exhaled through his nose. Not a laugh. Not quite.

He nodded. "They're safe. For now."

A beat of silence.

Then his eyes darkened. "But the senators…"

Aria's lips pressed into a thin line. Her hair shifted slightly in the wind, and when she turned to face him fully, her eyes were sharp again. Focused.

"I know," she said. "They escaped. And they'll come back. But we'll handle them. One way or another."

Damian didn't move.

Aria stepped closer.

"But before that," she continued softly, "we need to spread the truth. About what they did. Ralvek. Marenvell. The ritual. The creature. The seal."

She paused. "Everything."

Damian looked away for a long moment. His gaze traveled across the cityscape.

What was once ash was now stone.

What was once ruin was now home.

People moved again—not in panic, but rebuilding.

And above it all, Lysandra circled overhead on a draconic wind current—guarding, watching. A dragon sentinel in twilight armor.

"They'll deny it," Damian said finally. "They'll twist the story. Just like they did with Kaelan."

"We won't let them," Aria said firmly.

He turned toward her, eyes shadowed but not defeated.

"You sure you're ready to go against them?"

Aria didn't flinch.

"I'm not standing against them," she said. "I'm standing where I should stand."

Damian blinked.

And for the first time in days—maybe longer—he smiled.

A small thing.

But real.

All around the city, the magic was still settling. Buildings creaked like they were stretching for the first time in years. Mana drifted off rooftops like mist rising from cold stone. Even the air tasted different—cleaner, lighter. Like hope.

And somewhere behind him, Damian could hear laughter.

Children's laughter.

It hit harder than anything else.

Cassius approached a few minutes later, arms crossed, his usual snark muted by the weight of what he'd witnessed.

"You're insane," he said without preamble. "Like, proper batshit."

Damian side-eyed him. "Thanks."

"I mean it. You just rewrote a city like it was a draft essay. And healed a population with literal magic rain. You're not a warlock anymore. You're—what? A legend? A myth? A god?"

Damian chuckled tiredly. "A janitor, apparently."

Cassius snorted. "Well, if gods do clean-up duty now, maybe we've been worshipping the wrong ones."

Then his smirk faded, replaced with something quieter. More honest.

"I'm glad you're alive."

Damian didn't say anything for a second.

Then… "Me too."

Cassius nodded, the silence between them no longer heavy. Just… shared.

He looked down, fingers trailing along the stone he'd just mended.

"I never thought I'd be the one fixing anything," he admitted.

Victoria gave him a look. "Darling, you've been fixing things since the moment I met you. You just finally have the mana for it now."

He laughed. Just once.

It was rough.

But real.

That morning, Damian would walk the quiet streets of Haven City alone.

No guards.

No weapons.

No armor.

Just him.

And for once?

That was enough.

The air was crisp—cool in the way mornings felt after a long, hellish night. The streets were still damp from the mana rain. He could see the light fog clinging low to the cobblestones, curling around his boots as he walked past restored bakeries, smithies, and homes that still smelled faintly of scorched stone and new magic.

Kids peeked out windows. Some waved. Some just watched, wide-eyed. They didn't cheer. Not yet. But their eyes didn't hold fear anymore. That was enough for now.

The bells hadn't rung yet. Too early. Too heavy. There was a silence over the city that felt sacred. Not haunted. Just… respectful. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Because today wasn't for rebuilding.

Today was for remembering.

And burying.

Damian stopped by the front of the old chapel-turned-hospital. The priests and priestesses had already begun their chants, low and melodic. The kind of sound that vibrated in his bones and made his chest ache without knowing why. He took a breath, eyes scanning the row of white sheets laid out on the side of the street, all of them lined with fresh lavender and glowing embers.

He didn't look away.

He forced himself to see them.

All of them.

Some were soldiers. Some were civilians. Some… were too young to even be classified as either. Their faces were peaceful, like they were just sleeping, but the weight in Damian's gut didn't let him pretend.

"Sir?"

A soft voice.

One of the young healers approached him, barely more than a teen, holding a mana lantern. "We're taking them to the east cemetery. For the rites."

Damian just nodded and walked with them.

No speech. No spell. No system prompt.

Just footsteps.

The east cemetery lay on the hillside past the outer gate. It had been untouched during the battle—too far, too sacred even for Ralvek's madness. The path was lined with soft mana lights now, glowing with pale gold fireflies.

Damian could hear the slow grind of stone wheels as carts were pulled along, each body carefully placed inside carved biowood caskets with faint enchantments to preserve dignity and mana essence.

It took hours.

Cassius was there. Silent. For once, not cracking a single joke. Victoria stood tall and composed beside her remaining soldiers, each of them saluting the dead with honor. Evelyn walked beside the caskets, her hand brushing them gently, lips moving in quiet prayers.

And then…

Just as the last casket reached the burial slope—

A gust of wind.

Sharp, fresh, sweet.

Petals danced through the air. Not conjured. Not summoned. Real.

The Fae had arrived.

Their convoy didn't march. It glided. Literally. A dozen pale steeds, almost translucent, with manes that shimmered like northern lights. Silver carriages carved from living oak drifted behind them, wheels not even touching the road. Fae warriors flanked the group, silent and proud, their armor gleaming like dew over moonlight.

At their center… the Fae King.

He was tall—of course he was. Elegant to the point of looking carved from an artist's daydream. Robes spun from stormcloud silk draped his frame, and his crown wasn't gold or silver but woven branches blooming with tiny, glowing blossoms. His eyes… They were old. Tired. Not weak. Just heavy with years.