MTLNOVEL Chapter 440: After The War
Warlock Ch 440. After The War
The senators exchanged uneasy glances. Fear shadowed their faces, but beneath that fear burned an even darker emotion—resentment. Damian recognized it immediately. People who lost power rarely surrendered gracefully.
One of them, a middle-aged woman with raven-black hair, stepped forward. Her robes fluttered softly in the dusty wind, her gaze hard with prideful defiance.
"We will never bow to traitors and monsters," she spat venomously.
Before Lysandra could even respond, the senator's hand flicked upwards. A blinding flash of white erupted from her palm, exploding like a miniature sun.
Damian shielded his eyes instinctively, blinded by searing light. Shouts and screams echoed from every direction, disoriented chaos briefly overwhelming everyone.
"Cowards!" Lysandra roared, her voice echoing through the blinding void of white.
Damian tried to regain his bearings, squinting painfully through spots of afterimage dancing in front of his eyes. He saw blurred figures—the senators—scrambling toward a hastily conjured teleportation portal, the edges of the magical gateway shimmering violet and blue.
"No!" Evelyn shouted.
The portal collapsed, leaving nothing but a faint shimmer of mana in the ruined plaza.
"Damn it," Lysandra growled, eyes fierce with anger. Her scales shimmered dangerously, the dragon blood within her clearly calling for retribution.
Cassius placed a hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly. "We'll deal with them later. We have bigger problems right now."
Damian nodded wearily, eyes scanning the broken remains of Haven City around them. Fires still burned in scattered clusters, smoke curling lazily into the clouded sky. Buildings lay shattered, homes reduced to rubble. The once-bustling streets were now silent save for the occasional groan or cry for help.
"Cassius is right," Damian murmured. "We have people to save."
The words felt heavy, the responsibility crushing, but it was clear what needed to be done.
Cassius's manor—despite everything—had survived better than the rest of the city. Half-ruined but stubbornly standing, it became their refuge. The wounded and displaced gathered there, guided by Damian and Cassius's servants. Shadow minions moved quietly among the injured, bringing healing supplies and fresh bandages.
The main hall, once an elegant reception room, now resembled a makeshift hospital. Tables, chairs, even plush couches had been repurposed into makeshift beds. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptics and healing potions. Soft murmurs of comfort and quiet sobs filled every corner.
Damian stood silently in the midst of it all, watching. He wanted to collapse, wanted to simply let the weight of his injuries carry him into blissful unconsciousness. But he forced himself to stay upright. These people—his people—needed to see him standing strong.
Evelyn moved beside him, her gentle fingers brushing against his arm. "You need rest, Damian. You're barely standing."
"I can't," he whispered hoarsely. "Not yet."
Victoria approached slowly, her crimson eyes weary but steady. Her armor was scratched, stained with blood and dirt, yet she carried herself with dignified calm. "I've lost a commander today," she said softly, eyes distant and pained. "Many of my soldiers are gravely wounded. I should be there with them…"
"You've done enough," Damian said quietly, reaching out to grip her shoulder gently. "You're still their queen. Your people need your strength."
She nodded slowly, gratitude briefly warming her tired gaze. "I know."
Across the room, Selena sat beside Cedric, who was carefully crafting another magical message, his fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion.
"Cedric?" Damian called softly.
Cedric looked up, his face pale but determined. "Alric told me what happened. Our messages never reached Father."
Selena's expression hardened. "They sabotaged us. Marenvell and Ralvek's people were thorough. Alric barely survived the journey to our territory."
Alric, standing nearby with heavy bandages wrapped around his torso, gave a tired, crooked smile. "I ran all night—injured, bleeding, burning through speed runes just to stay upright. But I made it. I got to the capital, told the king everything. He sent what troops he could right away. And once he finishes dealing with the traitors in his own court... he's coming here himself."
"Good," Damian breathed. "We need all the help we can get."
He turned his attention to Lysandra, who had not yet relaxed. The dragon general stood near the shattered window, eyes fixed vigilantly on the horizon. Her dragons flew high above Haven City, scanning meticulously through the wreckage, searching for any sign of life still hidden beneath rubble or debris.
"You should rest too," Damian suggested softly, stepping toward her.
Lysandra shook her head. "A general doesn't rest until the battle is truly done. We don't know if more threats are waiting to strike. I can't afford to be careless."
Damian admired her resolve, understanding her deeply. "Thank you, Lysandra."
She looked at him briefly, a faint smile softening her harsh features. "Thank me when this is all over."
Finally, feeling his strength waning dangerously, Damian slowly lowered himself to the floor at the center of the hall. The world swam slightly as exhaustion clawed at him, dragging him down into darkness. Yet even now, he refused to give in completely.
The quiet murmur of wounded soldiers and softly crackling wards faded into the background. The chaos of Haven, the memory of fire, screams, steel clashing on steel—it all dissolved.
Damian closed his eyes.
And in the next breath, he wasn't in the manor anymore.
He was inside the void.
His mana core.
Darkness stretched in every direction, infinite and heavy. The kind of space that made his thoughts echo louder than his heartbeat. But Damian knew this place well now. He walked through the shadowy mist like a ghost moving through memory.
And there it was.
His artifact.
No longer cracked or raw like before.
It hovered in the center of the void, spinning slowly in place—an obsidian-black sphere ringed with new glowing sigils, etched in silver and deep red. Pulses of raw, divine-level mana throbbed from it with each slow rotation, like a heartbeat made of stars.
Damian stared at it, lips parting slightly. "Of course," he muttered. "I absorbed that thing's mana core…"
"Surprised it didn't explode," rumbled a voice behind him, low and lazy like distant thunder.