MTLNOVEL Chapter 442: Grand Restoration
Warlock Ch 442. Grand Restoration
Damian didn't even flinch. His voice was calm. Almost too calm.
"I borrowed that creature's mana core."
Cassius blinked.
Then blinked again.
"You what."
"I absorbed it," Damian said simply. "Its power. I took it."
"Like a smoothie?"
"Cassius."
"Sorry. I'm having a moment." Cassius took a step back and gestured to all of Damian. "You realize what this means, right? You're like… a walking bomb. You're gonna burn out."
"I know."
Cassius looked like he wanted to hit him. Or hug him. Or both.
"Wait—are you gonna—"
"I'm going to rebuild the city," Damian said softly, turning away. "Tonight."
"Are you serious right now—"
"Yes."
Victoria appeared in the hall's ruined archway, a strip of cloth still tied tightly around her bleeding bicep. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
"I know," Damian repeated, walking.
"Then don't do it."
"I have to," he said. "Let me do this."
And with a single breath, he vanished.
[Shadow Step]
The world collapsed into ink, then snapped back into focus.
Damian stood at the very center of the ruined Haven City.
The wind howled through broken towers. Embered leaves spiraled down from blackened trees. Shattered cobblestones groaned beneath his feet. Smoke still curled from broken chimneys. The smell of death lingered, thick and metallic.
Damian looked around.
The city was a graveyard.
Children sat beside broken carts. Survivors clung to each other near fallen statues. Soldiers limped with makeshift splints. Corpses lined the edges of half-collapsed streets.
His heart twisted.
He knelt.
Placed his palm to the fractured earth.
[Fix – Worldweaver]
Mana surged. A pulse so massive it trembled through the bedrock.
The city held its breath.
And then the ground moved.
Stone shattered—then reformed. Cracks sealed with glowing blue light. Walls rebuilt from the dust. Beams snapped into place. Brick by brick, board by board, homes lifted themselves out of ruin like phoenixes from the ash.
Balconies. Chimneys. Roof tiles.
Everything returned.
Market stalls unfolded like origami, still with their signs swinging gently in the magic-infused breeze. Street lanterns re-lit with a warm golden glow. Roads cobbled themselves anew, layered with shimmering runes.
People stared.
Mouths open.
Civilians stepped back from the growing pulse of reconstruction, watching as entire blocks—entire districts—were reborn.
Then the spell began pulling survivors from the rubble.
Gently. Carefully.
Trapped soldiers. Children. Even the dead—laid respectfully in neat lines beneath white-veiled magic. No one forgotten. No one ignored.
It was like the city remembered itself.
Damian didn't stop.
Even when the clock tower reformed with a loud clang, or when the massive library spire stitched itself together window by enchanted window.
He just kept going.
His body didn't shake. His breath didn't shorten. His skin didn't sweat.
Because something deeper had taken hold.
The creature's mana core wasn't draining him.
It was fueling him.
He lifted his hand.
Spun.
And a wave of silver-blue mana cascaded across the city in a massive arc.
Homes restored. Inns repaired. Blacksmith shops rebuilt. Even the cemetery's fallen gravestones stood upright once more, clean and untouched.
An old woman sobbed beside her door, watching it mend itself entirely.
A baker fell to his knees as his oven reassembled from broken stone.
Children ran into newly reformed plazas like it was a dream.
And the tower—the one that had once been the center of the nightmare—was now just a hollowed-out crater. Silent. Harmless. Empty.
Hours passed.
But Damian never stopped.
Even when Victoria arrived behind him with her soldiers, stunned to silence.
Even when Cassius stood slack-jawed in disbelief.
Even when Evelyn whispered, "It's impossible…"
He just worked.
Until the night sky turned from red to blue.
Until the stars faded.
Until the first light of dawn touched the city that had died, and now—lived again.
And Damian?
He just stood in the middle of it all.
Silent.
Tired.
Not from magic.
But from everything that had led him here.
And yet, he still didn't regret it.
Not a second of it.
Damian stood in the middle of the city he just pulled out of the grave.
And yet…
He didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Not when there were still so many lying on the streets, broken. Wounded. Clinging to their lives beneath makeshift bandages and whispered prayers.
The ruins were rebuilt, yes. But the people?
They were still bleeding.
Still dying.
Damian raised his hand again.
His breath was steady now. Not from strength. But from something else entirely.
Conviction.
Mana pulsed behind his eyes. His artifact—now permanently bonded with the slumbering core of the creature he'd sealed—flared like a second sun in his chest.
He whispered it, almost like a prayer.
[Grand Restoration]
The sky answered.
A pulse of radiant magic surged upward from him and burst into a rain of shimmering mana.
It fell like snowflakes kissed by starlight.
Gentle.
Silent.
But powerful.
Wherever it touched, wounds closed. Broken bones reknitted. Scars vanished as if rewritten by time itself. The cries of the injured turned into gasps of disbelief. Of awe. Of hope.
A child missing half his arm blinked—only to see it whole again.
A burned woman wept as her skin healed beneath the glowing mist.
Soldiers who had collapsed under rubble rose again, blinking, whole.
Even the dead—those who hadn't crossed over fully, whose souls clung to shattered bodies—took one last peaceful breath before slipping away in warmth and light.
Even Aria, standing atop the restored bell tower, shielded her eyes as the final cascade of mana swept across the skyline.
And when it ended—when the last drop of miracle fell to the earth—the city was silent.
Whole.
Alive.
Damian dropped his hand slowly. His cloak fluttered in the morning wind, edges trailing golden particles.
His face, though pale and drawn, held no pain.
Just quiet. Just weight.
He didn't turn when Aria landed softly beside him, her divine aura dimmed. No light show, no flare of wings or halos.
Just her.
The woman who had once been his enemy.
Now… something else entirely.
She didn't speak right away.
Didn't need to.
She watched the people—the children, the soldiers, the healers gathering with expressions of stunned wonder—and then turned to him.