MTLNOVEL Chapter 448: Procession?
Warlock Ch 448. Procession?
A few gasps broke through.
"The famous witch…"
"She's here?"
"And him—he's Cassius, that warlock—what the hell is going on—"
But it didn't stop there.
Next came Victoria.
Not in armor.
In a regal crimson dress that flowed behind her like spilled wine across marble, flanked by three vampire knights clad in black and red. Her mere presence pulled heat from the air. People stepped back instinctively, unsure if they should bow, run, or just not breathe.
Then the fae king stepped out.
Golden circlet. Robes of woven moonlight. His silver-white hair trailing behind him like a comet's tail. Selena followed, her hand near her hip, eyes cold and calculating, and Cedric… well, Cedric wore that polished, princely smirk that practically dared someone to tell him he didn't belong.
And behind them—a handful of royal guards from the glades, dressed in layered leather armor marked with floral sigils glowing faintly under the sun.
The crowd didn't know what to do anymore.
Whispers turned to murmurs. Murmurs into confusion.
Was this… a procession?
Were they under arrest?
Or were they invited?
Someone up front shouted, "What's going on?!"
Someone else yelled, "He's a traitor!"
A third voice added, "Isn't that Kaelan Voidweaver?!"
And just like that, the tension started to boil again.
The noise rising.
The crowd edging toward fury.
And then—
Evelyn moved.
She stepped forward, calm as she please, and pulled something out of her coat pocket.
A recording rune.
Not just any rune—a high-fidelity recording device marked with the seal of the College of Scribes. Certified. Unalterable. Embedded with truth verification magic.
She held it up like it was nothing, fingers glowing briefly as she activated it.
And the moment the projection shimmered to life, a Tribunal guard stepped forward to intercept her.
"Cease immediately!" he barked. "You are not authorized to display private media—"
Cassius's hand lifted lazily. A dome of shimmering violet light expanded out from him in all directions, forming a perfect protective barrier between them and the Tribunal guards. The magic hummed, thick and solid, warded to hell and back.
Cassius tilted his head with a half-grin. "You were saying?"
The guard scowled, clearly debating if his life insurance covered incineration.
Inside the barrier, the rune flared brighter—and the vision formed.
Hazy at first. Then crisp. Clear. Loud.
A ruined hall. Firelight flickering. Shadows shifting.
Then came the voice.
Ralvek.
Snarling. Desperate.
He spilled out his entire plan and the confession that he once also did the same to Kaelan.
The crowd went dead quiet.
The vision played on.
Flashes of the battle. The creature. The shield collapsing. Damian standing over the seal, his body breaking under the strain. Victoria screaming. Lysandra roaring.
Every second painted the Tribunal into a corner.
Every line, every frame, was a hammer.
And then came the final moment…
The rune dimmed. The projection faded.
Silence.
Real silence.
Even the guards outside the barrier were frozen, unsure of what to do now.
And Damian just stood there.
Not triumphant. Not gloating.
Just… real.
Solid. Still breathing.
Still standing.
Evelyn turned to the crowd. Her voice soft but firm.
"You all came to judge," she said. "But maybe you need to see why things fell apart. Maybe you need to question who told you to hate him in the first place."
The barrier dropped.
Not one guard moved.
Not one senator dared speak.
Because for the first time, the people saw what really happened.
And Damian?
He didn't need to defend himself.
The truth did it for him.
He exhaled slowly and looked up at the tower.
This time, he wasn't walking in as a prisoner.
He was walking in as the damn reckoning.
The crowd murmured.
Soft, uncertain waves of whispers that rippled across the courtyard like a hesitant tide.
Not hate.
Not awe.
Just… confusion.
The kind that twists in your gut when everything you believed—everything you were told—suddenly doesn't add up.
Faces in the plaza shifted. Some turned away. Some stared harder. Some looked down, maybe in shame. Others just blinked, like their brains were still buffering.
Because they didn't know who to trust anymore.
Damian didn't stop to correct them. Didn't need to. He just kept walking forward, straight toward the Tower of Judgment. The giant double-doors of obsidian and enchanted marble loomed in front of him, etched with golden runes and surrounded by spiraling pillars.
The silence followed him like a second shadow.
This wasn't the kind of silence Kaelan had gotten back then.
When Kaelan had walked this path, the guards hadn't even looked at him like a person. They spat at his feet. Sneered behind helmets. Called him "monster" under their breath loud enough for everyone to hear. Chains clinked with every step he took. The collar around his neck burned with suppression sigils.
That walk was meant to humiliate him.
This walk?
This one meant something else entirely.
Because Damian wasn't walking in alone.
He walked beside Aria Brightlight—once a revered daughter of the Magus Order, now branded a traitor like him. Her steps were firm, expression unreadable, but he caught the quick breath she drew as they approached the doors.
She remembered too.
Behind them moved the rest.
Not just followers. Not just friends.
Power. Influence. Proof.
The doors opened.
Slowly.
No welcoming party. No escort.
Just that long, cold hallway.
White marble floors with inlaid gold. Arched ceilings covered in runic glyphs older than most countries. Stained-glass windows depicting the founding of the Tribunal—mages and warriors binding demons, casting out 'monsters,' raising their banners of peace.
It looked grand. Sacred. Important.
But to Damian, it felt sterile.
Like a courtroom pretending to be a temple.
He remembered this place too well.
The moment his boots touched the black sun-shaped symbol at the center of the entrance hall, something in his chest twisted.
Because this was where they first shackled Kaelan's legs, before he broke all the chains.
Right here. On this exact spot.
He could still hear the chants. "Voidweaver! Villain!"
He could still smell the burnt blood from where his trial had turned into a sentence.
But now?
No one dared move.