Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 230: The Hero Turned Villain

Warlock Ch 230. The Hero Turned Villain

The bond was real, yes. The contract was there, binding them in more ways than one. But to him, it felt more like a contract marriage than anything else—a transactional relationship wrapped in layers of emotion and manipulation. He scoffed quietly to himself. 'How ironic… one moment, she's making me feel like I'm the only thing that matters to her, and the next, I find out she's keeping critical things from me.'

His fingers tightened into a fist at the thought of Seraphis. 'At least she should've given me a warning. A warning would've been enough.' That single thought kept repeating in his head, gnawing at him like an itch he couldn't scratch. It wasn't the danger that bothered him—he'd faced worse before, and he knew how to handle himself. It was dishonesty. The fact that she hadn't trusted him enough to tell him what was coming. He didn't expect her to spill every detail of her plans, but something like that? Yeah, he deserved to know.

But she hadn't. And now, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, it lingered in the back of his mind.

Damian sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He knew Victoria wasn't home yet. She was probably still out dealing with the aftermath of the battle, directing her soldiers and tying up loose ends. Cassius and Evelyn were likely sleeping after the long night they'd all had. Hell, they deserved it. They'd fought hard, and they'd earned their rest.

But Damian? He was different. Rest never came easy to him, especially when his mind was a mess like this. He needed to clear his head. Staying cooped up in this room wasn't helping, and the walls were starting to feel a little too close for comfort.

'I need some air.'

Decision made, Damian stood, grabbing a lightweight cloak to throw over his clean clothes. The one he had worn during the battle was beyond ruined—torn, burnt, and shredded into something barely recognizable. This one was simpler, less dramatic, but it would do. He headed for the door, pulling it open quietly so as not to disturb anyone.

He didn't get far before a servant appeared seemingly out of nowhere, stepping into his path with practiced ease. "Sir warlock," the servant said politely, bowing slightly. "Is there something you require?"

Damian suppressed the urge to sigh. He wasn't in the mood for company, and he definitely wasn't in the mood to be watched right now. "I can't sleep," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "I'm going for a walk."

The servant straightened, his expression calm but attentive. "Shall I arrange for an escort?"

"No," Damian said firmly, shaking his head. "I need space to think. Just… let me walk alone."

There was a brief pause, during which Damian could see the gears turning in the servant's head. No doubt, he'd been instructed to keep an eye on them—on him, specifically. Whether it was for their safety or something else entirely, Damian didn't care. He just wanted to be left alone for a bit.

"Very well," the servant said after a moment, stepping aside. "If you need anything, please do not hesitate to call."

Damian gave a curt nod and continued down the hallway, the soft sound of his footsteps the only thing breaking the silence. The mansion was quiet, almost eerily so, with most of its occupants either resting or busy elsewhere.

The dim light of dawn filtered through the tall windows, casting a soft glow over the polished floors of Victoria's mansion. Shadows stretched long and thin across the hallways, the early morning stillness broken only by the faint creak of Damian's boots as he walked. He didn't have a destination in mind. He just walked, letting his legs take him wherever they wanted.

Aimless. That's how he felt—not just physically, but mentally too. The night had been long, the battle exhausting, but sleep had refused to come. His mind was still too loud, filled with thoughts he couldn't quiet. Frustration gnawed at him, and he hated the feeling. He hated feeling lost, uncertain, as if he didn't know his own purpose anymore.

After a while, he noticed where his feet had taken him. He stopped, standing in front of the large double doors that led to the throne room. The place wasn't exactly guarded—there wasn't much to guard, after all. It wasn't like Victoria used it for anything beyond formal meetings. Still, it wasn't a place he'd ever visited on his own before.

Damian hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering near the door handle. He wasn't sure why he wanted to go in, only that something about the place called to him right now. After a brief pause, he made up his mind, pushing the doors open and stepping inside.

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The throne room was eerily quiet. The air felt heavy, not with tension, but with history—stories long past, memories etched into the very walls. Damian walked in slowly, his eyes scanning the vast hall. It was simple compared to the grand throne rooms he'd seen in other noble estates—less about opulence and more about function. But his attention wasn't on the decor. His gaze locked on the throne at the end of the hall, standing tall and imposing even in its simplicity.

He'd heard the stories. Victoria had told him about what had happened here long ago, about how Kaelan—his past self—had killed her husband and taken it upon himself to protect her. A twisted tale of love, betrayal, and survival. The details were fuzzy to him, though. His memories hadn't returned, not fully. He knew pieces, fragments, but nothing that gave him the full picture.

"The Evil One…" Damian muttered to himself, the name leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. That's what they had called Kaelan after it was all said and done. The hero turned villain. The savior turned monster.

There was a sense of irony there. And anger. Deep, burning anger.