Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 456: Public Execution

Warlock Ch 456. Public Execution

His mouth kept moving, even as more chains wrapped around his limbs, his throat, his aura. They were trying to choke the words out of him before the truth burned through the silence.

But it was too late.

Everyone heard it.

And Damian didn't even move.

Because Belmonte had done everything he needed.

And then—

A sudden spike of magical pressure.

A sharp chant. Three voices, in perfect sync.

The senators acted.

Not to contain him. Not to save anyone.

To execute.

A lance of searing white-hot energy tore through Belmonte's chest—clean, silent, devastating. A tribunal-sanctioned kill spell. No blood. No mess. Just a sharp twist of light that burned through the core and silenced everything.

Belmonte's body jerked once in the air.

Then dropped.

Dead before he hit the floor.

Everyone stood.

Everyone stared.

And the silence that followed wasn't shock.

It was calculation.

They'd silenced him.

Damian just watched them. Calm. Unmoving.

Letting them dig their own graves, one spell at a time.

Victoria looked to Damian.

"You didn't move."

"No," he said, slicing neatly through the pheasant on his plate. He dabbed his mouth with a silk napkin, set his utensils down gently, and added without looking up, "I'm eating. I prefer my hands clean."

The air was thick. No one dared breathe too loud. Belmonte's still-smoking corpse lay at the edge of the grand dining hall, his face frozen mid-scream, eyes wide with rage and betrayal. The scent of scorched mana still hung between the polished plates and untouched glasses of wine.

The Fae King stepped forward slowly, gaze sharp but voice even. "I just heard his confession. So did everyone in this room."

A pause.

One of the remaining senators—a younger one, less composed than the others—cleared his throat.

"It wasn't a confession," he said tightly, hands clenched. "The man was clearly unwell. Ralvek's betrayal twisted many minds. We are not responsible for the ravings of a deluded man."

Damian finally looked up.

The violet glow behind his eyes had faded. But what lingered in his stare was colder than magic.

"Seems like you guys need to check yourselves," he said softly. "If every senator who breaks starts screaming about the truth, maybe that's not madness. Maybe it's guilt."

The young senator went pale but said nothing.

"You're making accusations now?" an older voice snapped from across the table—Senator Verdan, gaunt and tight-lipped, the kind of man who always looked like he was disapproving of everything except himself. "One outburst and now we're criminals?"

Victoria's goblet clinked softly as she set it down.

"He just attacked a king," she said with icy precision. "That's not an outburst. That's treason. And a suicide attempt."

"A mistake," Verdan said stiffly. "We will investigate internally—"

"No," Lysandra cut in, her voice the weight of a mountain. "You don't get to 'investigate' yourselves when your man just tried to set a king on fire at a peace luncheon."

She looked around, gaze traveling slowly over the other seated senators.

"And you all look like a real solid team. Lots of trust going on here."

Silence.

One of the aides took a nervous step back.

Cedric, sitting at the edge of the table, cleared his throat lightly. "I mean… does anyone here not think Belmonte was working with Ralvek?"

No one answered.

Damian took another slow sip of his drink.

It was a formality now. The charade of civility was collapsing under its own weight.

And he wasn't going to lift a single finger.

Not yet.

Because they were unraveling themselves just fine.

Belmonte's confession had been spontaneous, raw, and far too detailed for a man losing control. The specifics of the ritual. The plan. The survival clause. It wasn't fantasy—it was testimony.

But they hadn't tried to argue. They hadn't tried to disprove it.

They killed him.

They silenced him.

In front of witnesses that included a vampire queen, a dragon general, and a fae monarch.

And now they were trying to pretend it hadn't happened.

"Such a shame," Damian said quietly, cutting into his second course. "I was enjoying lunch."

Verdan's voice turned sharp. "You can't just—"

"Yes," Damian interrupted flatly, "I can."

He looked at Verdan, really looked.

And marked him.

[Shadow Latch – Marked: Senator Verdan]

Second thread.

Two of five.

The rot was spreading.

And Damian had no intention of letting it grow.

He tapped into [Foresight Thread] again. A flicker. A future. A moment.

He saw Verdan in a locked office, frantically scribbling orders to erase surveillance footage from a northern vault facility. Saw the papers disappear into a sigil-lit burner chest. Saw the glow of a communication crystal flicker with red light.

That was all he needed.

The conditions were forming.

He returned to the present.

"They're scared," Aria whispered beside him.

"They should be."

That night, they were escorted—not escorted, really. Watched—back to their assigned quarters.

He didn't sleep.

He didn't need to.

Not when the real work was just beginning.

Because Belmonte hadn't been the only one.

There were four more.

He remembered the list. Ralvek's inner circle. Quiet contributors. Hidden funders. Those who whispered and smiled and moved people like chess pieces.

Now they were trying to disappear into the background.

Damian wouldn't let them.

The first to go was Verdan.

He "collapsed" during a meeting the next morning. Heart failure, they said. Too much stress. He'd been distraught after Belmonte's outburst.

No one noticed the faint black residue near the edge of his collarbone—an untraceable echo of [Clean Break]. The mark left by a soul severed without pain, without noise. Like a whisper folding itself in half.

Damian had never even stepped into the room.

Just watched the door close. And waited.

Three left.

Senator Roulis, the one who'd vouched for the S-rank exam's new "structure," went next.

Damian watched from a rooftop across the east quadrant as the man's carriage spun wildly out of control, crashing into the side of a mana-warped spire. The horses had panicked, they said. Something about a magical flare startling them mid-path.

No witnesses.

Just a crater.

Roulis never even got the chance to scream.

Damian marked it off in his mind like checking boxes on a grocery list.

Two left.