Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 457: Cleaning The House

Warlock Ch 457. Cleaning The House

Senator Meryll tried to run.

He filed his resignation quietly, slipped out before dawn, and took a teleportation gate to an isolated research outpost near the elemental ravine.

Damian was there.

No explosion. No bloodbath. No screams.

Just… quiet.

And the next morning, Meryll's body was found slumped over his desk. An open book before him. No signs of forced entry. Cause of death: overuse of unstable mana experiments.

Tragic.

Completely preventable.

And no one asked questions.

One left.

Senator Duraen. The careful one. The whisperer. He didn't fund anything directly. No paper trail. No sigils signed in his own hand.

He thought he was clean.

He wasn't.

Damian waited.

Two nights later, Duraen hosted a quiet meeting with three "concerned noble liaisons." Discussing instability. Discussing Damian.

Damian watched from the shadows of the meeting hall, seated behind an illusion veil.

When the senator stood, raised his hand to propose a motion to reopen the investigation—

[Marked]

[Shadow Latch Triggered]

Duraen paused mid-sentence.

Sweat broke across his temple.

His hand began to shake.

Words failed him.

And he collapsed. Right there. In front of witnesses.

Dead.

Natural causes, they said.

Stress, again.

Horrible business.

No signs of foul play.

By the time the week ended, five senators were dead.

No evidence.

No weapons.

No bodies disturbed.

Only empty seats in the Grand Tribunal.

Their names were still engraved in the gold-trimmed placards before them, but their chairs sat cold. Untouched. Dust already collecting on the armrests like the city had moved on before their bodies did. And maybe it had.

This wasn't vengeance.

It was cleaning the house.

The next morning, the summons came again. A crisp knock on the doors of the chambers where Damian and Aria stayed—no escorts, no armed guards. Just a polite request.

The same hall.

The same long corridor of runed marble and floating braziers, casting pale blue light over ancient stone.

No chains.

No magic suppressors.

No special containment cloaks or collars.

Just Damian.

And Aria.

Walking freely.

The doors to the Grand Tribunal opened on their own. No guards flanking the entrance this time, no enchanted wards buzzing beneath the surface. Just an eerie, open silence—like the place had been hollowed out from within.

They stepped in.

The tribunal chamber was still grand. Still oppressive. Circular, tiered seats rising around them like a coliseum, built for judgment rather than combat.

But today… it felt smaller.

The upper ring where the senators usually sat? Five seats were empty. Visibly empty. No glamours to disguise the loss. No stand-ins to keep up appearances. Just vacant chairs.

And the ones who remained?

They didn't sneer.

They didn't posture.

They barely even met Damian's eyes.

The Fae King, Victoria, Lysandra, Evelyn, and Cassius were seated quietly at the side—where the "guests" usually sat. But their expressions said otherwise. They didn't look like guests. They looked like witnesses. Guardians. Silent affirmations that no matter what happened today, Damian and Aria wouldn't stand alone.

And that made all the difference.

Damian walked toward the center of the tribunal floor, hands casually folded behind his back, steps unhurried. Aria walked beside him, her presence quiet, focused. No nerves this time. No regret.

Just clarity.

He stopped in the same place he'd stood days ago.

Where they had tried to break him.

Now they couldn't even look him in the eye.

One of the high tribunal judges cleared his throat. An old man—Magister Tellwyn, white robes draped with ceremonial enchantments, hands gnarled with age and magic alike.

"We appreciate your presence today," he said, voice strained but respectful. "There are… matters to finalize regarding your case."

"My case?" Damian asked lightly, raising an eyebrow. "You mean the one where I was accused of breaking a system I didn't create?"

The silence was sharp.

Tellwyn swallowed. "We understand circumstances have… changed. Significantly."

"No kidding," Cassius muttered from the side. Evelyn elbowed him, though she didn't look all that apologetic either.

Another tribunal member—a middle-aged woman this time, face sharp and eyes sunken from lack of sleep—spoke up. "Lord Blackthorn, we… request a final account. From you. Regarding all relevant matters: the S-rank exam, the Vault incident, the restoration of Haven City… and your interaction with the sealed creature's mana core."

Damian glanced at Aria.

She nodded faintly.

He looked back at the tribunal and said, "Fine."

No snark. No fire.

Just truth.

And it hit harder than any attack.

Once again, he spoke of the exam. The way the rules had been warped. The forced survival scenario. The way only he and Selena survived—and only because he broke every limit he had to shield her. He told them about Cedric's kidnapping, the fake fae soldiers, the ritual that had been building behind the scenes while the senate was busy pushing PR narratives.

He told them about Ralvek.

About the vault.

About the seal.

The creature.

And why he took its mana core.

Not for power.

Not for revenge.

But because he had no choice.

"Letting that thing loose would've killed thousands," Damian said, voice level. "You all know that. You've seen the footage. You saw the sky crack open. The blood moon. The rampage. I didn't 'steal' that power. I contained it."

Tellwyn nodded slowly, like he wanted to argue but couldn't find the spine to do it.

"Even so," he said carefully, "there are still concerns—"

"You mean fear," Aria cut in, her tone razor-sharp. "You're afraid. Not of Damian. But of what you let happen under your own roof. You knew Ralvek was dangerous. You let him sit among you."

Murmurs rippled through the chamber.

Some of the younger tribunal members looked visibly uncomfortable.

Aria turned, sweeping her gaze over them.

"He built a death ritual under your city and no one noticed. He manipulated S-rank exams, falsified reports, funded black-market mages and evil cults. And your only concern is that Damian survived it all?"

More silence.

One tribunal member—a tired-looking man with dark rings under his eyes—murmured, "We lost five senators this week."