Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 401: I Was Never Evil

Warlock Ch 401. I Was Never Evil

The silence between them held weight—not the kind born from threat or tension, but something messier. Uneven. She looked at him like a puzzle that had suddenly revealed more pieces than she expected. Damian could feel it, the way her gaze lingered too long, too softly, and not quite where it should've.

It wasn't just judgment this time.

No. It was something else entirely.

"I see… so you admit it then," she said after a beat. "You were evil once."

Damian scoffed, running a hand through his still-damp hair. "No," he muttered. "I was never evil."

He didn't raise his voice. Didn't snap. He didn't need to.

"I made decisions people didn't agree with. I challenged systems they were too scared to question. And yeah… I broke rules that weren't designed to protect anyone but themselves."

He looked her in the eye. "That's not evil. That's surviving."

She tilted her head slightly. Still listening. Still watching. Not interrupting.

"But being Kaelan…" Damian continued, his voice quieter now, "came with its own curses. Too many memories I'd rather leave buried. Too many regrets I never had time to fix."

He leaned back in the armchair, cloak loose around his shoulders, revealing the lines of his scarred chest, the faint glow of Evelyn's leftover healing charm still fading from his ribs. Bite marks still dotted his collarbone, and despite the weight of the moment, he didn't cover them.

"Yet here I am," he said, exhaling slowly. "Crawling back through the shit I thought I left behind. Trying to patch it up while the world just throws more dirt in my face."

Lysandra didn't respond immediately.

But something shifted in her eyes.

That look again.

Not guarded. Not aggressive. But still… strange.

She was quiet. Too quiet. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

And her eyes— They weren't on his face anymore.

Damian followed the line of her gaze.

Yeah. She was looking.

Not just glancing, either. Her eyes dragged slowly over the lines of his chest, lingered at the curve of his collarbone. Her lips parted slightly—but not to speak. It was subtle. Maybe even subconscious.

But it was there.

Pity? No. He didn't think so.

Curiosity? Definitely.

Attraction?

Damian's smirk curved, slow and deliberate. He leaned just a little to the side, letting his cloak shift open, his bare chest catching the flickering firelight. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, voice light but carrying that signature edge of mischief and danger. "Do you have a crush on me or something?"

She blinked, visibly caught. Her eyes snapped back up to meet his—just a little too fast, a little too sharp to be casual.

"No," she said quickly. Flatly.

Too flat.

His eyebrow arched, amused. "Didn't say you did," he said, stepping forward with slow, confident ease. "Just noticed the staring. Was starting to feel shy."

"You don't do shy," she shot back, eyes narrowing.

"True," he admitted with a smirk. "But I do notice when a deadly dragon commander gets distracted by my abs mid-interrogation."

Her jaw tightened—but she didn't deny it.

Didn't argue, either.

And that silence said more than words ever could.

She looked away—not in shame, but in that subtle, defensive way people do when their thoughts wander somewhere they're not ready to admit out loud. Her posture shifted, ever so slightly, like her armor suddenly felt heavier.

Damian caught the faint parting of her lips, the way her shoulders squared for a breath, like she was about to say something—something real.

But then… she stopped. Whatever it was died in her throat. She turned, just slightly, as if keeping eye contact would make her too vulnerable. That flicker of hesitation—small, but undeniable—was the first crack in her steel composure.

And yet, it made the moment more unbearable.

He sighed. The firelight wrapped around him as he stood, casting long shadows across the room. His bare feet padded against the wood floor with soft, careful steps.

"Keep this to yourself," he said, his back turned to her now as he gazed into the flames. "This conversation. My past. What you think you saw."

Lysandra's voice came quieter, but not unsure. "Or else?"

He turned halfway toward her, and in that instant, the weight behind his eyes changed.

"Or else I'll have to shut your mouth."

His aura flared—not explosively, but enough to make the room hum. The fire hissed like it was reacting to him. Shadows licked the corners of the ceiling. Even the runes in the stone wall behind her pulsed faintly.

Lysandra didn't flinch.

But her lips curled into the faintest smirk.

"Is that a threat, Warlock?"

Damian didn't blink. "Yes."

The tension twisted into something else. Not animosity. Something just beneath it. The kind of tension that belonged to people who fought too often and maybe, in another world, would've kissed just as fiercely.

Lysandra stood with a quiet shift of her armor, walking to the door with long, confident strides. But just before she reached for the handle, she paused.

She glanced over her shoulder.

And her voice—still cold, but softer—cut through the quiet.

"You still carry him. Whether you want to admit it or not."

"I carry a lot of things," Damian said. "Doesn't mean I wear the name."

She nodded once, not disagreeing. Then she opened the door.

But she didn't leave right away.

She turned back to look at him fully, her eyes scanning his face again, slower this time. Not just sizing him up. Not analyzing him like an opponent.

Something had changed.

Something she wasn't ready to say.

So instead, she said nothing at all.

And Damian didn't push her.

She stepped out into the hallway.

The door clicked softly behind her.

And once again, Damian was alone with the flickering fire, the fading scent of her magic still clinging faintly to the room like smoke after a storm.

He stared into the flames for a long time before whispering to no one in particular.

"Dammit…"

Because she was right.

And that was the worst part of it all.