Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 381: Not With The Same Sword

Warlock Ch 381. Not With The Same Sword

That made Damian pause. He tilted his head slightly. "Then why are you here?"

She hesitated. And that... that was rare.

"I saw the aftermath," she said, voice softer now. "I saw what was left behind. The evidence. The way it was placed. I've worked beside Kaelan before. And this? This felt familiar."

Damian blinked.

"So I came to confirm something."

"Which is?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "That you're still fighting. Just… not with the same sword."

That caught him off guard. He didn't reply.

She took that as permission to keep going.

"I don't care who you were. Kaelan. Damian. Whatever name you're wearing now. But if you're going after the people who deserve it—the ones who've built their kingdoms on silence and bones—then I'm not going to stop you."

Damian's heart dropped.

It didn't show on his face, not at first. Outwardly, he was calm. Steady. The kind of unreadable expression he'd mastered over years of surviving lies and blades in dark rooms. But inside?

He was screaming.

'She knows.'

His mind spiraled for a split second, the words echoing in a cold, sharp loop. Aria had figured it out. Not guessed. Not suspected.

Confirmed.

His old name still tasted like blood and fire. Kaelan. The war criminal. The butcher. The exile.

The part of him that had died—and now, apparently, not as quietly as he'd hoped.

He leaned back in the chair, but his body was tense, spine stiff, like it was deciding between fighting or fleeing. His fingers twitched once before he folded his arms across his chest, trying to appear casual.

"How?" he asked, voice quiet. Controlled. Too controlled. "How did you figure it out?"

Aria's expression didn't change. "Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

She looked at him for a long moment, then said, "Your eyes. They're not the same as Kaelan's… but they carry the same weight."

Damian cursed silently.

"You knew me back then," he said. "When everyone else just remembers the stories."

"I knew the version of you who nearly tore the High Chamber in half with nothing but fury." She tilted her head. "And I knew the look of someone who regrets surviving that day."

Damian's breath caught for half a second.

Then he asked the next question, slower this time. More dangerous.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Silence.

Gods, even the shadow servants had gone still.

Aria blinked once. Then again. She didn't smile. Just met his eyes, unflinching.

"No."

Damian didn't relax. He couldn't. Not yet.

"Why not?"

"You're not him anymore," she said.

"That's convenient," he muttered, bitterness slipping through his voice.

"No," she said sharply. "It's earned. And barely."

He stared at her, then let out a breath that shook more than he wanted it to.

He leaned back again, deeper this time, settling into the cushions like they might anchor him. Folded his arms again. Bit back on the thousand ways this could go wrong.

"And what, you want to join the rebellion?" he asked, voice dry.

She smiled faintly—and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like a threat.

"No. I want to survive it."

A beat passed. Tension still buzzed under his skin like a live wire. But it was shifting. Becoming something else. Not fear. Not panic.

Just... weariness.

"And if you die," she added softly, "then all the things you started will die with you. That's what I'm here for. To make sure you don't waste your second chance."

Damian stared at her.

This woman. Aria. Who once demanded his execution in front of a hundred witnesses. Who swore she'd never trust anyone who bore the demon king's mark. Who now sat in his living room, calm and composed, offering help wrapped in veiled words and sharp pragmatism.

It was surreal.

It was dangerous.

And yet, part of him felt lighter. Because someone else knew. Someone else saw the truth—and didn't flinch.

He let out a breath. "So what do you want from me?"

"Nothing," she said. "Just answers."

"Answers I can't give."

"Then give me truths."

Damian rubbed the bridge of his nose, dragging his palm down his face. "Okay. Here's a truth. The system's breaking down. Ralvek's slipping. The council is eating itself. And I'm not the one pulling those strings."

"But you're benefiting from it."

He met her gaze. "Maybe. But only because it was going to collapse anyway."

He hesitated.

His fingers clenched slightly around the arm of the chair, and something raw slipped into his voice before he could stop it.

"I want to prove my innocence."

That caught Aria's attention.

Damian's throat worked, jaw tight. "I'm not guilty. Not now, not in the past."

She didn't respond, not yet, but he saw her expression shift—subtle, wary.

"Kaelan was innocent," he said, and now the words were spilling out—not angry, not defensive. Just wounded. Honest. "They threw the dirt at me because I was convenient. Because someone had to take the fall," he stated. His bitterness was clear from his voice.

His voice dropped lower, bitter and brittle. "And you… You were my childhood friend, Aria. You knew me. You knew what I stood for. And you still took their side."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Aria didn't flinch. Didn't deny it.

She didn't have to.

The look on her face said enough—like a mirror to a memory she'd long buried. The way her mouth pressed into a thin line. The way her eyes lowered, just briefly.

She had no defense.

Only silence.

Damian looked away, exhaled slowly, and rubbed the back of his neck. "I wasn't perfect. Gods know I did things I regret. I made mistakes. But I never betrayed anyone. I never betrayed you."

Still nothing.

But now, her breathing had changed—slower, deeper. Like she was holding something back. Guilt, maybe. Or shame. Or something she couldn't put into words.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.