Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 391: Manaless Commander [Part 4]

Warlock Ch 391. Manaless Commander [Part 4]

Ryven shoved him forward. "Go! Head for the perimeter beacon! You see the red rune, don't look back!"

The man didn't argue.

He ran.

Ryven turned back toward the courtyard.

He didn't expect to win.

He just wanted to see him.

One more time.

So he pulled his last weapon.

A dagger—small, but sharp, wrapped in an enchantment to cut through veil magic.

He held it like a lifeline.

"You want me?" he growled, blood dripping from his mouth. "Come on then. No more hiding."

The shadows answered.

Not with a voice.

With silence.

And then—

[Infernal Javelins]

A hundred spears of flame and darkness materialized in the sky above the courtyard, circling like vultures.

They didn't come down at once.

They watched.

Like him.

Ryven swallowed.

"You bastard," he whispered. "You're playing with us."

One javelin fell.

It didn't aim for him.

It chased the fleeing merc.

Ryven turned, mouth open to shout—

But it was too late.

The explosion tore through the far end of the block. The man was gone. Nothing left but molten rubble and a blackened street.

Ryven turned back.

The figure stood at the edge of the fog now.

Not quite visible.

Just… there.

Watching.

The cloak he wore billowed like smoke in the windless night, the hood pulled low enough to cast his face in shadow. All that could be seen beneath it was the faint outline of a bone-white mask, smooth, featureless, expressionless. That mask was more chilling than anything else—because it felt like a deliberate choice. A blank canvas for death itself.

Ryven's fingers twitched toward the last talisman strapped to his belt.

His eyes narrowed. "You've killed my team," he said, voice hoarse. "Stalked us like prey. Cut us down like it meant nothing."

The figure didn't respond. The only sound was the soft tap of his boots as he stepped forward—slow, unhurried. The spear in his hand was wreathed in flickers of black and ember-red flame, each step making the weapon pulse as if responding to his presence.

Ryven pulled the talisman and cracked it against his palm.

Adrenal Surge (Rank A)

A pulse of energy rushed through his veins, momentarily numbing the pain, enhancing his reflexes, sharpening his mind.

"If you're gonna finish this," Ryven growled, "then do it face to face. No more shadows. No more hit-and-run tricks. Just you. And me."

The masked figure stopped.

Then tilted his head slightly.

A single step forward.

He nodded once.

The air changed.

The fog didn't lift—but it shifted, swirling back like it had been commanded, revealing a broken stretch of courtyard barely lit by a shattered lantern and the faint glow of scorched brick.

A field for a duel.

Ryven stepped into the open slowly, hand brushing over the six etched knives sheathed across his chest. He wasn't a mage. Never had been. But he was a killer. A survivor. And magic or not, he'd taken down monsters before.

This one just… felt different.

Still, Ryven dropped into a stance. "Let's see if that mask hides something worth fearing."

The figure raised the Hellfire Spear slowly—then dropped into a mirrored stance.

Ryven moved first.

He surged forward, momentum fueled by adrenaline and desperation, and whipped one of the enchanted knives straight for the masked man's throat. It should've forced a reaction. But instead—

A twist.

A flick of the spear.

The knife was deflected mid-air with a spark of flame.

Ryven was already on him.

He feinted left, spun, drew two more knives, and came in low for a sweep to the legs.

The masked figure stepped into it.

No block.

No hesitation.

He let Ryven come.

And then moved.

Too fast.

A sidestep with unnatural precision—one foot dragging behind like a shadow—and the spear came down hard, forcing Ryven to dive out of the way.

The ground behind him exploded as the spear slammed into the stone, sending shards upward like shrapnel.

Ryven hit the ground rolling, already pulling his next talisman.

Mirror Pulse (Rank B)

A decoy shimmered into existence—an illusion that looked exactly like him. It darted right while the real Ryven went left.

The spear-wielder turned his head just slightly.

And launched the spear.

It went for the decoy. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

Then curved midair and kept going.

Straight at Ryven.

Ryven's eyes went wide.

He ducked just in time, the spear grazing his shoulder and exploding behind him in a column of black fire.

Pain screamed through his nerves.

He didn't stop.

He charged in close while his opponent was momentarily without a weapon.

Big mistake.

Because the masked man didn't need it.

With one gloved hand, he caught Ryven by the front of his jacket mid-lunge and lifted him—slamming him into the ground so hard the breath flew from his lungs.

Ryven's vision swam.

But his hand moved on instinct—jamming a blade toward the ribs under that cloak.

It connected.

Or should have.

Instead, the blade stopped—caught in some kind of barrier he couldn't see. Like trying to stab through ice.

A pulse of force shot back through the dagger and knocked it from his hand.

Then he was airborne again.

Another throw.

Another crash.

He hit a cracked pillar and slid down it, coughing blood.

The masked figure walked toward him, retrieving the spear with a silent gesture. It flew into his grip like it belonged there.

Ryven laughed, bitter and pained. "You're not human, are you…"

The figure stopped.

Then, slowly, deliberately, raised the spear again.

Ryven pushed himself to one knee.

"Do it," he rasped. "But I'm not dying on my knees."

He pulled the last talisman. The real one.

A custom piece. Illegal. Fused with corrupted essence.

He crushed it.

Crimson Break (Prototype: Triggered)

A shockwave of red energy exploded around him—warping space in a ten-meter radius. It wouldn't kill his attacker. But it'd hurt.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Because the moment it exploded, the masked figure was gone.

Just gone.

Ryven blinked.

And then looked up— The figure stood behind him now. Hand on his shoulder.

He didn't flinch.

He just… whispered.

"Thank you for fighting."