Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 392: Like A Hunter

Warlock Ch 392. Like A Hunter

Ryven didn't understand.

And then the world turned red.

The Hellfire Spear pierced through his chest from behind, crackling with fire and void.

He coughed once. Blood dripped down his chin.

But he smiled anyway.

"Got to see your face…"

The mask leaned in, silent.

Then the fire consumed everything.

Ryven's body collapsed.

Smoke rose from the crater.

The courtyard was silent again.

And the figure—cloaked, hooded, masked—stood alone.

No cheers. No echoes.

Just shadows.

The air still sizzled with residual heat from the last flare of [Hellfire Spear]. Cracks webbed through the cobbled ground, smoke curling in lazy tendrils from shattered stone and melted iron. The blood on Damian's hands had already cooled, but the sting hadn't faded.

Especially not the one on his shoulder.

He stood there for a second longer, breathing shallow through the thin slit of his mask. Then his hand moved up and pressed against the burn—deep enough to ache but not deep enough to slow him down. Not yet.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, grimacing behind the mask. "I'm careless…"

The mark pulsed faintly, still hot beneath the fabric of his shirt. It must've been that damn knife. The one the commander landed on reflex. He didn't expect Ryven to fight like that. Not that long. Not that well.

It wasn't enough to kill him.

But it was enough to be a problem.

The fight had gone too loud. Too explosive. The void rift, the javelins, the spear detonations—half the city probably heard that final blast. If the council wasn't on high alert before, they were now. And the mercs? They weren't the only ones watching.

He had to move.

Now.

Damian turned sharply, shadows curling at his feet as he activated [Spectral Surge], his body blurring with a sharp pulse of speed and afterimage. The flickering remnants of his form dashed through alleys, over crumbling walls, past abandoned homes and barricaded merchant stalls. The city spun around him in streaks of brick and light and fog.

He kept running. ƒreewebɳovel.com

But then…

A sound.

Not loud. Not magical.

Just… presence.

A crack of displaced air above.

And the weight of something ancient behind him.

He didn't need [Observation] to know.

He glanced over his shoulder mid-sprint.

There she was.

General Lysandra.

Her wings weren't out. Not yet. But her silver armor shimmered like moonlight forged into steel, and her long, braided hair whipped in the wind as she followed—quiet, fast, and locked onto him with predatory calm. Her eyes glowed faintly in the dark, two shards of frost cutting through the city haze.

She wasn't chasing him with spells.

She was chasing him like a hunter.

Damian clicked his tongue. "Of course," he muttered.

He couldn't go back to Cassius' mansion. That would put all of them in danger. Evelyn. Victoria. Selena. No way in hell was he leading her there.

He needed to pull her away.

Out of the city.

Where he could fight her if it came to it.

Or vanish.

Whatever came first.

He pivoted sharply at the next intersection, diving down a sewer maintenance tunnel that opened into an old smuggler route. Haven's underbelly was a mess of forgotten magic tunnels and disused merchant passages—half of which Cassius had helped him memorize.

He didn't hear her.

But she was there.

He ducked under a rusted gate, sprinted along the narrow walkway, and leapt clean over a collapsed bridge to the next tunnel. He could feel her, one heartbeat behind, matching his every move like she'd known these routes her whole life.

A part of him respected it.

The other part hated it.

"Persistent," he growled under his breath.

He reached into his cloak and threw a [Void Mine]—a small enchanted trap he'd crafted two weeks ago during system testing. It detonated seconds after his exit, collapsing the tunnel behind him.

But it didn't stop her.

Because as the dust cleared behind him… she emerged.

Unscathed.

Not running.

Just walking.

Like she was never going to stop.

"I don't want to fight you," Damian called out, his voice warped by the distortion from his mask.

"Then stop running," she answered.

It wasn't a threat.

It was a promise.

Damian grit his teeth and accelerated again, breaking into a stairwell that led back up toward the outer ring of Haven—past the last guard post, through the cliffs that overlooked the Southern Ridge.

His goal?

The abandoned rail line.

If he could get just far enough… he could bait her into a shadow portal. A risky one, yeah. But it would open outside the city's reach.

One more alley.

One more jump.

He landed on the steel platform with a grunt, skidding across damp metal, grabbing a rusted support beam to keep balance. His shoulder screamed at the motion.

Behind him, boots hit the ground.

"Enough," Lysandra's voice echoed, closer now.

"I told you," he snapped, eyes still forward, "I'm not stopping here."

He reached for the switch hidden behind the lantern post. The old enchantment reacted sluggishly, sputtering as the rail line bridge creaked to life, forming a temporary crossing to the next bluff.

But he didn't step on it.

He turned.

Still cloaked. Still masked.

General Lysandra stood ten meters away. Arms at her side. Not armed.

Not glowing with power.

Just… watching.

"Who are you?" she asked softly. "And why are you hiding from me?"

Damian didn't answer.

He couldn't.

She tilted her head. "You fight like someone with nothing left to lose."

Damian's hand flexed near his belt, readying another surge.

"I'm not your enemy," she said.

"That's not what your presence here says," he snapped.

"You slaughtered Ralvek's hunters."

"They were bait."

"And the commander?"

"He pulled a weapon first."

Her gaze narrowed. "You didn't have to kill them all."

"No," Damian said. "But I couldn't let them report."

The silence between them sharpened.

Lysandra stepped forward once. Just one step. No weapon. No wings.

"You're not a monster," she said. "I've met monsters. I've fought them. You don't move like one. You think too much."