Warlock Ch 384. Therapeutic Yapping
After that eventful morning, there wasn't much left to do except wait. The entire manor felt like it had taken a long breath and now just held it, tense and quiet. The shadow servants had been dispatched, watching, listening, and sniffing out any whispers.
Most of the group just drifted.
Cassius took over the library, pretending to read while mostly rotating between wine, staring at the ceiling, and throwing sarcastic comnts at the paintings on the walls.
Victoria claid a sofa in the war room and dozed with one eye open, still in full leather like she was ready to spring into a fight even in her sleep.
Evelyn moved like she had no interest in relaxing—she checked the outer periter wards three tis, rewrote the magical seals on the east wing's windows, then locked herself in her study with three encrypted communication scrolls and a cup of sothing that slled like peppermint and murder.
And Damian?
He went to the training ground again.
Because so days, swinging a spear at monsters was easier than dealing with everything else.
The mont his boots hit the obsidian tiles of the hall, the ambient enchantnts flared up around him. Pale blue glyphs shimred along the walls, activating movent tracking and elental impact nullifiers. The temperature dropped slightly, as if even the room itself was bracing for a fight.
Damian didn't say a word. Just summoned his spear in a burst of black fla and started moving.
Lunges. Sweeps. Full rotations. Fire-based charges followed by shadow-step retreats. He pushed himself hard—way harder than yesterday. His muscles scread, but he didn't stop. If anything, the pain helped him focus.
The system notifications blinked softly in the edge of his vision.
[Proficiency increased by 0.6%]
[Combo Execution Bonus Achieved – Chain Count: 57]
[Passive Trait 'Discipline' triggered – Recovery Speed 10% for 10 minutes]
It wasn't just mindless repetition. He was testing new combinations. Weaving in short-range teleportation mid-combo. Timing his [Void Rift] cast between consecutive strikes. Even layering [Hellfire Spear] with [Spectral Surge], just to see how the balance worked under high-speed pressure.
And of course, the demon king in his head didn't shut up.
'Swing wider,' ca the deep voice, smug and loud inside his skull. 'Your form is getting sloppy. Are you even trying?'
"I'm literally bleeding from my knuckles."
'That's not bleeding. That's sweat mixed with cowardice.'
"You're real chatty today," Damian muttered aloud, stabbing the illusion of a knight through the chest. The construct exploded into sparks.
'I am your inner darkness,' the demon king said, all dramatic. 'And you are a ss right now. Soone's gotta hold the line.'
"You an yap in my ear for two hours straight?"
'Therapeutic yapping.'
To be fair, the demon wasn't wrong. There was a ss in his head.
And the biggest, ugliest knot in there was Aria.
She knew. About Kaelan. About him.
And she hadn't tried to kill him. She hadn't outed him to the Council or sent an assassin or even scread at him. She just... accepted it. Not warmly. Not trustingly. But she accepted it.
And that was the part that scared him most.
Because last ti? It had started like that too. People smiling to his face while sharpening the knife behind his back. Friends who believed in him—right up until they didn't. Until it was easier to believe the propaganda than the truth. Until they were afraid of what it ant to stand by his side.
The spear trembled in his grip as he forced himself to stop.
His heart was racing. Sweat dripped down his back. And he was still stuck in the sa thought spiral.
Across the room, quietly and patiently, Selena sat on the chair near the wall. Sa spot as yesterday. Legs crossed, hands folded in her lap, a towel draped over one shoulder and a flask of enchanted water beside her. This ti, she'd brought a small container of rice cakes and grilled at skewers too. Probably snuck it out of the kitchen while everyone else was too distracted to notice.
She hadn't spoken once.
Not even a hello.
And neither had he.
But that wasn't unusual between them anymore. So silences were just… understood.
When the dusk arrived, he walked to the side of the hall, dismissed his spear, and grabbed the towel she offered without a word. Wiped his face. Sat down beside her, his breathing still sharp and uneven.
Still nothing.
Selena glanced at him briefly, her expression soft but distant. She held out a skewer of at.
"Thanks." He took it. Bit into it. Chewed.
The spices hit his tongue—warm, slightly sweet, tinged with mana. Probably cooked by one of the shadow chefs under Cassius' ridiculous food enhancent program. It should've made him feel better.
It didn't.
She didn't push. Just sat beside him quietly, sipping from her glass and watching the flickering glyphs along the ceiling slowly dim as the enchantnts cooled down.
"Long day," she said eventually, voice barely above a whisper.
"Mm."
"Training hard?"
"Too hard."
"Do you always do that when you're thinking too much?"
Damian didn't respond.
She didn't press further.
And then, Damian spoke again.
"Yeah," he muttered, his voice low, almost like he was just thinking out loud. "Especially since I know I need to get stronger. Fast."
Selena turned her head, brows pulling together slightly.
"My ti's limited," Damian went on, rubbing at the back of his neck, sweat still clinging to his skin. "I don't have much left. They're gonna co after soon enough. You know how it works… they don't let people like live."
Selena's throat tightened. She stared down at the nearly empty food box in her lap for a second before replying. "It's ssed up out there."
He glanced at her, but didn't interrupt.
She shifted a little on the bench, eyes dark and tired. "When I gave my testimony… They pressured . The mont I said I was defending you, they started with it. 'Are you sure?' 'Are you not under so sort of spell or manipulation?' Like I couldn't possibly think for myself."
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