Warlock Ch 453. Let Them Co
Damian's eyes narrowed.
"They're here."
"Now?" Evelyn said, raising a brow.
"They're waiting to see how the verdict falls," he said. "If it goes against them, they vanish. If it doesn't…"
"They'll strike."
"They'll try."
He let his hand fall back to his side, cloak shifting with the motion. No grand gesture. No fire. No declaration.
Just the slow, thodical shifting of his presence—like a quiet blade slipping from its sheath.
"Let them wait," Damian murmured. "Let them think they're still in control."
Cassius crossed his arms. "You gonna track them?"
"No," Damian said.
"I'm going to let them reveal themselves."
He turned, eyes locked on the staircase that led to the upper archive floors.
"They'll go after the evidence first. Evelyn's runes. The confession files. Any trail that leads to them."
Evelyn nodded slowly. "I've already got copies hidden across four different planes. But if they're that stupid…"
"Let them be," Damian said.
Then, with a voice like cold steel scraping through smoke— "Let them co."
And later—when the Tribunal delivered their verdict?
It was what everyone expected.
Official pardon.
All charges dropped.
But not an apology.
Not a thank you.
Just… silence.
And while the city's surface began to calm again—while headlines scread about the miracle warlock, the rebuilt city, the rogue senators—Damian's shadows kept moving.
Quiet.
Patient.
Unseen.
Because the Tribunal had closed the book.
But Damian?
He was still writing the last chapter.
They weren't even out of the damn tower yet before the next ploy revealed itself.
A senatorial aide, young and suspiciously too polite, had appeared near the exit with a perfectly neutral expression. "The Grand Tribunal kindly invites Lord Blackthorn and his entourage to remain within the capital for the evening. It would be... unwise to return to Haven so late. Travel restrictions and wards activate at sundown."
Unwise. Right.
Damian didn't need to look at Aria or Victoria to know what they were all thinking.
"Of course they're keeping us," Cassius muttered under his breath. "Because nothing says 'we accept your testimony' like polite imprisonnt."
"They're not dumb," Aria replied quietly. "Just desperate. If they couldn't silence us in court, they'll try it behind silk curtains."
Victoria didn't blink. "They forget who they've invited to dinner."
A different aide—this one older, with a voice like honey over cold steel—guided them down the golden stairwells and into the Grand Hall. It was the kind of place ant to awe people into silence. Dod ceilings. Crystal chandeliers dripping with light-imbued mana. A thousand sigils embedded across the walls that pulsed in gentle harmony. A masterpiece of political vanity.
The long banquet table was already prepared.
Polished silver trays. Exotic fruits. Delicately plated roasted phoenix at. Wines from enchanted barrels. Spiced delicacies rumored to be brewed with starlight.
It was a trap dressed like a dream.
Damian paused by the entrance and exhaled slowly.
He opened his hand just slightly.
[Observation].
His eyes shimred faintly violet, overlaying the hall in cold analysis. Every magic trace. Every fluctuation. Every illusion.
The food?
Safe.
The drink?
Surprisingly clean.
In fact, too clean—nothing out of place. No corrupted mana signatures. No delayed-effect hexes. No blood contracts. Whoever planned this knew soone like him would check.
But the air…
His gaze narrowed.
The air shimred subtly in the upper registers of the room. Barely visible. Not a gas. Not poison. It was thicker. More… primal.
He sniffed the air discreetly.
There. Faint.
An animalistic undertone. Sothing beneath the spice and perfu.
Pheromonal manipulation.
Not to control.
To enrage.
It was the kind of compound used in old bestial warfare—incense mixed with essence from frenzying plants. Used to make battle beasts ignore commands and snap chains. Rare. Illegal. Highly specific.
And dangerous to any creature with enhanced primal instincts.
His eyes flicked toward Lysandra, who was already eyeing the far wall like it had insulted her lineage. Her nostrils flared slightly.
Then to Victoria, who tilted her glass and sipped—only blood, as always. Her goblet was lined with anti-corruption wards. It had a faint glow. Cure essence. Smart.
He glanced down at his own cup.
Water. Simple. Plain.
Unwarded.
He activated [Analyze].
A faint thread of curing essence trailed from Victoria's goblet. Likewise, Lysandra's goblet was lined with dragon-scale powder—strong enough to counter the frenzy blend in the air.
But his?
Nothing.
They'd built the entire room to push him.
The food was perfect.
The drink was safe.
But the air?
That was the poison.
"Subtle," he murmured, lifting his cup but not drinking.
Aria leaned in. "Problem?"
"Yeah," he muttered, smiling faintly like they were sharing a joke. "They didn't poison the al. They poisoned the mood."
Cassius blinked. "Explain that in a less poetic way, maybe?"
"They laced the air," Damian said, casually slicing into his al but not eating. "With a bestial rage stimulant. Nothing lethal. Nothing traceable. Just… volatile. Sothing ant to set off anyone with beast blood or demonic physiology."
Aria stiffened. "Victoria?"
"Her drink is cured. So is Lysandra's. They're safe."
"And you?"
Damian grinned dryly. "They left mine clean. Very considerate."
Victoria's goblet lowered. "So they wanted you to snap."
"Or," Cassius said, "they wanted him to seem unstable. Angry. Dangerous. Enough to revoke the pardon after the fact."
Lysandra growled low in her throat. "Cowards."
Selena looked down at her plate. "Are we eating this?"
"Oh yeah," Damian said, stabbing a roasted feathered beast and popping it into his mouth like nothing was wrong. "We eat. We drink. We smile."
"You're going along with it?" Aria hissed under her breath.
"No," Damian replied. "I'm playing the part."
He reached for a slice of enchanted bread and waved down a servant with the air of a bored noble.
"Fetch a new drink," he said smoothly. "Sothing local. Sweet."
The servant bowed and disappeared.
Cassius gave him a sideways glance. "What are you doing?"
"Giving them a chance," Damian murmured. "To be obvious. The first attempt was subtle. The second? Let's see how bold they get."
Victoria swirled her blood wine and watched him carefully. "And if they try sothing worse?"
"Then they've given an excuse," he said.
"And I've been very patient."
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