Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives

Warlock Ch 407. Investigation [Part 2]

Damian didn't waste a second. The moment he stepped out of the inn, he activated [Spectral Surge] again and blurred down the empty alley like a phantom caught in motion blur.

He needed more proof.

The portal trace from the inn had been unstable. Rushed. Not the kind of spell used by a calm and collected royal escort. And definitely not one authorized by any of the fae court's high mages. That anchor spell had been clumsy—patchwork.

It felt more like a kidnapping than an extraction.

And now, it was time to test the theory.

Damian ducked into the nearest covered walkway and whispered, "[Dark Sight]."

The world flickered. Colors drained. Everything dulled to layered greys and faint purples. In this version of reality, light was irrelevant—only mana mattered. Footsteps lit the street like afterimages, pulses of ambient power echoing long after the users had gone.

And there—faint traces.

Three teleport signatures. One strong, two weak. Fading mana trails stretched from the alley behind the inn toward the western sector.

He followed.

Moving quickly but quietly, Damian dashed between walls, vaulting over back fences, keeping to the rooftops and shadowed corners. His boots barely made a sound. This part of Haven wasn't patrolled much—too far from the Senate buildings, too close to the edge of the neutral district.

He finally dropped into a half-collapsed warehouse—once a textile storehouse, now abandoned and overgrown with mana-gnawed vines. The trails led into it.

Damian crouched near a fallen beam and triggered another skill.

[Spectral Echo]

The air shimmered, dust rising as if disturbed by invisible wind. Then the scene bloomed like a phantom memory. Blurred outlines of fae armor. Cedric slumped between two figures, barely standing. Alric behind him, half-dragged, half-carried. Blood streaked his face, dark even through the echo's filter.

Damian leaned forward, watching.

The soldiers weren't speaking, but their movements were hurried. Nervous.

One turned to the other, handed over something—a token? A seal?

Then the image fractured. Gone.

"Dammit," he muttered, kneeling to examine the floor where the token had been passed.

He activated his skill.

[Observation]

His vision sharpened, zoomed.

The floor glowed faintly.

[Observation]

[Subject: Discarded Royal Sigil – False]

[Crafted Origin: House Marenvell – Lesser Fae Noble Line – Blood Ties: Selena (Not Related), Cedric (Not Related)]

[Function: Camouflage. Temporary Illusion. Signature Forgery (Royal Tier Mask)]

[Warning: Tampering Detected – Likely Replication Unit]

Damian's lips parted.

"They faked it," he whispered. "They faked the royal identification."

And they weren't even part of the main fae bloodlines.

Marenvell.

He knew that name.

A minor noble house. Always ambitious, always under suspicion for dabbling in illegal memory magic. Nothing proven. But now? Now they were the perfect suspect.

Because Cedric and Alric had been wounded—badly. That wasn't an escort. That was an ambush.

And Marenvell's emblem had been used as a disguise.

He stood quickly, heart thudding in his chest. The pieces were coming together—and it looked worse with every connection.

They didn't just want to take Cedric.

They wanted to use him.

Possibly for the vault.

Possibly for something darker.

Damian backed out of the warehouse, slipping into the shadows again, tracing the trail further west.

His crystal pulsed again—just faintly.

Another flash of mana.

Not a teleport this time.

A car?

He moved faster, sprinting now. The streets blurred beneath his feet. Every step enhanced by [Spectral Surge], his cloak snapping in the wind. He passed through one sector gate, ignoring the stunned look from the guard posted at the side checkpoint.

Two blocks later, he stopped.

A small courtyard. Decorative. Too clean.

But the mana was wrong.

Damian raised his hand again. "[Dark Sight]."

At first, nothing. Just a light echo from the carriage tracks.

Then he saw it.

A smear of blood. Alric's again. And—

Another echo.

[Spectral Echo]

Alric slumped near the side wall, barely breathing. Cedric was conscious but dazed. Two cloaked figures stood near them. One wore Marenvell insignia.

The other— Damian squinted.

Was that…

A senator's seal?

He cursed.

Not just fae betrayal. Someone on the inside was working with them. Someone in the Senate had authorized part of this.

And maybe that's why it was all so clean. Why there was no uproar. No alarm. Because it was hidden from the inside out.

He deactivated the skills and rubbed a hand down his face.

[Conspiracy Trail – Senate Involvement Confirmed]

[Warning: Royal Blood Compromised – Vault May Already Be Accessible]

"Shit."

His mind spun with next steps.

Tell Cassius.

Warn Selena.

But first…

He had to move.

Because whatever was happening at the Central Archive Vault?

It was already in motion.

Damian could feel it—like pressure tightening around his ribs. Every second wasted was another thread unraveling, another move made on the board. He had to move fast. And move smart.

The moment he left the last location—the fake handoff site—he pulled his cloak tighter, adjusted his hood, and masked his aura. A warlock's instinct.

His goal? Get back to Cassius' mansion.

But of course, it wasn't that simple.

He noticed the first tail two blocks in. Sloppy movement in the reflection of a lamp post. A hooded figure who slowed exactly when he did. Another one, across the street—checking the same vendor stall three times.

Three.

Then four.

Then five.

Tailing him.

Not attacking. Not revealing their affiliation. Just watching.

That was a problem.

Because he'd made sure, before he left the mansion, that it was clean. His shadow servants had taken care of the last batch of would-be assassins—efficiently and quietly. No one had made it out alive, and no tracking spells had been left behind.

So these guys?

They were new. And they'd caught the scent from somewhere between here and the old warehouse.

Which meant if he led them back now, he'd be serving Cassius and Selena up on a platter.

Yeah. That wasn't happening.

He took a sudden turn into a narrow maintenance corridor between two potion shops. Broken lights. Trash piled up near the walls. An old rune-inscribed vent grating hummed faintly in the floor.

He walked fifteen paces, then stopped.