Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 388: Manaless Commander [Part 1]

Warlock Ch 388. Manaless Commander [Part 1]

Haven City's nights were always thick—thick with tension, fog, and secrets. Tonight was no different. The fog rolled across the cobbled streets like a low whisper, and the lamplights barely did their job, flickering uselessly against the creeping mist. In the upper ward, three figures moved separately, distant from one another but bound by a single purpose.

None of them knew they were bait.

Two council aides moved cautiously through different routes—their hoods pulled low. One walked through the shadowed merchant corridor, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. The other stayed near the temple grounds, sticking close to guarded areas but never settling too long in one spot.

And then there was Commander Ryven Halden.

Commander of the 3rd Haven Guard Patrol. Newly appointed. Unmarked by magic. His dark blue uniform bore silver buttons and a clean rank insignia, but nothing else. No staff, no casting focus, no magical presence of his own.

Because Ryven couldn't cast.

He wasn't born with the gift. But he had survived. Through smart deals, good instincts, and more than a few enchanted artifacts. His belt was lined with talismans—disposable magic woven into stone and paper. A satchel on his side jingled faintly with mana crystals, ready to be broken in emergencies.

He walked with his hand near them now, every footstep deliberate, every breath measured. His eyes flicked between alleyways and rooftops.

He knew someone was watching.

Not just one person. Dozens.

But still, he was the bait. And he knew it.

He reached the midpoint of the Derwyn sector—a narrow walkway boxed in by decayed buildings and a tall, locked gate. He stopped beneath a broken streetlamp, looked up, and sighed.

Nothing.

No noise. No attack.

Just fog and that sick feeling at the base of his neck.

He reached into his coat slowly, fingers brushing the edge of a mana crystal when—

A sound. Sharp. Wrong.

His head snapped left—too late.

A knife of black wind sliced past his cheek, close enough to sting. He spun, heart hammering, drawing one of his talismans and slapping it to his chest.

Barrier Charm – Triggered

A transparent hexagonal shield burst to life around him, just in time to catch the next strike—a bolt of raw energy that splintered on impact with a deafening crack.

"Show yourself!" he barked, voice steadier than he felt. "I know you're here!"

No one answered.

But more came.

A flicker in the mist to his right—movement.

Then to his left.

And then all at once, from the rooftops and behind cover, they appeared.

Not enemies.

Mercenaries.

Half a dozen of them, clad in enchanted leather, mana-infused blades glowing faintly at their hips. Battle mages. All freelancers, faces half-covered in enchanted masks. Their auras buzzed faintly with held-back magic.

Ryven didn't relax.

Because he knew why they were here.

They weren't here to protect him.

They were here to protect the trap.

"Contact?" one of the mercs asked, stepping beside him. Her voice was clipped, professional.

"Something struck from the shadows," Ryven said. "Didn't see anything."

Another merc dropped down beside them, his staff lighting faintly. "He's watching. Or they're watching. Doesn't matter. They'll come again."

Ryven exhaled slowly, reaching into his satchel again. "Then let's be ready."

The mercs spread out around him, three of them forming a triangle perimeter while the others activated small, floating drones—tiny orbs that spun and pulsed with scanning magic.

The street filled with an eerie hum.

But above them, beyond the edges of their vision, someone was watching.

Not through magic. Not through tech.

Through darkness.

Deep in the mist, nestled within the warped shadow of a rooftop gable, a presence waited—low to the ground, unmoving, completely veiled in a perfect blend of stillness and magic suppression.

Damian crouched there, his cloak draped over his back like liquid smoke.

His breathing was even. His eyes locked on Ryven and the mercs below.

He didn't blink.

He didn't need to.

Because he wasn't here to be seen.

This wasn't his time to strike.

But his fingers were already glowing with a faint pulse of power, ready to move the moment they stepped out of line.

A sigil on one of the mercs' scanners flickered red.

"Something just moved," the mage said quickly. "West rooftop—something big."

"Could be a rift echo," the leader replied.

Ryven grit his teeth, knuckles tightening around a talisman shaped like a throwing dart.

They were ready for anything.

Or so they thought.

Another sound—like something scraping the edge of reality.

Everyone froze.

And then, something did appear.

A wave of pressure rippled across the alleyway—so fast, so wide, every single barrier on the mercenaries flickered for half a second.

One of them cursed. "What was that?!" fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

"Mana fluctuation! Big one!"

Ryven opened his mouth to issue a command— And that's when it happened.

The air split down the center of the alley as chains of pure darkness erupted from the fog.

They didn't lash out.

They dropped, heavy, thick, snapping around two of the mercs before they could even blink.

[Dark Chains]

The two grunted, dropping to one knee, their power immediately dulled. Their enchantments hissed like they'd been soaked in acid.

"On me!" Ryven shouted, tossing a talisman into the air.

[Emergency Recall: Triggered]

A burst of blue light formed a sigil beneath his feet, starting to form a teleportation gate—but it fizzled, flickered, and died.

[Dispel]

No teleport.

No escape.

"This is bad," one of the mages growled, hurling a fire spell into the mist.

It exploded.

Revealed nothing.

Another silence.

And then a voice, quiet, cold, from everywhere.

"Trap acknowledged."

Ryven's spine stiffened.

"Let's see how you like being on the wrong side of it."

The moment that voice ended, the sky above them ripped.

No spell incantation. No buildup. Just raw power condensed into a descending force.

The air bent—just slightly—as if something too massive to understand pressed down on them.

The mercs screamed for shields.

One of them activated a talisman just in time—

But it didn't matter.

The darkness fell.

[Void Rift]

The alley collapsed in on itself with a sudden rush of void energy, slowing everything, sucking the air out of their lungs. Dust and stone warped as gravity bent inward.