Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives-Chapter 390: Manaless Commander [Part 3]

Warlock Ch 390. Manaless Commander [Part 3]

The mercs weren't faring much better. Their ranks had been cut down to four now—one crushed by falling rubble, another vaporized in the initial blast. The others moved like ghosts, darting through alleys and over rooftops, scanning, tracking, coordinating—but nothing stuck. Every time they thought they saw their attacker, he vanished. No sound. No aura.

Only fear.

"What is this?" the flame-user cursed, hurling another wide-range blast toward the shadows. "He's not just cloaked—he's baiting us!"

"I know!" Ryven barked, slapping another crystal into his side pouch. "But he's not invincible! I hit him before. That means he bleeds."

"And if he bleeds—"

"We can kill him," Ryven finished.

But no one said it with confidence.

They regrouped in a circular formation, backs to each other, in the center of the fractured courtyard. The torches of truth still flickered weakly at the corners, barely holding the fog at bay.

"This guy isn't normal," one of the mercs said. Her arm was half-burned and her voice was trembling. "I've fought demonbound. I've fought half-possessed maniacs. But this guy… he's playing with us."

"I don't think he's trying to win," the caster added, voice shaking. "I think he's studying us."

"Stop talking," Ryven growled, eyes darting through the dark. "Stay sharp. Use short-range pulses every thirty seconds. Don't break formation."

They all nodded grimly.

Seconds passed.

Then—

A chill.

Not wind. Not magic.

Something colder. Quieter.

The light dimmed slightly—then flared—then blinked out.

And then came the pressure.

[Dark Dominion]

The moment it hit, every single one of them froze. Their breath caught. Their minds screamed. It was as if their very souls recoiled from the presence that now circled them.

The shadows trembled.

One of the mercs cried out, dropping to her knees, clawing at her helmet like something was inside her head.

"Terror effect!" the squad leader barked. "Clear it! CLEAR IT!"

They activated resistance charms.

But the pressure didn't lift.

It deepened.

"Six o'clock!" the flame-user shouted.

A shadow blurred forward—too fast.

A figure appeared for less than a second, dragging a spear wreathed in black fire behind him like a comet's tail.

Ryven saw it, barely.

[Hellfire Spear]

The spear moved like a flame-fed scythe, carving through the flame-user's midsection with a single clean sweep.

His body dropped in two halves, the flames eating through armor like acid.

"Fall back!" someone screamed. "Fall—!"

The second strike came instantly.

Another merc was lifted off the ground, impaled mid-spellcast. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the spear exploded inside her chest, flaring with volatile corruption and black light.

The courtyard was chaos.

They scattered—some trying to run, others casting blindly. One unleashed a cone of lightning. Another triggered a storm seal.

It didn't matter.

[Shadow Step]

He blinked between them, reappearing in a swirl of dread. Every arrival triggered an instant burst of Terror, locking their limbs, dulling their reactions. He didn't speak. He didn't even breathe like a normal man.

He just moved.

He stepped behind the caster. Slit his throat with the spear's edge.

Pivoted. Tossed the weapon like a javelin.

It exploded.

Ryven was thrown back again, crashing into the side of a fountain. His ears rang. His ribs screamed. He could barely lift his hand—but he still reached for his last talisman.

It was cracked, charred around the edges. A last resort sealed in iron, embedded with a single drop of phoenix blood. If this didn't work, nothing would.

Phoenix Flare (Rank S Emergency Artifact: Triggered)

The talisman ignited in a blaze of golden light, flaring so bright the shadows recoiled for a split second. A dome of heat burst outward, vaporizing the mist in a thirty-meter radius and giving Ryven a breath of air that wasn't thick with fear.

The rest of his squad—what was left—used it to move.

"Fall back! Use the flare cover!" someone barked, likely the squad leader, though her voice was hoarse, ragged, and soaked with pain.

Three mercs still stood. One limped, his armor scorched and dripping blood. Another's right arm hung limp, but she still had her spellbook gripped tight in her left hand. The last was eerily calm, a large, armored man with twin axes that hummed with faint red energy—possibly a berserker.

Ryven struggled to stand. His body wasn't responding right. But his instincts still worked. He looked around and saw no enemy.

Just the faint whisper of movement overhead.

"Eyes up!" he shouted, staggering behind cover.

Nothing.

Silence again.

Then, a blur across the rooftop.

Another blur on the opposite wall.

He was moving between them. Too fast to track. Using the rooftops, windows, and shadows like a damn chessboard.

The berserker growled, swinging his axes in wide arcs. "He's not teleporting. He's blinking. Short-range. Line-of-sight."

"That's impossible," the spellcaster snapped. "The cooldown on teleportation—"

"It's been enhanced," Ryven said between gasps. "He's using it like a dance."

A low, vibrating growl echoed off the alley walls.

They didn't know where it came from.

Until the berserker's head twisted slightly.

His eyes widened.

"Behind—"

[Shadow Step]

Terror pulsed.

And the spear came.

Hellfire ignited as it slashed across the alley, carving through the berserker's axes with ease. The man blocked just in time to avoid losing his head, but the explosion that followed threw him down the street in a tumble of sparks and blood.

The caster reacted next.

Time Freeze Rune (Rank S: Casted)

A disc of blue magic surged outward. Everything slowed for a second. Even the flicker of flames from the destroyed streetlamp froze mid-air.

She aimed.

Chanted.

Aimed again.

But nothing was there anymore.

Not even a silhouette.

"Where—"

The air behind her split.

And her throat did too.

She dropped before the spell was even released, her blood vanishing into the shadows before it could stain the ground.

"Fall back!" Ryven screamed again. "He's thinning us—he's not here to fight fair!"

The last merc stumbled beside him—the one with the limp. His eyes were wide. He'd stopped believing they could win five minutes ago, but now… now it was just survival.