Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 469: The Choice of Loyalty [Part-3]

The Choice of Loyalty [Part-3]

A wry smile pulled at the edge of his lips, parched, self-mocking. "Did you just question a vanquished man — the same man you came so close to incinerating — for loyalty?"

Leon’s gaze did not falter. He didn’t blink even once. His words struck like a pure punch. "Your ears are working well, old man. I spoke distinctly."

The corners of Aden’s mouth quivered. A faint, bitter laugh escaped — neither quite humor, nor quite pain, something hollow in between. His shoulders shook as he said, "Loyalty, huh... you really are a strange one."

His tone became grimmer, the brim of something tired edging in, but not cruel. "But say this to me, Leon — why should I pledge allegiance to a man who’ll devastate my nation? You’ll be sitting over the same earth my men gave their lives to save. What sort of guardian would that make me?"

Leon didn’t flinch. His golden eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no anger, no arrogance — only that glint of cold conviction that burned like tempered steel. "You’re right," he said quietly. "I will take this kingdom. But unlike your king — Gary — I’ll rebuild it. Not on bloodlines, but on merit. Not on fear, but on power and order."

He crept one slow step ahead. His boots thudding against the ground between them, firm and measured, until he was but an arm’s length before Aden. The air drew tight — not with malice, but with the weight of his presence.

"Every soldier, every farmer, every child," Leon went on, his voice low and determined, "they’ll live better than they ever did under him."

Then he leaned forward, the faint glimmer of light catching his eyes — not threatening, not pleading, but absolute. "Serve me," he said, each word heavy enough to make the silence shudder, "and I’ll show you a world stronger than the one you failed to protect."

The words strike deep — deeper than both of them anticipated.

Aden’s hands shook as he balled them into fists at his sides. His chest expanded and contracted in uneven motions, as though he was fighting to contain some raw, unfiltered emotion. Gradually, he raised his head, the glint in his eye a combination of anger, incredulity, and grudging flash of respect. "You really believe that words will make everything okay?" His voice broke, laced with bitterness and a low tone. "You think you can swap one king for another and call it revolution?

Leon didn’t blink. His eyes remained steady, serenely calm in the face of Aden’s rage. The soft twitch of his lips wasn’t arrogance—it was conviction. "No," he uttered softly, his voice bearing weight that sliced the air. "I’ll ensure no one ever refers to me as ’king.’ I don’t need the moniker... I need loyalty. The kind that doesn’t waver when kingdoms crumble."

For an instant, there was silence on the battlefield. The strain between them was taut as a rope, cutting. It seemed as if the air would break with tension. Aden’s men—what was left of them—observed from the darkness, conflicted between loyalty and terror. Even the earth seemed alive, humming softly, listening.

Aden’s jaw clenched. His breathing was harsh, his gaze darting between rebellion and acquiescence. And then, slowly, he breathed out. The noise shook in the quiet air. His shoulders relaxed, and his hands released their hold. He gazed down at his sword—the blade that had represented his family’s honor, now stained and weary, like him.

"Loyalty..." he whispered, the word falling from his lips like a secret. "I buried that word with my youth."

And when he looked up again, the rage had left him. In its place was tired resignation—something less prideful than human. "Victorious Leon," he whispered gently, the title laden with irony and soft respect, "if I take this offer... will you at least listen to two conditions?"

The air coagulated like a sentient organism. Any whisper between the soldiers was extinguished in a moment, consumed by the crush bearing down upon the battlefield.

Leon stood motionless, his presence commanding without effort. The faint golden light in his eyes shimmered brighter beneath the moon’s pale glow, catching the attention of everyone watching. A small, knowing smile curved on his lips — not mockery, not amusement, but something in between, sharp and deliberate.

"Two conditions, huh?" His tone was deceptively light, but his aura carried the chill of dominance. "You’re bold, even now."

Aden’s weak laughter had a hollow sound, the laugh of a man whose pride was all he had remaining. "It’s the only thing I have left," he stated, and for the first time, his voice was more human-sounding than belligerent.

The battlefield stood frozen. The faraway wind whispered over the blackened earth, sweeping past shattered spears and smoldering embers that sputtered feebly against the darkness. The air reeked of smoke and blood, heavy enough to be tasted.

Nova’s green gaze flicked to Rias, her eyebrows furrowing as she breathed, "He’s. bargaining?

Rias did not reply. Her scarlet eyes remained fixed on Leon — observing him, analyzing each minute change in his features. She recognized that expression, that subtle glint hidden beneath his serene façade. Not pity. Interest. Quiet, deadly interest.

Leon leaned forward slightly, the tip of a predator in his tone as he continued. "Speak, Sir Aden. Let us hear these conditions of yours."

And with that, the evening became quieter yet — the sort of quiet preceding something irrevocable.

Aden stood slowly, each movement considered, as if he were practicing standing once more. His breath was heavy and even, ringing through the still, lifeless air that clung over the broken field. The small spark that flickered in his eyes wasn’t pride, nor the acid bite of defiance that used to exist there—it was something much more delicate. Something he hadn’t permitted himself to feel in a very long time.

Hope. Pale, shaking... but living.

The moonlight poured down over the destruction, covering the two men in a soft, silver light. The burnt earth between them ceased to resemble a tomb of ash and blood—it glowed dimly, as if attempting to recall what it was like to be alive. The smoke, the dust, even the stillness—all of them seemed to lean in the direction of something strange yet strong.

Possibility.

Leon’s gaze never wavered. His golden eyes caught the moonlight, a quiet fire flickering in their depths. His lips curved, not in mockery, but in the faint, knowing smile of someone who’d seen too much and still chose to listen.

"Go on," he said softly, his voice low but steady. "I’m listening."

The crater froze with him. The fires burned low, their light casting pale halos on shattered armor. The troops—what remained of them—did not stir or exhale. Even the night air itself seemed held, suspended in its own silent breath.

Waiting.

For what was to follow.