Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 474: Masks and Mercy

Masks and Mercy

Leon’s footsteps shattered the silence, gravel shifting quietly beneath his boots as he covered the space between them. His golden eyes reflected the dim light, blazing with rage and determination. "I cherish peace, Aden," he continued, his voice softer now, but harder—deadly. "I wish to reign with gentleness. But peace without might is a fantasy.". I won’t stand idly by while thousands perish because others are too cowardly to move. He fell silent, air suspended in anticipation before his voice dropped even further. "Sometimes. mercy requires steel."

The air between them vibrated, heavy with tension and unspoken feeling.

Aden’s hand strayed toward the hilt of his sword, fingers tracing over it without ever drawing. His face was serene—too serene—but his eyes betrayed the fact. There was flame there, a storm brewing that no training could keep at bay for long.

"I won’t give way so easily," Aden finally said. His tone was low, nearly soft, but the gravity behind it could rock a throne. "If you believe in justice as you say you do, then you know—this isn’t obstinacy. It’s principle."

Leon’s head tipped at a small angle, eyes glinting sharp as a razor. "Principle won’t buy back the dead."

Aden didn’t blink. His gaze met Leon’s, unyielding. "Then kill me, Victorious Leon." His tone was even but cut like steel on stone, ringing out in the thick silence. "No negotiation."

The world narrowed around the words, as if even the wind held back. The air itself was suspended. Soldiers on either side of them stiffened in place, the creak of their armor as weak as a reminder not to move. Nova’s chest tightened, a painful catch of her breath rasping in her throat. Her fingers spasmed, tightening their hold on her gun, but she could sense the presence of something far heavier bearing down upon her—something greater than the field, greater than metal. Captain Black’s hand rested on his sword, unconsciously stroking the hilt, his muscles tense, poised for a blow that would never strike, yet could at any moment.

Leon stood frozen, his stature like a sculpture crafted of sunlight and darkness, his stance tranquil, serene-appearing, but the flame in his gold eyes seared the tension, cleaving the air between them. He did not answer at first. He just measured Aden, his eyes intent, keen, and waiting, as if he could see all of Aden’s decisions, all the paths he might still follow. And then, softly, almost kindly, his voice spoke, low and silky, with a gravity that contradicted its gentleness. You know," he told me, "I don’t want to kill you." There was a silence, a soft breath that spoke of weariness, as if this confrontation had been ordained in the stars many years before either man came into this moment. "And yet... you keep pushing me toward it.

Aden’s chest moved up and down, slow and regulated, although the tension in his body cried otherwise. All of his muscles were drawn taut, ready, quivering beneath the surface. "If that’s the only way to safeguard my people’s freedom," he stated purposefully, each word purposeful, cutting, purposeful again, "then so be it."

Leon’s eyes didn’t waver. It hung there, piercing, unrelenting, as if he saw not only Aden, but the decisions that weighed upon him, the weight of loyalty and belief that held him fast. For an instant, the quiet grew heavy, almost crushing. Then, his voice changed, just slightly gentler, with a curious mixture of caution, fatigue, and tolerance. "Then reconsider.". Make your final decision wisely," he whispered, the tone falsely relaxed, but the menace beneath it as keen-edged as a drawn sword. "For this night is growing tedious... and I would prefer not to finish it in blood once more.

Even as the words hung easily in the air, they hit like rocks in the hearts of everyone there. Nova’s breath caught, a shiver running up her spine, and she could not keep the fear bubbling low in her belly from showing. Leon was not joking. He would lash out if need be, and he would lash out without mercy.

Aden stood firm, hand fist curling into a ball at his side. Knuckles whitening—not in fear, but from the hard claw he willed upon himself. Thoughts tore through him like flame, burning, unrelenting. He felt the cold, irrefutable truth of Leon’s words, the weight of what he was saying crushing him with raw brutality. And still, compromise—even a tiny bit—was akin to poison in his blood. He could not yield. Not here. Not now.

Leon’s sigh returned, quieter this time, holding weight that was almost intimate, such as a hand stroking against the tension wound within a muscle. His face changed, too, the harsh lines of his jaw and cheekbones softening into something more gentle, nearly pitying—but the flame in his eyes never quite went out. It remained there, a secret warning waiting behind the surface of gentleness.

"Hear me, Aden," he whispered, his voice low and persuasive, deadly in its gentleness. Each syllable seemed to grate on the air, taunting, drawing her in, almost intolerable in its closeness. "If you will ... I will allow you to live. Not as a token, not as a move in somebody else’s game—but as yourself. Free of this disguise you wear."

Aden’s eyes went wide, shock flashing hotly through the tempest of adrenaline thundering in his chest. His lips parted, his words barely above a whisper, trembling with something more than fear—naked, delicate, vulnerable. "What... mask?"

Leon’s lips curved into a soft, mocking smile, but there was no wavering in his eyes, only steady intensity, a magnetic draw that seemed to press on Aden’s very bones. "You know what I mean.

Confusion contorted on Aden’s face, combined awkwardly with a burgeoning, crawling fear. It wasn’t fear of harm—this wasn’t that. It was the fear of being visible, laid bare, comprehended in a manner he wasn’t prepared to confront. His silence drew out, charged and tight, a vulnerable filament between them.

Then, finally, Leon’s voice came through, steady, exact, measured, as if he was speaking to a student who didn’t want to make the first move. "In my kingdom," he told her, each word weighed and measured, like a knife moving smoothly through the air, "you could have the power you’ve always struggled for. You could lead, make decisions, change lives... but only if you come as yourself. Not as this. charade you’ve been playing.

There was a murmur that ran through the soldiers around her, hesitant, unsure, like leaves rustled by an unseen breath. Nova’s brows furrowed, her thoughts whirling but never able to quite catch up with the significance in Leon’s words. Yet she sensed the shiver in Aden’s eyes, the faint catch in his throat, the way his chest seemed to gulp something very much too heavy to speak.

"What are you saying?" Aden asked at last, his voice low, defensive, the faint armor of hesitation sliding into place. "You’re speaking in riddles."

Leon’s eyes never wavered, steady and unflinching, but beneath that tranquil surface, there burned a fire—controlled, planned, and deadly. "Am I?" he whispered, edging closer just a little, allowing each syllable to settle like a weight upon Aden’s chest, a burning caress rather than a soothing one. "Or are you simply scared of what I see?