Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 480: When Power Changed Hands

When Power Changed Hands

And to seal that, I’ll sign in blood contract. None will be forced. Only those who choose."

He lifted his hand without aggression, measured and precise, like the stillness before the storm. His fingers marked an invisible line through the night air. The movement was grace itself, yet there was a sharp edge to that grace, sharp enough that even the air seemed to shiver, bending beneath the unseen force stirring around him.

Alina’s breath caught. Her eyes glowed faintly pink, the light deepening as she watched him. For a long moment, she said nothing. Her gaze was fixed on him, full of tension, calculation, and a flicker of something she refused to name. The air felt thick with anticipation; no one dared move. Around them, soldiers stood frozen, drawn into the strange gravity of his presence. Even the battered warriors of Vellore—once their enemies—stared in quiet awe. Something about this man demanded it.

Then, finally, the defiance in her eyes began to soften. The storm of her pride gave way to stillness, to reluctant comprehension. She looked at him not as an adversary, but as someone she could finally understand. She moved closer until her elbow brushed his arm, that unspoken gesture small yet grounding.

Her voice came low, quiet enough to barely disturb the silence. "...Okay," she said, the word steady but carrying layers of emotion: acceptance, weariness, and a strange sense of relief. "I agree."

Leon inclined his head, a single sharp motion that carried more weight than words. A faint smile curved the edge of his lips-no triumph, but something gentler, genuine. For one heartbeat, those golden eyes softened, holding in their depths a quiet gratitude that did not need voicing.

Between them, the air shifted again, charged with something new: trust, fragile but real. This wasn’t an alliance born of necessity or politics. It was the meeting of two people who had seen too much, fought too long, and finally met somewhere between defiance and belief.

The soldiers around them knew it in an instant. The air had shifted, subtly but unmistakably. Authority flowed differently now, no longer from an aging ruler, but from a woman reborn, shining bright and resolute. They could feel it, even if they didn’t understand it. Their allegiance was no longer commanded; it was claimed.

Leon’s eyes softened as he looked at her, his voice low yet commanding: "Welcome, Alina. For now, rest. Stay with the soldiers. Talk to them. Let them understand your presence. I have other matters to handle tonight."

Nova nodded at Captain Black, and he nodded back. Orders were clear. The Vellore hierarchy-the ministers, the generals, the guards-would know about this change in power shortly. For now, it moved quietly, a thread of destiny being rewoven under the night sky.

"By morning," Leon continued, his voice firm, eyes gleaming like molten gold. "I want the people of Vellore gathered in the square. Every citizen, every merchant, every soldier. Alina, you are going to announce the change in rulership. After that, we proceed just as discussed. Until then, handle things here.

Alina bowed slightly, the action elegant and powerful. "As you wish," she said, her tone exhibiting deference but with command.

Leon swept a last look around the courtyard. He stamped his foot lightly, and the ground quivered with the sudden surge of his aura. Mana pulsed from him in waves, swirling around him like golden mist before wrapping his body. Slowly, his form lifted off the ground and as the air glimmered with power.

He flew upwards, tugged by the distant pulsing of chaotic energy. The air grew hot, charged, violent mana radiating like a storm. His eyes narrowed as recognition struck. Natasha. The vestiges of her vengeance-of all that she’d endured-burning through the ruins like echoes of wrath.

As Leon rose into the air, everything below him seemed to dissolve into a melee of shattered carts, blackened stones, and faint, fractured cries of the wounded, now far away. Everything else melted into insignificance. Only one thing remained clear: the point ahead, where power pulsed like a living heartbeat.

It was through smoke and destruction that he saw this figure, standing alone: fierce, radiant, unbroken. The light of their presence cut through the darkness, unyielding even amid ruin.

From afar, Leon hovered in midair, the aura of gold around him flickering against the night. His eyes narrowed as the figure looked up at him, his expression calm, almost knowing. The distance between them was small, yet somehow felt like a gulf of worlds.

A faint curvature of his lips was the stranger’s only reply. "Nice," he murmured in a voice so low that only Leon could hear it. "I don’t expect less from you, Mister Leon. Maybe... just maybe, you’re the one who will help me find her."

And then, before Leon could react, the figure dissolved into thin air—vanishing as though swallowed by the wind itself.

Leon froze. In an instant, his body stilled mid-flight, golden light flickering uncertainly around him. He looked around sharply, scanning the shadows, his heartbeat echoing in his ears.

An illusion? he thought, furrowing his brow. Or. something more?

The air was empty. Yet something about the moment clung to him, a faint chill, a whisper that refused to fade. He stood there in the quiet, unsure if what he’d seen had been real-or a message meant only for him.

Finally, he turned and flew onward with a faint exhalation: gold light cutting across the torn sky.

Down below, the men who’d seen it all-soldiers, loyalists, fatigued survivors-remained completely immobile. They could only watch as their king vanished into the horizon, leaving behind the tremor of his power. The courtyard was hollow in his wake, scorched and broken, the ground split where his aura had struck. The very air still vibrated, mana rippling faintly like heat in the aftermath of a wildfire.

Then the silence cracked.

Boom... boom... boom.

Each sound was like the fall of iron domes, reverberating through the ruins. Those deep reverberations rolled throughout the empty square, racing along the fractured stone and the fallen walls. Dust drifted in the air, tenuously glowing in the dying dusk light.

Nobody dared say a word.

There were only echoes—lingering through the night.

The night felt heavier than before—quiet, but alive with tension. The soldiers of Vellore, Alina, and the rest of Leon’s companions stood amidst the ruin, each one caught in their own storm of thought. They could feel it, all of them—the weight of change, the unspoken understanding that in this instant, the world had shifted. Power had moved, and the balance with it.

Every breath was drawn carefully, as if the air itself might shatter. Every heartbeat sounded too loud. Even the shadows seemed to breathe, to move at the edge of vision.

Somewhere beyond the ruins, past the cracked stones and burned carriages, the next storm was waiting-not of fire or steel, but of choices and consequences, and quiet reckoning to follow.