Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 502: Chapter

The People’s Choice

The silence lingered, heavy and suffocating, as if the courtyard itself was holding its breath.

The question Leon had posed hung over the gathered citizens of Vellore like a sword suspended by a single thread.

"Can you accept a sincere ruler?"

For a heartbeat, no one moved. No one spoke. Then, a timid murmur began at the back of the crowd, soft and wavering like a breeze over dry leaves.

A man—older, hunched slightly from years of labor—stepped forward. His voice trembled as he spoke, carrying both doubt and defiance.

"Sire..." he began, hesitant. "We... we don’t know you. How can we trust that your words are not another trick?"

A ripple of agreement moved through the crowd. Mothers pressed children closer to their chests; merchants leaned on stalls, their eyes wary; soldiers shifted uneasily, some gripping weapons as though uncertain whether to defend their city or flee.

Leon’s gaze swept over them, calm but piercing. Every doubt, every question, every fear was visible in their faces, and he saw it all—because he had lived in doubt himself, had stood where they now stood, and knew the weight of uncertainty.

Alina, standing rigidly behind him, glanced at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. Nova remained stoic, arms crossed, eyes trained on the crowd, but even she felt the tension ripple through the mass of humanity before them. Every guard aligned behind Leon was a living wall of discipline, silent, unwavering—yet fully aware of the fragile moment they held.

Leon raised a hand, letting his voice carry through the square, resonant and steady.

"Silence," he said, and even the murmurs faded, as if the word itself could command the very air.

He let his gaze sweep the crowd again, slow, deliberate. "I understand your fears. I know that trust must be earned, not demanded. That’s why I will not speak of promises that fall short of action."

A young woman stepped forward, face pale, eyes wide with fear and curiosity. "Sire... if we do not accept your rule... what then? Must we bend our knees before someone unknown?"

Leon’s expression softened, and a faint wind stirred, lifting strands of his dark hair across his forehead. "No. You do not have to bend. Not now. Not ever."

The crowd blinked, astonished. A murmur spread—not of defiance, but of tentative wonder.

Another man, a blacksmith judging by the soot-stained hands visible beneath his sleeves, called out, voice cracking. "Then... you will not force us?"

Leon shook his head slowly. "I do not wish to rule through fear. I do not wish to take by threat what should be given willingly. I am your king—but not by demand. Only by trust."

A silence fell, but this one was different. Heavy, yes—but pregnant with possibility.

Then a voice rose from somewhere near the center of the crowd. Tentative, unsure. "Sire... if we do not accept, you will let us choose?"

Leon’s golden eyes softened with an unspoken promise. "Yes. You may choose. But know this: even if you reject me today, my duty remains—to protect Vellore, to defend its people, and to honor its legacy."

A pause. The crowd shifted as whispers ran through them, small at first, then louder:

"We... we will follow you, Sire... if your word is true."

"Time will tell... but we will try."

"We accept... cautiously, but we will see."

Leon’s lips curved faintly. It was not a smile of arrogance, but one of understanding. He nodded slowly, letting the words settle, letting the people speak themselves into the future he offered.

Alina’s eyes flickered with relief. Nova’s stance remained unchanged, but her jaw softened imperceptibly. Every guard behind him held the line, unwavering—yet shared the sense that the tide had shifted.

Leon let the murmurs die down, then stepped forward onto the raised dais. The sun struck his armor, casting reflections like molten gold across the courtyard. His voice, calm and firm, rang out.

"Then it is done. You have accepted me—not blindly, but with your eyes open and your hearts aware."

The people of Vellore whispered to each other, heads nodding slowly, some kneeling, others simply lowering their gazes in acknowledgment. Mothers unclutched their children, and the soldiers, once tense, straightened and let their hands fall from weapons.

Leon’s gaze swept the crowd, resting briefly on faces that reflected every possible emotion: relief, skepticism, hope, and cautious joy.

"Now," he said, his voice carrying a quiet gravity, "there is one thing I must declare." He gestured subtly, his cloak rippling as the wind picked up. "A symbol of our rule... a symbol of our unity... and a symbol of our strength."

The courtyard held its breath once more, curiosity and suspense thick in the air. Leon reached up, raising both hands above his head. The sunlight seemed to bend around him, golden and fierce.

"Behold... the emblem of the new era."

The air shimmered, and the image coalesced above the dais—a massive, luminous sigil, a seven-headed naga, scales shimmering in pure gold. Each head turned slowly, hissing softly, eyes gleaming like molten gems. The body twisted in a sinuous, eternal loop, powerful and serene.

Gasps erupted throughout the crowd. Children pointed, awestruck. Soldiers straightened, murmuring. The elders leaned forward, their eyes wide.

Alina’s hand moved subtly to rest on the hilt of her sword, but her tension eased. Nova’s eyes narrowed slightly, admiration flashing in her green gaze. Every guard felt the power of the symbol—not just as an emblem, but as a living declaration of Leon’s authority, his vision, and the unity he sought to inspire.

Leon’s voice rose over the awe. "This is our symbol. It is not mine alone. It belongs to Vellore, to every citizen, soldier, and guardian who stands with me. Let it remind us... that our power is measured not by fear, but by the courage to choose rightly."

The crowd murmured again, this time in awe rather than uncertainty. Some knelt, some raised their hands in quiet acknowledgment, and some simply stared, hearts pounding at the majesty of what they witnessed.

Leon’s gaze swept the crowd one final time. His voice softened, almost intimate, carrying a warmth that belied his strength.