Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 503: Chapter

A murmur passed through the crowd, fragile at first, then rising with a cautious crescendo. Finally, one voice rang clear above the rest, reverberating across the sunlit courtyard:

"All hail Sire Leon... and the golden naga of Vellore!"

The city seemed to exhale in unison. The tension that had gripped every shoulder, stiffened every neck, and shadowed every eye broke like fragile ice. Fear melted into awe. Skepticism gave way to trust. Even uncertainty softened, tempered by the undeniable presence of the ruler who had earned their hearts.

Leon’s golden eyes swept the crowd, serene, commanding—but beneath the surface, his body trembled ever so slightly. Not with fear, but with the weight of change, with the responsibility of reshaping not just a city, but an entire kingdom.

He inhaled deeply, letting the heavy, dust-laden air fill his lungs. His voice, when it emerged, carried the strength of both command and confession.

"This city you have known—Vellore—is no longer the same." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Not just because of me... but because of what we stand for today. From this moment onward, this city, this people, and this land... will be called Nagareth."

A hush fell over the crowd. Mothers held their children closer; merchants leaned on their stalls, eyes wide. Soldiers straightened, hands falling from grips on their weapons. Even the elderly, who had witnessed decades of change, blinked, uncertain.

Alina’s hand went to the hilt of her sword instinctively, but she relaxed when she saw Leon’s calm resolve. Nova’s green eyes narrowed thoughtfully, observing the subtle shifts in the crowd, noting every flicker of doubt and every spark of recognition.

A murmur, small at first, rose from the back.

"Nagareth?" one voice asked, uncertain. "Is... this our new city?"

"Yes," Leon said, his tone firm but not unyielding. "From this day forward, it is Nagareth. A new name, for a new era. A new dawn."

Whispers ran through the crowd, tentative but growing:

"A new dawn..."

"Nagareth..."

"Can we... can we trust this change?"

Leon’s lips curved faintly. He stepped forward, letting the golden sun illuminate his figure, the naga sigil still faintly glowing above them like a celestial witness.

"My full name was once Leon Moonwalker," he said, voice softening but steady. "A name tied to the past, to another land, to battles that shaped but did not define me. Today, that name changes. Today, I am no longer just Leon of Moonstone. I am Leon Nagareth—Sire of this city, protector of this people, and a guardian of our new future."

The crowd’s shock was palpable. Eyes widened. Mouths opened and closed as murmurs grew louder:

"Leon... Nagareth?"

"But... he was Leon Moonwalker... from Moonstone..."

"Can it be? Our king... now a new name?"

A young boy, standing close to his mother, pointed shakily at Leon. "Mother... is it really him?"

The woman, face drawn with cautious hope, nodded slowly. "Yes, child. It is him. He is... ours, now, and ours to trust."

Leon’s gaze swept over them all, meeting disbelief with calm, hope with quiet assurance. His voice rang out again, firmer this time, carrying over the courtyard.

"I understand that change is difficult. That names are more than words—they are histories, identities, promises. But this name is more than a word. It is a declaration. A promise that we will no longer be bound by the past alone. Nagareth is a symbol of unity, strength, and vigilance."

A ripple of acknowledgment moved through the crowd. Heads nodded slowly. Some murmured assent. Some whispered prayers under their breath. And slowly, hesitantly, the people began to open up.

One middle-aged man, who had been skeptical from the start, stepped forward, voice rough but sincere. "Sire Leon... if your word is true... if this name, this change... means we are safe, then... we accept it. We accept you."

A murmur grew louder, joined by other voices. One by one, the citizens of the city—old men, young women, mothers, soldiers—spoke their acceptance aloud.

"We... accept you, Sire Leon Nagareth."

"We will follow your rule."

"We trust you, not by fear, but by choice."

Leon felt a subtle shift in the energy around him. It was no longer the tense, wary gathering he had seen when he first arrived. Now, there was hope. Recognition. Trust. And behind him, Alina and Nova mirrored his composure, their eyes scanning the crowd, reading every subtle flicker of sentiment, every heartbeat of potential dissent, and every pulse of newfound faith.

He allowed himself a brief, inward sigh. Changing a name was not a simple act—it was a rebirth, a severing of old ties, a quiet yet profound declaration that this city, this land, this people, were stepping into a new era.

Leon lifted his hand slightly, drawing the gaze of the entire courtyard. The golden naga shimmered faintly above, as if acknowledging the moment itself. Its seven heads turned, slowly, majestically, each eye gleaming like molten gold, as if seeing the hearts of all who stood below.

"This is not just a name," Leon said, voice resonant, carrying across the square. "It is a symbol of our strength, our vigilance, our courage, and our unity. Let it remind us always that we are not just subjects, but guardians of our own destiny. The past shaped us. The future calls us. And Nagareth... is the answer to that call."

A woman, standing near the center, clutched her chest, whispering under her breath: "He... he carries the weight of us all... and yet, he bears it so lightly."

Leon’s gaze softened. He looked at her briefly, then swept over the rest of the people, letting his golden eyes meet theirs, one by one. There was still fear. There was still doubt. But there was also awe. There was respect. And most importantly, there was recognition: this ruler was different. Not a tyrant, not a conqueror, but a king by choice and by trust.

Alina stepped slightly forward, a subtle gesture of protection, while Nova’s posture remained firm, analytical, yet approving. The guards behind them mirrored that perfect balance of vigilance and quiet relief—their king’s choice reflected in every disciplined stance.