Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 506: The Weight of Kings

The Weight of Kings

"Leon Moonwalker... if you walk this world again, then so shall death."

The words rolled through the tent like a decree written in flame. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Every man present could feel the weight behind those syllables—an oath that could burn kingdoms.

The silence stretched, deep and heavy, until Garay turned back toward his war table. The firelight caught his green hair, glinting against the gold-threaded sigils on his cloak. His fingers rested on the edge of the table, knuckles pale, jaw tight.

No one dared to speak.

Outside, the wind screamed across the blackened plains. The night itself seemed to remember Leon’s last war—the charred soil, the corpses buried under the ash, the shadows that still lingered where his power had scorched the land.

Garay exhaled sharply through his nose, his voice low but steady. "This meeting is over."

He reached for his sword—silver-edged, worn at the hilt. But before he could step away, a figure limped forward from the ranks of soldiers at the back of the tent.

"My king," came a hoarse, strained voice.

Garay’s eyes slid toward the sound. A man stepped out from the shadows—a commander still half-wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. His armor was dented, his hands raw. Fresh gashes streaked his forearm, and one leg bore the stiff, deliberate drag of a man who had fought far too long without rest.

"General Halren," Edric murmured under his breath, recognition flickering in his tone.

Garay frowned, annoyance flashing. "You should be in bed, not on your knees before me."

Halren bowed, though the movement made him wince. "Forgive me, my lord. But I must speak."

"Then speak," Garay said curtly. "You have ten breaths."

Halren’s face tightened. "My king, I agree with your words—Leon must not be allowed to walk again—but hear me first before you decide your next step."

Garay turned toward him fully, impatience already sharpening his gaze. "And what step do you imagine I’d take?"

Halren raised his head. His eyes were tired, but steady. "If you leave the battlefield now," he said quietly, "the capital will not survive your absence."

A stir rippled through the tent.

Garay blinked, the words sinking in. Then his expression hardened. "You question my judgment?"

"I question only the risk, my lord," Halren said, voice even but earnest. "The battle we fought today cost us too much. Our lines are splintered, our scouts are dead, and the men are holding on by faith alone. If you abandon this front, Aurelian of Moonstone will strike again before dawn—and this time, he will not stop."

The mention of that name hit like a hammer.

Garay’s lips curved into a dark smirk. "Aurelian... that gilded corpse," he muttered. "He should have been ash months ago."

Halren didn’t smile. He lifted a trembling hand to his chest. "Maybe so, sire. But that gilded corpse commands sixty thousand men, and his queen has turned her gaze to our wounded heart. You’ve seen how she fights—how she plans. Without you to lead here, she’ll tear through what’s left of us. She’ll take our soil, our steel, and she’ll turn it against you."

Garay’s anger rippled through the tent like heat. "You think I don’t know what she’s capable of?"

Halren bowed again, pain lacing every movement. "Then you must also know, my lord, that you can’t be everywhere at once."

Edric’s brow furrowed. The truth of that statement stung more than any accusation. Garay’s silence was his only reply, but his fingers clenched tightly on the hilt of his sword.

Halren pressed on, voice raw but resolute. "If you chase this ghost to the capital, Aurelian will march through your borders. You’ll save a throne, but lose your kingdom."

The words hung there, heavy and sharp.

Garay turned slowly, meeting Halren’s eyes. "And what would you have me do, General?" His tone dripped with disdain. "Sit and wait while some corpse defiles my capital? While he parades through my streets wearing a dead man’s name?"

"No," Halren said softly. "I’d have you choose your war wisely."

That earned a few nervous glances from the guards. Edric’s jaw tightened; he could almost hear the storm building in Garay’s chest.

Garay laughed under his breath, low and dangerous. "You think this is about war strategy?"

Halren didn’t flinch. "No, my lord. I think this is about you."

The tent went still.

Garay’s gaze sharpened like drawn steel. "Careful."

"I mean no insult," Halren said quickly, bowing lower, "but I’ve followed you since the First Campaign. I know what drives you, sire. Leon Moonwalker’s ghost—if it truly walks again—it’s not just a threat to your rule. It’s a wound you’ve never let close."

For a moment, the only sound was the crack of the fire.

Garay said nothing.

Halren’s voice softened. "I’m not asking you to abandon vengeance. I’m asking you to survive it."

Garay’s head lowered slightly, his eyes shadowed. His anger didn’t vanish—it only condensed, turning quiet, dangerous. "If I don’t leave now," he muttered, "then that ghost will make my capital his."

Halren’s lips thinned. "Perhaps. But if you go, you hand this war to Aurelian. You lose your army to gain your pride."

"Pride?" Garay’s voice snapped. "You call defending my throne pride?"

"I call it desperation," Halren said.

Edric stepped forward before Garay could respond. "Enough," he said firmly, cutting the tension like a blade. "We’re all tired, wounded, angry. But Halren is right about one thing—if we split our focus now, we lose both fronts."

Garay’s glare shifted to him. "You side with him?"

"I side with reason," Edric replied. "And with you, if you can see that we need to plan, not charge blindly."

The king’s jaw flexed. He looked from one man to the other, caught between rage and exhaustion. Then, slowly, he turned back to the fire.

The orange light reflected in his dark green eyes, and for a brief moment, he looked almost human—just a man carrying too much.

Finally, he spoke, voice low. "You think I should stay."