Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 515: To Cell !!

To Cell !!

"System."

Silence.

He waited, breath held for half a second. Nothing stirred. Not even the faint glow of the panel.

"System," he repeated, sharper this time.

Still nothing.

He felt the irritation rise like heat under his skin. He clicked his tongue, shoulders tightening.

"System... answer."

Silence.

Cold, empty, stubborn silence.

The glowing panel hovered there like a dead thing — present but soulless, like a body without breath.

Leon exhaled slowly, jaw tightening.

His voice cracked with impatience this time.

"Are you really asleep? Seriously?"

Nothing.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Great. Amazing. You finally decide to talk in my damn skull all the time, then disappear right when I need you..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let out a tired, annoyed sigh.

"Fine. Fine. If you don’t want to talk, then I don’t care for now," he grumbled. "Do whatever you want. Hibernate. Die. Sleep. Go on vacation."

He waved a hand dismissively, irritated in a way that felt too human to hide.

"But at least the shop works. And I can still earn blank points..."

His voice softened for a moment.

"That’s... good enough."

The panel dimmed a little, confirming his assumption without a direct voice.

Leon rolled his eyes.

"What a ridiculous system. Talking in my brain one day, ghosting me the next."

He let out a short exhale that was half annoyance, half relief.

"Whatever."

With another flick of his hand, he closed the system screen.

He turned, stepping out of the throne room.

The massive double doors creaked open, then closed behind him with a thunderous thoom that echoed through the hallway.

Three guards were stationed outside — two on each side of the door, one standing slightly ahead.

Their heads snapped up the moment they sensed his presence.

"Sire," they said together, bowing.

Leon looked at them and nodded, the gesture soft but still kingly.

"Continue your work," he told them.

"Yes, my king," they responded, fists pressed to their chests.

Leon walked on.

The hallway was wide and long, sunlight spilling in from high windows, dust drifting lazily in the beams. Guards stood at intervals, straightening the moment they spotted him. Some bowed deeply. Others simply nodded with respect.

He walked past corridor after corridor — right, left, then down the next turn — until a thought tugged at him.

He stopped abruptly.

A guard patrol was walking by. Leon pointed at one of them.

"You," Leon said.

The guard froze mid-step.

"Yes, sire!"

He straightened instantly, almost too fast.

"Come," Leon said. "Lead me to the cells. The ones where the rebels and monsters are kept."

The guard stiffened for a heartbeat, caught off guard by the sudden order.

He swallowed.

"Y-yes, my king. This way, please."

Leon nodded once.

They walked.

The atmosphere changed almost immediately.

The marble floors gave way to old stone.

The air grew heavier, colder, damper.

The light dimmed, replaced by torches clinging to walls like dying fireflies.

The guard walked slightly ahead, his back straight, but Leon noticed every tiny movement — the way the man’s fingers twitched nervously, the way he kept glancing at the darker end of the hallway.

Leon said nothing, but the silence made the guard even more nervous.

Finally, they reached a narrow corridor — the entrance to the underground cells.

Two guards were stationed there.

The moment they saw Leon, they snapped to attention so fast they bumped elbows with each other.

"Sire!"

"Your Majesty!"

Leon’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Who is responsible for this section?" he asked.

Both guards froze mid-breath.

The one on the left elbowed the one on the right, silently forcing him to speak.

The right one jolted and stepped forward.

"Uh— I—I am, your Majesty! Captain Dalven is my name!"

Leon’s gaze drifted downward, studying the man.

Dalven swallowed loudly, his Adam’s apple bobbing like it was trying to escape his throat.

Leon didn’t speak for a few seconds.

Just watched him.

That alone made Dalven sweat.

"Good," Leon finally said with a faint nod. "Keep your men disciplined."

"Yes—yes, sire!"

Leon turned to the guard guiding him.

"Continue."

"Yes, my king."

They descended into the lower levels.

The air changed again — thicker, almost metallic.

The torches here burned weaker, their flames small but stubborn.

The corridor stretched ahead like a long throat descending into the underground.

The stone steps were narrow, old, patched in places where the previous wars had shaken the foundations.

Every step echoed, the sound hollow and deep.

Leon walked slowly, his expression unreadable.

His thoughts sharpened.

The deeper he went, the heavier the atmosphere became — almost like the darkness itself recognized him.

His shadow stretched along the walls, wavering with the torchlight, occasionally splitting into jagged shapes as the light flickered.

It reminded him briefly of those nights when the land still burned from his battles, when soldiers feared stepping into the dark near his camp because the electricity in the air crackled without warning.

A reminder of the man he was.

And the man he was becoming.

The guard leading him glanced back occasionally, unsure whether the king preferred silence or conversation.

Leon didn’t speak, but his presence alone controlled the air around them.

Eventually, they reached the lowest platform.

The corridor branched into two — left and right — each lined with cells.

Some prisoners murmured from inside.

Others stayed silent, shadows pressed against walls.

Leon didn’t stop.

He walked forward, then turned down the right side, boots scraping lightly against stone.

He took in every detail — the iron bars, the chains, the faint smell of dried blood, the coldness that seeped from the stones.

This place wasn’t meant to comfort.

It was meant to break the strongest wills.

Leon’s face stayed calm, unreadable, but the flicker in his golden eyes pierced everything.

The guard followed close behind, trying to match his pace without tripping.

Leon’s steps echoed deeper and deeper into the underground, each one sounding like a drumbeat of judgment.

The corridor narrowed the further he went.

The steps dipped slightly — almost like a final descent.