Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 525: The Call of Steel

The Call of Steel

Leon chuckled under his breath. A tiny sound, but it carried a warmth he rarely showed.

"Very well."

He turned back toward the massive treasury door. The serpents carved into the stone glowed with a faint, fading light—almost like they were watching him, recognizing him, accepting him. The dusk outside bled through the hallway, painting everything in amber and shadow.

"I can enter now, yes?" he asked, without looking back.

Both guards bowed deeply, their voices overlapping in reverence.

"Yes, sire. We will stand watch here."

Leon gave a small nod, then stepped forward. His hand brushed across the cool stone surface. Immediately the carvings responded—humming beneath his palm as if something ancient, something buried beneath centuries, stirred to greet him.

The serpents parted.

The door groaned open, slow and heavy, releasing a deep echo that rolled down the corridor. A burst of stale, preserved air swept out, brushing against Leon’s clothes and hair like a ghostly hand from the past. For a moment, he smelled nothing but dust, stone, and time.

He stepped inside.

And the instant his foot crossed the threshold—

the world shifted.

His eyes widened. Real, raw, unguarded shock lit his gaze.

The golden glow hit him first.

His golden irises caught the reflection from the sea of gold coins, turning into twin suns—bright, burning, stunned. A warmth spread over his face as the light bounced off him, turning the shadows at the corners of the room into molten fire.

"Wh—"

His voice cracked.

Then he exhaled sharply.

"...fuck."

The treasury was enormous. Bigger than his new royal chamber—five times bigger, at least. A cavern of wealth built to humble even the greediest kings.

Mountains of gold coins towered around the room like dunes forged by a divine hand. Each pile ran so high he felt they might touch the ceiling if someone added one extra coin. The coins glimmered in different hues—deep gold, pale gold, aged gold—until the whole room looked like it was filled with sunlight frozen into metal.

And that was only the start.

Jewels were scattered like spilled stars—rubies the size of a child’s fist, sapphires carved like teardrops, emeralds that glowed like captured forest light. Some were laid in ornate boxes; others were simply piled in bowls carved from crystal.

Necklaces of dragonbone pearls.

Bracelets threaded with phoenix feathers sealed in glass.

Crowns from forgotten kingdoms stacked casually atop crates.

And deeper—

Ancient statues stood in rows like silent guardians. Smooth obsidian forms carved into the shapes of mythical beasts, warriors, and gods. A naga statue towered at the far end, coiled around an altar, its jeweled eyes gleaming like it had just awakened.

Artifacts littered the space, each radiating faint magic—dusty tomes, enchanted rings, runic stones, relics that hummed like trapped storms.

Weapons were displayed with reverence—swords, spears, sabers, bows, gauntlets, each laid on stone pillars with plaques beneath them. Their blades gleamed despite centuries of abandonment.

Leon’s breath trembled.

"Holy... fuck," he whispered, voice low, almost reverent. "This... this is like an entire kingdom’s treasury crammed into one room."

He took another step and the coins shifted slightly under his boot, giving a soft metallic ripple.

He turned slowly, absorbing everything in sight.

More silver coins stacked high.

Bronze piles near the back.

Barrels of rare materials—mithril, obsidian glass, draksteel ingots.

"A whole damn holy realm," he muttered. "This is insane."

His mind tumbled in a dozen directions at once.

If one kingdom had this—

How much did the others store away?

And the empires...?

"Fuck me..." he whispered. "Are they sitting on wealth that could buy entire continents?"

The greed that flickered through him was sharp, instinctual—like something in his blood recognized treasure and whispered take it, take it all. A shiver crawled up his spine. His lips quirked into a twisted little smirk.

And then—

he froze.

"No," he muttered. "Calm down, Leon."

He dragged in a deep breath.

"I’m human. Not some hoarding beast... don’t start drooling over gold like a lunatic."

He rubbed his face once, grounding himself. The moment his fingers touched his jawline, another thought flickered through him.

"...tch. I keep forgetting."

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"My soul beats with the blood of a seven-headed Naga... ancestor of dragons. Of course I’m greedy. It’s basically hereditary."

He let out a breathy, frustrated laugh.

"Damn it... almost forgot."

Shaking his head, he dropped his hands and squared his shoulders again.

"Right. Enough staring. I came here for a reason."

He looked across the room, his eyes landing on the far side where the weapons were arranged.

"First," he whispered, "I need a sword."

He stepped forward, coins crunching rhythmically beneath his feet. Every sound echoed strangely in the vast space.

When he reached the weapon section, the air felt different—colder, heavier, almost sacred. The weapons stood upright, suspended by invisible mana bindings that kept them floating in perfect balance inches above their pedestals.

Each pedestal had a small stone tablet resting at its base.

Leon approached the first sword. Its blade was pitch-black, elegant, with a thin crescent curve near the tip. The metal pulsed faintly, like it still hungered for battle.

He picked up the tablet beneath it.

Black Crescent Blade — Wielder: Serin of the East Wind.

Deeds: Slain ten Monarch-level warriors.

Restrictions: Bloodline or contract required.

Leon lifted a brow. "Not bad..."

But there was no pull. No connection.

He put the tablet back.

He moved to the next one.

A long, silver sword with runes etched all the way down its spine.

The tablet read:

Rift-Slicer — Wielder: Arkon the Sundering Knight.

Deeds: Created nine battlefield fissures.

Restrictions: Forbidden; last wielder died from backlash.

Leon whistled softly. "Damn."

Still no pull.

He stepped past it.

The third sword was massive—almost as tall as him.

The fourth was slender like a needle.

The fifth glowed faintly with fire.

Each had their story, their legend, their wielders’ names carved deep into history. Monarch Realm killers. Upper Realm warlords. Heroes and tyrants.