Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 527: Chapter

Here’s a fully humanized, immersive draft for Chapter 444, following your outline and instructions. I expanded the scene, added internal monologue, tension, spellcasting, and Leon’s interaction with the sword, keeping it emotionally charged, detailed, and in the style you want.

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Chapter 444

The moment stretched. Dense. Heavy. The black broad sword remained where it had been for centuries, inert, silent, yet pulsating with a presence that gnawed at the edges of Leon’s mind. Everything around it—the treasure piles, the gilded walls, the towering statues—seemed to fade into the background. Only the sword existed. Only it demanded acknowledgment.

Leon exhaled slowly, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Buddy... you know, I’ve got more work to do," he murmured softly, as if speaking to the blade itself. "But I think... it’s time I take you properly."

He flexed his fingers, letting them hover over the hilt, feeling the weight, the cold, and the pull. All right. Time to force the issue. We’ll see what you’re really made of.

With a deliberate motion, he drew his hand back and whispered an incantation, his voice steady, cutting through the quiet of the treasury:

"Ventus Viribus!"

Immediately, a faint green aura shimmered around him. It radiated outward, brushing against the nearby piles of coins and relics, gently lifting them an inch or two into the air and clearing the space around the sword. Dust swirled in the light, motes catching the green shimmer as if the air itself had awakened.

Leon’s golden eyes narrowed. He exhaled again and muttered another spell, feeling the energy coil within his body like a titan awakening:

"Terra Emendo!"

The ground beneath his feet seemed to pulse as his mana coursed through him, amplifying his physical power. His muscles tensed and flexed, every fiber primed for the monumental task ahead.

He placed one foot firmly on the jagged stone boulder beneath the sword. One deep breath. One slow, measured pull.

At first, the sword did not budge.

Leon grit his teeth, the veins along his forearms standing out as he tried again, summoning every ounce of strength and focus. Slowly... imperceptibly... the sword quivered. A faint, sharp tone echoed through the treasury, like metal singing in protest.

"Huh..." Leon exhaled sharply. Finally... movement.

The sword rose a few centimeters from its resting place. Only a few, yet enough to send a thrill of triumph through him. His arms shook. Sweat ran down his brow, dripping into his eyes, stinging slightly—but he barely noticed.

"It’s... heavy," he muttered, wiping a hand across his face. His fingers still clutched the hilt, knuckles white from the strain. Too heavy... but I can feel it. I can feel you, buddy.

Leon smiled through the effort, a wry, almost manic glint in his golden eyes. "Don’t worry, buddy. I’m not giving up. Not today. Not ever."

He crouched slightly, adjusting his stance, and tried again. This time, the sword rose another few centimeters, slowly, agonizingly, as if testing him with every ounce of its mass. The boulder beneath it groaned in protest. Leon’s sweat-soaked hair clung to his forehead, his chest heaving from the strain, and yet he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

"Huh! Yes... yes... almost..." he muttered between gritted teeth.

The sword’s black metal seemed to absorb the light around it, swallowing the torches’ glow, and yet—somehow—it shined brighter in response to his effort, alive, recognizing him, acknowledging his persistence.

Minutes—or perhaps hours—passed in this rhythm: pull, strain, inch. Pull, strain, inch. Leon’s muscles burned, his lungs begged for air, but his mind refused to surrender. He muttered under his breath, a mixture of irritation and determination:

"Fuck you... sword. I don’t care if you’ve waited five hundred years. I’m taking you. Today. Not tomorrow. Today."

He leaned back, sweat dripping down his face, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. Finally, he allowed himself a brief moment of collapse, knees hitting the cold stone, black hair plastered to his forehead. His palms still gripped the hilt, refusing to relinquish it.

Damn... you’re stubborn as hell...

But in that moment, he smiled, almost fondly, shaking his head. Not going to lie—I like it.

He exhaled and muttered again, half-laughing, half-growling:

"Alright... if you want stubborn, I’ll give you stubborn."

Leon closed his eyes, centering himself, letting the mana flow through him, letting the earth itself anchor his strength. He whispered quietly to the sword, almost coaxing it:

"Come on... buddy... we’re in this together. You pull... I pull... let’s see what we can do."

With a deep, steady breath, he drew on his storage ring, letting its subtle, otherworldly pull envelop the blade. A faint shimmer circled his fingers as the magic interfaced with the sword’s own ancient power. He felt it—not the weight, not the immovability, but a potential, a connection, a bridge.

And then—movement.

A subtle slide. The sword inched upward, responding to the synergy of his mana and the arcane properties of the ring. The boulder groaned beneath its mass, metal whispered against stone, and Leon’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst.

"Finally... finally," he whispered, barely able to contain his exhilaration.

He leaned back, flexing his arms, sweat dripping freely down his face and neck. He laughed, low and sharp, more out of relief than joy:

"God... I thought I wasn’t going to make it. You’re... too much, buddy. Too much."

He lowered his body briefly, chest pressed against the stone, black hair matted, face glistening. Then he straightened, gathering himself. This was not the end. Not by a long shot.

The storage ring hummed faintly on his finger as the blade’s base anchored into it, reacting to the magical tether. The sword, for the first time, seemed lighter—not in mass, but in acceptance. It was as if it had agreed to acknowledge him, to meet him halfway.

Leon exhaled, a slow grin spreading across his sweat-streaked face. "Not bad... not bad at all. And now... now we see what else is waiting."

His golden eyes scanned the surrounding room, already hungry for more. Weapons of all types—swords, bows, axes, spears—stood in orderly rows. Scrolls whispered forgotten knowledge, and small artifacts hummed faintly with latent magic.

He moved carefully, fingers brushing along hilts, shafts, and scrolls, choosing with a practiced eye. Each piece told a story, and he paused, reading tablets describing past wielders, legendary feats, and forbidden deeds.