Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 534: Chapter

Chapter

The night outside Leon’s residence slept like a creature finally exhaling, but the world around him didn’t follow its king into rest. The city of Vel always carried a heartbeat under the darkness—the quiet shifting of guards, the faint rattle of cart wheels, the distant cry of a night hawk circling over the rooftops.

While Leon lay sunk into the warmth of his bed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, something else moved through the capital. Not loud. Not chaotic. Just... awake.

A little distance from the royal residence, near the inner great walls of the palace grounds, stood a building that didn’t match the surrounding architecture at all.

It didn’t shine like the marble pavilions.

It didn’t glow like the lantern-lit gardens.

It didn’t carry the gentle elegance of noble estates.

This one was built of something far older.

Far darker.

Black granite—pure, cold, almost devouring the moonlight.

A monolithic block pressed against the palace wall, its surface carved with straight, merciless lines. The kind of stone that didn’t whisper. It stared back.

Above its heavy doors hung two banners.

The first:

The golden seven-headed serpent — the crest of the Nagareth Kingdom.

Each head etched with sharp precision, eyes gleaming even in the dim torch glow.

And beneath it, the second banner:

Two swords crossing in a violent clash, sparks embroidered in silver thread.

This was the mark of the Nagareth military headquarters.

Inside, the building was wide awake.

Torches burned along the stone corridor walls, their flames steady, fed with thick, well-prepared oil. The air was warm, almost too warm, the shadows trembling every time a draft swept through. The scent of smoke mixed with metal hung heavy, familiar—something every soldier recognized and every commander tolerated.

Down the hall, one room blazed brighter than all the others.

A spacious chamber, perfectly circular, its ceiling rising higher than expected for such an austere building. The light inside wasn’t soft—it poured from multiple torches lodged into dragon-shaped sconces, making the polished black granite floor shine like dark water.

In the center sat a massive oval table, carved out of a single slab of stone so heavy it took fifty workers and three enchanted pulleys to bring it in. Its surface reflected a muted sheen, interrupted only by scattered scrolls and stacked files.

Eight chairs surrounded it. Not elegant, not velvet-lined—built of iron and reinforced wood, designed for people who spent more time fighting than resting.

At the head of the table sat a man whose presence pressed into the room like a silent pressure wave.

Commander Black.

Black hair cut sharp and practical.

Black eyes—cold, unreadable, the kind that once belonged to a soldier but now belonged to something more dangerous.

A stern face, rough around the edges, marked by experience rather than age.

His armor was pitch-dark, reinforced plates shaped to withstand far more than an ordinary blow. A golden seven-headed naga gleamed on his chestplate—Leon’s emblem—etched directly into the metal, catching every flicker of torchlight.

He didn’t sit casually.

Back straight.

Arms resting with restrained weight.

Jaw set in a way that suggested a headache he refused to acknowledge.

Promotion had changed him—not in pride, but in pressure.

A captain’s duty was simple: follow orders, protect your men.

A commander’s role stretched far beyond that: strategy, logistics, diplomacy, crisis control, border security... and the weight of Leon’s trust pressing against his spine.

Beside him sat another figure—a contrast in softness, but only slightly.

Vice Commander Johny.

Black hair as well, but less severe, falling a little unevenly at the sides.

Eyes the same dark shade, but lighter in presence—less intimidating, more human.

His armor wasn’t black but lined in silver, marking his position clearly, polished but dented from actual combat rather than ceremony.

His posture wasn’t as rigid as Black’s, but the seriousness on his face made it clear he wasn’t here to relax.

Johny glanced at the piles of documents on the table and let out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost a sigh.

"You know..." he murmured, voice low and gritty, "when Leon said he’d promote you, I thought he’d at least give you a few days before burying you alive."

Commander Black didn’t look up.

"He trusts me," he said quietly. "That means something. I’m not letting that slip."

Johny snorted. "Trust? Or punishment? Hard to tell sometimes."

Black shot him a sideways look. "That tongue of yours will get you stabbed one day."

"Oh, definitely," Johny said, not missing a beat, "but I’d prefer it not be tonight."

Across the table, two more officers sat—both sharp-eyed, both trained, both stiff in the presence of their newly promoted commander. One was a broad-shouldered man with a scar slicing across his left eyebrow. The other was leaner, sharper in gaze, fingers drumming lightly on a leather file.

Neither spoke.

Everyone’s attention circled back to Black.

Because tonight wasn’t routine work.

Tonight was when shifts happened in silence.

Tonight, while Leon slept, the kingdom rearranged itself.

Commander Black sifted through the stack of documents in front of him. They weren’t light reading. Boundary disputes. Intelligence notes. Crime reports. Resource lists. Emergency requests from the outskirts. Updates about foreign envoys. Training reports from the barracks.

And beneath it all—conflicts simmering between Leon’s formations and Aden’s old loyalists. A clash of discipline and ego brewing in the shadows.

Black rubbed his forehead with the side of his thumb, muttering under his breath, "This is a little complicated..."

Johny leaned back. "A little? You’ve been here for six hours straight."

Black didn’t answer.

He felt it—the shift Leon’s promotion brought.

He’d followed Leon for years.

Shadowed him.

Watched him transform from a man into something the world needed to treat as inevitable.

Now Leon trusted him with more than just orders.

He trusted him with stability.

Black’s fingers tightened on the edge of a paper.

"I can handle it," he murmured. "Even if it’s a mess... I’ll handle it."

His voice lowered enough that only those closest could hear.

"I won’t disappoint him."