Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 615: The Path to the Treasury [Part-2]

The Path to the Treasury [Part-2]

A hush fell as the guard murmured an apology, head tilting past respect into near collapse. The rim of his helmet grazed the cold rock below, like roots seeking soil. He stood bent, not quite man but shadow given shape by duty and dread.

With a small motion of his hand, Leon brushed the concern aside. "No problem at all."

A flick of the hand, tiny - yet somehow it opened a door long locked. It wasn’t loud, but silence cracked under its meaning.

Facing the treasury entrance, he moved forward slowly. There, ahead, rose thick steel plates - ancient symbols carved into their surface, a silent hint of what waited inside: riches, influence, hidden away. Around him, the atmosphere pressed down, like the stone itself was tuned to every sound.

He moved ahead, tossing the words behind him without turning. A loose remark came out, like something noticed in passing.

"Oh. And before you leave - go find Vice Commander Johny and tell him I sent you."

His eyes stayed forward.

That was never a requirement for him.

The guard froze.

Completely.

As if a bolt out of nowhere had hit his bones.

Mid-bow, his spine held tight. Then everything shifted without warning. Legs turned weak, folding like wet paper. Down he went, knees hitting hard. A slap of hands on rock broke the silence - sudden, loud, clean.

A sharp sound escaped his throat, panic blooming behind his stare - like receiving doom dressed up as courtesy.

"V-Vice Commander... Johny?" he choked out. "The new Vice Commander of the kingdom? T-The man directly under His Majesty?"

A shiver ran through everything, just for a second. Fingers moved without warning, pressing into palms until the skin turned pale, understanding arriving like cold water.

Off he went without a word. Boots made quiet sounds on smooth rock, each step pulling him farther into the fading light that held his shape just for a moment.

Gold bled into his edges while darkness pooled behind, making him seem far away - not cold, but finished with what he’d done. A king stepping backward from choices made moments before.

But behind him...

A sound broke.

A man quietly crying.

Down went his legs. Kneeling now, face near the icy ground, a warmth ran down his cheek without him stopping it. Not pride alone, not just fear or thanks - each poured into the other. His breath shook through his arms. The weight pressed hard behind his ribs.

"Sire... your grace is vast as the ocean," he whispered, fingers digging into the stone as if he were afraid the ground itself might vanish. "I promise - I will devote my life... to the utmost limit."

The last words broke in his throat, not because he was tired, yet under the burden of what had landed in his hands.

Because he understood.

A spot on Vice Commander Johny’s team meant everything changed. Chosen by the king himself, each recruit stepped into safety like stepping indoors from storm rain. Status settled around them like armor that never rusts. Money flowed - not loud or flashy - but steady, quiet, certain. Family lines climbed where once they’d scraped. Parents slept through nights now, untouched by dread. One day, his kids stood tall instead of bowing low. No one would glance past his name again.

That moment, Leon changed everything - just one line shifting how it would all unfold.

Down he went again, forehead touching cold rock like a vow etched into its surface. Up in a flash, racing forward, breath sharp, pulse loud, chasing time before silence could steal the words.

Far down the road, Leon had already disappeared before he looked up at all.

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A figure moved through the doorway of the vault room. Leon appeared just inside, boots quiet on stone.

Into the room he stepped, then everything shifted. Cold touched his arms first, sharp with a taste of iron lingering low in each breath. Old magic hung there, still as dust above shelves lined with silence. Overhead, space opened wide beneath a curve of hushed stone, stretching upward without sound. Golden threads ran through the walls, carved deep, drawing vines one second, dragons the next, caught mid-leap forever.

Midway through the room dangled a chandelier - vast, detailed, made of uncommon stones splitting twilight into flickers of shade leaping over tile. These glimmers crept along glossy stone and shadowed iron gates just the same, washing each surface in quiet, moving tones.

Beautiful.

Expensive.

Old.

A quiet breath escaped him, calm rather than impressed. Such spaces never needed voices - they carried weight on their own. Stepping inside meant sensing what silence held: strength sealed away, waiting.

Far off, a pair of desks stood waiting. Behind each, an aging guard bent forward just a bit, filling heavy books with slow handwriting. Quills scratched across pages like tired beetles, focused only on rows marked with numbers and currency symbols. The man named Leon stepped close - no one looked up.

Only then did he clear his throat.

Something quiet came through the air.

Barely anything.

A sudden hush fell across everyone there.

A twitch ran through both guards, straightening them fast while their pens shrieked across the page; a spark of annoyance lit up in their stares

Who dares disturb -

That was when he appeared in their view.

Not a sound came out - voices gone, like flames cut short by a gust. Their skin turned white in seconds, too quick to be real, bodies locking up as if startled awake into stone.

Feet scraped against stone. Sheets lifted into the air. Pools of ink trembled on desks. Suddenly, one man lunged, then another, limbs crashing together - boots kicking, cloth twisting - as though dropping toward the ground could somehow shield them.

Stumbling over their words, the crowd cried out at once - Your Majesty!

A faint smile touched his eyes. Just "your" works, he said

Worse still, it managed to twist the knife.

A tremor ran through their shoulders. The silence made the gulp unmistakable, one man’s knuckles bleaching as he shoved his hand against the rock.

"We apologize, sire!" one shattered out. "We were buried in paperwork - we failed to sense your presence - "

From his throat rose a raspy hush, heavy with fear. A wrong beyond pardon, he muttered low. Lower still he bent, until his brow almost touched the icy stone beneath, like vanishing was all he asked.

Leon shook his head. "You’re doing your job. No need to beg forgiveness."

Out of nowhere, the quiet speech hit like air escaping a sealed room. Each guard sucked in breath that trembled, arms dropping as though something heavy just slipped off their backs. Yet the strain stayed put. It stuck around - wispy, stretched, ready to snap - since nobody fully let go when Leon Moonwalker was near.

"Stand," he said, his voice steady, almost kind. "And lead me inside. I need to enter the treasury."

A beat passed. The guards froze, barely breathing. Shock lit up their eyes - then vanished, stomped out by training. Challenging Leon? That thought never took root. Here, that kind of thinking died fast.

"Yes, sir. Right away," said one, voice breaking even though he tried not to show it.

Hurry along now," came the voice, stepping forward without waiting, as though every heartbeat lost could tip things sideways.

Footsteps faded up the path, stones murmuring under rushing soles while Leon trailed behind without rush. Silence shaped his rhythm, a slow beat like time itself bent to match his stride. He moved as if delays meant nothing, as though every moment paused just because he arrived.

Down the hall it went - tight, endless - a line of flames burning strange and blue along its path. Without warmth or fumes, those fires hung still, casting light that slithered across stone in restless waves. A quiet hum of ancient power ran underfoot, thick as buried whispers pressed into rock over ages. Each step forward felt like peeling back pages sealed too long.

A hush hung in the space, heavy with echoes that simply would not fade. Dust moved slowly, lit by slants of gray light through cracked glass. Shadows stretched without hurry across worn stone floors. A chill stayed close, not sharp but deep, like breath held too long. Each step echoed as if answering something older than sound. Time did not pass here - it pooled, gathered, waited.

A figure emerged through the doorway after walking down the long hall. Behind it, shadows stretched across the floor.

A doorway unlike any other. It stands apart without trying.

A stroke of genius from long ago. Crafted slow, shaped wise.

Twisting along the surface, two great snakes lay curled - one beside the other, not quite touching. Carved with such care that each scale seemed to breathe under light. Facing one another they sat, jaws open, teeth showing. Moonstone formed their gaze, glowing faintly like captured sky.

A flower floated in the space they shared. It sat still, open, between their quiet forms.

Silver.

Perfectly carved.

Faint light lingers, like a memory of moon glow. Shadows stretch where brightness once stayed.

Leon stopped.

Breathing settled into a hush, steady. Soft. In the thick quiet, even that whisper scraped at the air like sand on stone. His jaw clenched without warning while his eyes moved across the worn etchings, sliding along coiled snake forms, pausing where the silver flower bloomed - smooth, sharp, full of hidden risk. Not empty after all. Some presence, older than memory, leaned close inside him, silent as a pause between heartbeats.

Well... here it was - the hoard once guarded by old Vellore - he said softly. Just a hint of awe broke into his calm, like something deep inside responded to the weight waiting ahead.

A soft shuffle came from the men behind his back. A gulp cut through the quiet, one guard lowering himself slow, soon matched by the next, then the rest - knees meeting stone on their own. Not terror pulled them down, but awe so thick it tugged at bones. That doorway filled space like something ancient once known as divine now blinking awake after centuries lost.

Staring ahead, Leon gave no glance back. Fixed on the old door his eyes stayed, drawn to two snakes twisted forever against each other. Between them a lotus shone - not quite warm, not quite cold - holding both hope and danger in its light. A small tremor ran through his hand, held still by will alone, as if something past that threshold tugged faintly at his bones.

Leon stood before the ancient door...