Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 662: Invader!

Invader!

Morning in Nagarath had begun to develop its own rhythm.

Beyond the steady beat of ease.

A pulse that stutters, yet keeps moving - far from the slow ease of wealth.

A steady beat moved through the streets, where knowing danger was never far kept people alert.

Out came a deep creak from the east gates as iron parts ground through their motion. The thick planks, banded with metal, pulled apart inside, revealing the wide path that cut straight to the city’s core.

Civilians waited outside.

Merchants with carts.

Travelers on foot.

Farmers guiding beasts of burden.

Rows of people wait, spaced neatly apart.

No shouting.

No pushing.

No bribes exchanged.

Footsteps echoed between black-armored figures spaced down the hall, each bearing a seven-headed golden naga that caught the light on chest and shoulder alike. Their stillness broke only by breath beneath steel. The symbols did not move but seemed alive in the dim glow. Metal fused with ancient design, cold yet watchful. Each guard held silence like armor. Gilded coils shimmered without wind. Seven heads faced forward, never blinking.

A few had worn uniforms long ago. Others remembered battles from decades past.

Faces marked by old wounds, their eyes always moving. Men who watched everything, never still.

Some had just joined the group.

Young.

Nervous.

Burdened by steel plates fastened tight across shoulders meant for lighter loads. Learning what duty demands when it arrives strapped like chainmail.

Still, each person held their posture upright.

All kept formation.

Facing the entrance, two soldiers stood on each tower. Guards lined up where the walls narrowed by the opening. Twin figures appeared along the high platforms beside the passage. Each post held a pair ready near the archway’s edge.

A single seasoned soldier stands with a fresh face in each watchpost.

A deliberate pairing.

Experience beside rawness.

Learning beside discipline.

Light from early daylight bounced on smooth metal, sending sharp lines over rock.

Out beyond the square, a wind slipped through, pulling echoes of bartering voices behind it. Metal rang against metal where workers shaped iron into tools. From narrow lanes shadowed by tall houses, high giggles floated like paper in air.

A figure stood by the old stones, high on the east tower. Harrek, weathered by years of duty, rested his weight there without hurry. His arms crossed, not tense but steady, like someone who had seen too much to rush anymore.

A figure stood next to him - new, still adjusting, less than four weeks into the role.

Nervous eyes.

Clean armor.

Fingers clutching the spear - knuckles pale, pressure rising. A breath held, then released slow. The weapon steady, yet trembling faintly. Muscles tense along the arms. Not fear exactly, but something close beneath the skin.

Harrek glanced sideways.

"Relax, kid. If you grip that thing any harder, you’ll bend it."

A sharp breath in, then the new man eased his grip a little.

"Yes, sir."

Harrek smirked faintly.

"Morning shifts are boring. That’s a blessing. Remember that."

A small nod came from him, yet his gaze never settled, always moving toward the trees past the roadside. Stillness in his head didn’t reach his eyes, which traced shadows among the trunks again and again.

His eyes traced where Harrek was looking.

Forest.

Distant hills.

Empty road.

Nothing moving.

"Look," Harrek spoke. Silence followed his words like an echo fading through stone

The recruit hesitated.

"Sir... do you think we’ll get attacked again?"

For a moment, Harrek stayed silent.

His fingers dragged across the rough patch of hair along his chin.

"Kid... in this city? You assume danger always exists."

The recruit stiffened.

"But," Harrek added, "you also assume the commanders are ten steps ahead of whatever’s coming."

Head tilted down in small motion. Slow movement showed understanding.

Finger raised, Harrek aimed it right at the naga mark fixed on his chest.

"That symbol didn’t get raised by luck."

The recruit inhaled.

"Yes, sir."

Minutes passed.

Birds chirped.

Wind rustled leaves.

Folks kept moving through the city gates, one after another. Still, the flow never seemed to slow down at all.

Nothing happened.

Then -

The recruit squinted.

Down toward where the road stretches long.

A beam of light touched floating specks. Dust swirled where brightness poured through.

Something... moved.

Not clear.

Not defined.

A thin layer of brownish tint lingers above the edge of sight. Distant air looks softly stained, almost like old paper held up to light.

A shadow moved closer. The new soldier shifted his weight ahead.

"Sir...?"

Harrek glanced.

"Hmm?"

A shadow crossed the recruit’s face as his gaze tightened.

"I see... dust."

Harrek frowned slightly.

"Caravan, maybe."

Not once did the new hire believe it. He stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrow, doubting every word they said.

Thick - that is what the dust cloud seemed like.

Dense.

Growing.

Fingers stretched toward the glass perched high in the tower.

A rough-looking pipe, yet it works well, strengthened by bands of brass spaced along its length.

Into his eye he pushed it.

At first -

Blur.

Then -

Shapes.

Movement.

His breath caught.

A small shake ran through the glass he was holding.

Horses.

Many.

Carriages.

Several.

And...

People.

Lots of people.

Not scattered.

Not wandering.

Moving in formation.

A sudden flare of surprise lit up the recruit’s face.

Fingers almost lost their grip on the lens.

He jerked back.

Stumbled.

A rock shifted under his foot. The stumble came fast.

Floorboards snapped under his weight as he hit the tower’s platform. A loud noise followed when he dropped backward.

Harrek spun instantly.

"What happened?"

Flinching up from the ground, the new arrival’s skin turned ghostlike.

"I - I saw - "

Into his hand went the lens, Harrek took it fast.

"Speak clearly."

Heavy breath. The new one stiffened, throat bobbing once.

"There’s... a large group coming."

Frowning, Harrek picked up the lens.

He peered.

His expression changed.

Not to panic.

Not to fear.

To sharp focus.

"Horses... carriages... armored escorts..."

A figure stirred atop the watchtower, shifting behind their backs.

"What’s going on?"

Harrek didn’t answer.

The lens shifted under his fingers. A small turn changed everything.

Saw silver-polished armor.

Saw black-polished armor.

One follows the step, then the other matches without rush. Stillness between steps keeps time like breath.

Not bandits.

Not refugees.

Troops.

But...

No banners.

No visible hostile formations.

The glass moved down inch by inch as Harrek held it steady. A quiet moment passed while he adjusted his grip.

"Get the tower captain."

A quick nod came before he rushed downstairs fast.

Harrek kept watching.

Thickening fast, the dust cloud hung heavier in the air.

Now it was easier to see what the numbers meant.

A twitch near the next tower caught a guard’s eye - Harrek stood too straight, like he’d swallowed stone.

His hands rose with the lens he had chosen himself.

"...Shit."

Faster than a breath, soldiers filled the watchtowers on the east stretch, eyes locked on one far-off spot. Guards climbed high, drawn by something unseen, their gazes fixed beyond the horizon line. From each stone perch, figures stood stiff, pulled by what waited out there. The air stilled as men took position, all looking - without speaking - at the same shadowed place ahead.

Whispers spread.

"What is that?"

"Troops?"

"Whose troops?"

"They don’t have war banners."

"Why so many?"

A gust of wind carried his coat as he stepped forward, breathing hard.

"What do you have?"

A piece of glass passed from Harrek into his hands.

The captain looked.

His jaw tightened.

"...This isn’t a merchant caravan."

A voice came from one of the new soldiers standing close by - could it be invaders? The question hung softly in the air.

Shivers ran down spines at just the sound of that one term.

The glass dropped slowly in his hands. A quiet click followed as it settled into place.

"Unconfirmed."

Another guard spoke.

"Sir. This could be - Enemy attack"