Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 684: A Blade at the Throat

A Blade at the Throat

The door opened softly.

Not a dramatic swing. Not a crash.

Just the quiet shift of hinges and air.

The prison warden stepped inside first.

He paused just beyond the threshold, as if the room itself demanded permission. His eyes immediately found Leon.

Leon sat on the couch near the tall arched window, one leg crossed over the other, porcelain cup resting in his hand. Steam curled lazily upward, untouched by the tension entering the room. Sunlight filtered through the glass behind him, outlining his figure in pale gold. Calm. Composed. Untouchable.

The warden straightened at once and bowed deeply.

"Your Majesty."

Leon did not rise.

He did not need to.

His golden eyes shifted from the window to the warden, steady and unreadable.

"Where are they?"

The question was quiet. It carried no force.

It didn’t have to.

"They are here, my king."

A subtle nod from Leon.

"Bring them."

Heavy footsteps followed.

Chains clinked against stone.

The sound echoed sharply in the high-ceilinged chamber, scraping against the silence like a blade drawn too slowly.

The door opened wider.

Three figures were led inside.

Iron shackles bound their wrists. Thick chains connected to armored knights who held them firmly, though the men themselves did not resist.

They walked without struggle. Without protest.

As if they had already accepted the end.

They were old.

Long white hair hung in unkempt strands past their shoulders. Beards thick and tangled fell to their chests. Prison cloth, rough and faded, clung to thin frames. Their skin was dull, stretched over bone.

But their eyes—

Their eyes were not broken.

The knight to the left tightened his grip when one of the elders lifted his chin slightly.

"Careful," the knight muttered.

The old man gave a faint, almost amused exhale.

"Careful?" he rasped. "We can barely stand."

"Silence," another knight barked.

Three elder man just sigh

Leon continued to look at them.

To an outsider—these three old men looked like nothing.

Feeble old men waiting for death.

But Leon’s eyes were sharper than that.

He remembered the records. These three were once Grandmaster realm cultivators. Peak warriors once. Men who had stood at the very summit of Grandmaster cultivation.

Now—

Their foundations had collapsed. Their spiritual aura was fractured, leaking faintly into the air like smoke from dying embers. Whatever power they once carried had been broken the day Gary imprisoned them.

Leon watched them carefully.

The knights positioned them in the center of the room. Armor shifted. Boots scraped stone.

Chains rattled once more before settling.

The sound lingered.

Leon set his teacup down gently. Porcelain touched wood with a soft click.

"So," he said evenly, voice calm and unhurried. "You decided to talk, huh."

One of the elders let out a dry chuckle. "You sound disappointed."

Leon’s gaze didn’t waver. "If I were disappointed, you would know."

The three elders looked at him.

Their eyes were not dull.

Not broken.

There was something there.

Grief.

Rage.

A choice made long ago.

Leaning just a bit, Leon let his hands lie still on the arms of the chair. Not pushing, he gave space instead. Quiet filled the room - thick, yet held in check.

"Now tell me, elders," he said. "What do you wish to speak of?"

A look passed between them.

A silent agreement.

A shuffle came from the left figure, moving his stance. For just an instant, the one at the right shut his eyes, like he’d tasted something sour. A small step forward - half a motion - came from the center man, even with the chain holding him back. Stone met iron with a raw, grating sound.

Raw sound scraped from his throat.

"King Leon... you wish to know why we attempted to kill King Gary."

A dry hack rose from his chest, scraping at the air. His voice cracked like old paper pulled too fast across stone.

Leon’s eyes narrowed slightly. "I already know you tried," he replied. "What I want to know is why three men who once stood at the peak of the Grandmaster realm would gamble their lives on a failed assassination."

The elder’s lips twitched faintly. "Failed... yes. That is what history will call it."

A faint grin tugged one edge of his lips, worn out like paper left too long in rain. The syllable seemed sour on his tongue, sharp enough to twist his face.

"History," Leon said quietly, "belongs to the one still breathing."

Heavy silence filled the room after they spoke. Not rage. Not teasing. Only truth stayed behind.

The old man raised his face, eyes locking with Leon’s gold-colored stare. Not one blink passed between them at first. A soft clink came from the metal loops on his wrists when he moved. Leon’s mouth barely changed - no joy there, no kindness, yet something like curiosity showed.

"Go on," he said quietly. "I am listening."

The old ones stayed silent at first.

Yet their gaze moved. Still, it wasn’t the same.

Sideways, maybe. Away from touching at all.

To the maid who stood quiet by the pillar.

To the right stands the prison warden, one hand settled on the hilt of his blade.

Frozen in place, the armored knights stood at their backs, still as figures hewn from cold metal.

Clear came the message. It left no room for confusion.

A long pull of air filled the old man’s lungs, his throat making a rough noise. Words came out flat, quiet, yet firm when he finally spoke. Just not while others are listening

A sudden stillness took hold of the warden. Tightening gripped his jaw, a sharp pulse jumping under sun-cracked skin.

A small lift in Leon’s eyebrow. "Hmm?"

A shuffle came from the older man as he moved slightly ahead, chains still fastened tight. Across the ground, the clink of iron dragged slow behind him.

"If we speak," he said, meeting Leon’s eyes without flinching, "we speak only to you. Alone."

Silence followed.

A silence followed, heavy with expectation.

The warden snapped.

Faster than thought, steel sang into the air.

A sudden noise split the air when the warden moved ahead, sliding the icy side of his sword against the central elder’s neck. Right after, the soldier standing behind pulled hard on the links, jerking the aged figure’s upper body straighter.

"How dare you!" the warden barked, fury flashing across his face. "You are prisoners! You do not demand terms from my king!"

A stillness held him. Not even a tremor when steel met flesh, just a thread of blood tracing down. Yet his gaze never wavered from Leon.

"You fear what we might say?" the elder murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Or who might hear it?"

Fingers curled harder around the handle. The officer’s hold grew stiff.

The walls closed in without warning.

Fabric whispered as weight moved. Metal links trembled against stone. Her hands twitched inside cloth, even if her expression did not follow.

Leon did not move.

Not when the blade touched flesh.

Not when the tension sharpened.

Leon simply raised his hand.

"Warden."