Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 685: Granted!!

Granted!!

Leon simply raised his hand.

"Warden."

The single word carried more authority than a shout.

The blade paused.

"My king," snapped the guard, voice stiff.

A sliver of steel caught firelight, lifted halfway toward the old ones. Inches away, it trembled. The man’s fingers gripped tight, skin pale over bone.

"Lower sword."

Quiet as it was, the order carried weight. Silence made it stronger.

The warden hesitated.

A muscle in his face twitched. Not looking away, he saw Leon first, then the old figures bent forward on the ground - thin cloth hanging loose, energy dimmed, dignity doing most of the work to keep them upright.

After that, he pulled the blade back inch by inch.

The blade slipped home again, metal whispering protest as it settled. Quiet resistance hummed along the edge before stillness took over.

Still, Leon did not look away.

Stillness filled it instead. Not a hint of danger showed. Only calm resolve - the sort that caused men to pause and question what they intended.

"Step back."

The warden obeyed.

Forward he moved, just twice, despite how each muscle fought against it.

Focusing now on the older ones, Leon shifted his gaze their way.

A hush took hold of the room. The torch flames flickered softer, as if holding breath.

"You wish privacy."

A quiet strength rose in his words when he spoke. The oldest brother raised his eyes first.

"Yes."

One looked down, then the other did too. Not a word came out - yet that quiet meant yes.

For just a moment, Leon looked at them. Then he blinked.

Suddenly short. Still, sufficient to measure purpose alongside need.

After that, his attention shifted toward the maid.

"Leave."

She bowed deeply. "As you command, my king."

A slow grace shaped each step she took. Still, a spark of wonder lit her gaze until she glanced down. What the older ones needed surely carried weight.

She exited quietly.

A hush followed as the doors shut, their echo lingering like a held breath.

Footsteps quiet, Leon looked up at the warden standing stiff beside armored men.

"You as well."

A shiver ran down the line of soldiers in metal plates.

The warden stiffened.

"My king... if they attempt anything - "

Though calm in tone, his words carried real fear. Protection defined his role. When pushed, even helpless old men might strike back.

A flicker of focus crossed Leon’s gaze.

"Do you believe I require protection from three elders whose cultivation foundations are shattered?"

Not harsh at all. Sharp instead. That difference mattered.

A shift passed through them, still as stone yet coiled beneath the surface.

The warden swallowed.

Fragments of light trembled inside him when they crossed the threshold. The knowing came like breath, quiet and sure.

"But - "

It wasn’t rebellion that made him push back. Loyalty held his weight instead.

"Your safety is the kingdom’s foundation," he said quietly. "I cannot gamble with it."

His eyes stayed fixed ahead.

A hush settled, just for a second, thickening the space that stretched between their bodies.

"Or," Leon said calmly, "do you question my command?"

There it was.

Not anger.

Authority.

A sudden crouch brought him down on one leg without delay.

A clang rang out as metal met rock. Sudden motion broke the silence.

"Never, my king."

Fists pounded armor as the knights repeated his promise, one after another falling into line. Their voices came sharp, each syllable locked tight to duty.

Leon didn’t blink.

"Then leave."

A pause came first - barely a breath - like he waited on some sign to keep talking. None came. Up he got, joints creaking under weight, then waved the knights along behind.

Footsteps rang out, heavy on the ground.

They exited.

Behind them, the thick door shut. Heavy, it clicked into place.

A strange hush followed after the sound bounced back. It stayed too long, like a guest who forgets to leave.

Silence.

Just Leon stayed behind, along with the trio of elders.

Now the air seemed changed. Lighter, somehow. All its weight gone.

Slouched just a touch, Leon let an arm drape across the back of the sofa like he was merely passing time. Yet those pale gold eyes stayed locked - alive, measuring every shift. His stillness wasn’t relaxed. It watched.

"Now," he said evenly. "Speak."

The three elders exchanged one more look — not confused, not afraid. Measured. The kind of look shared by men who had already crossed a line long ago.

The middle elder inhaled deeply. His chest rose slowly, as though the breath itself carried weight.

"First," he said, voice steady but dry with age, "we require assurance."

Leon’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"What assurance?"

The right elder answered this time. His voice carried less strain — and more steel.

"If we speak," he said, "you will help us kill King Gary. By our hands."

The words settled into the room like drawn blades.

Leon did not answer immediately.

He studied them.

Their wrists trembled faintly — age refusing to be ignored. Veins stood against thin skin. Shoulders bowed by decades.

But their eyes did not waver.

There was no madness in them. No reckless heat.

Only decision.

This was not a bluff.

They had nothing left to lose.

Leon tapped a finger lightly against the arm of the couch. Once. Twice. A quiet rhythm in the silence.

"You wish vengeance," he said at last.

"Yes."

The answer came without delay.

"Not justice."

A faint breath escaped the left elder — almost a humorless laugh.

"Justice?" he murmured. "Justice is a word used by kings to polish their sins."

His gaze hardened.

"We seek blood."

The bluntness did not offend Leon.

If anything, it steadied the air.

He appreciated clarity.

He let the silence stretch again — testing them. Watching for cracks. For doubt.

None came.

"Tell me," Leon said quietly, leaning forward now, elbows resting on his knees. "Why should I trust men who openly confess they want a king dead?"

The middle elder met his gaze.

"Because we came here unarmed," he said. "Because if we intended deceit... we would have begged for mercy instead."

A pause.

"We are not asking you to fight for us," the right elder added. "Only to let us end him with our own hands. Give us the opportunity. Nothing more."

Leon’s eyes searched their faces again.

Old men. But not broken.

Leon exhaled softly through his nose.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then— "Granted," Leon said calmly.

The word settled over the chamber like a stone dropped into still water.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then the three elders exhaled almost in unison, their rigid shoulders loosening beneath heavy ceremonial robes. The tension didn’t disappear—but it thinned.

But the middle one spoke again.

His voice was older than the others, dry and deliberate. "One more condition."

Leon did not show impatience.

"Speak."

The elder’s fingers tightened around the head of his cane. He glanced once at the other two before continuing. "What we say here must not leave this room."

A faint curve touched Leon’s lips, almost amused. "You summoned me in secret and now ask for secrecy?"

The elder didn’t rise to the bait. His gaze remained steady. "This is not political caution, Your Majesty."

"I will likely need to act on what you tell me."

"That is not what we mean," the elder replied. His tone sharpened, just slightly. "No one must hear it. Not through walls. Not through spells. Not through servants hiding in shadows or artifacts listening from beyond."

The chamber seemed colder after that.

Leon’s expression shifted.

He understood.