Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 276: The Man the City Worships

The Man the City Worships

The golden afternoon gently drifted into evening, tinting the vast plains in patches of warm amber and rose. The sun, a molten jewel rimming the horizon, bathed the sky in gold and orange as it started its journey behind the gentle hills. A gentle breeze swept over the open plains, sweeping through wheat and wildflowers, bearing on its surface the far-off aroma of rivers and soil. It teased the silver pennants of a passing caravan that cut across the golden terrain like an ebbing dream.

At the head of this great procession rode the center of it all — a resplendent silver-blue carriage, inscribed with moon designs that glimmered in the dying light. Drawn by four Windsteeds, tall and regal beasts with white coats streaked in sky-blue, the carriage glided as though it were lighter than air — gliding, not rolling. Horse hooves barely made a sound as they struck the cobbled road. Even the ground beneath seemed to provide silent deference.

Around the carriage were dozens of soldiers in immaculate silver armor, their helms glinting golden like shiny mirrors. Each was seated proudly and motionless on his horse, faces grave, eyes watchful. These were no ordinary soldiers — they were Leon Moonwalker’s best. Each had been picked, trained, and forged under his hand. They were not silent out of fear, but pride.

The caravan moved with a elegant order, as if a procession honed to perfection by years of exactness. Each wheel rolled in unison, each hoof struck in cadence. No one yelled, no one was disorganized—only the gentle thudding of hooves on ground and the soft whisper of silk flags fluttering in the wind, each of them displaying the Moonwalker emblem with modest pride.

As the road slowly descended, the high shape of Silver City unfolded into view — a stately sprawl of white stone and monarchical past. Its great gates towered like sentinels, its proud symbol the Moonwalker house: the silver wolf’s head scored by a crescent moon on its brow. Over it, the family banner streamed with silent mastery, catching the last light of the sun. The walls, kissed by the golden light of sunset, gleamed as if the city itself was acknowledging the return of its master.

Within the velvet luxury and cushioned interior of the central carriage, Duke Leon Moonwalker rode in quiet calm. His golden eyes, keen and authoritative, rose from the bodies that warmed him on either side to the distant horizon in front. His face showed no emotion, yet there was a still flame in his eyes — the unmistakable glint of a man reclaiming his throne.

His women stirred with the shifting landscape. The elegant chamber on wheels, while expansive, carried an air of closeness—intimate, sensual. Cushions shifted as soft bodies leaned toward the wide windows, drawn by the city’s glowing outline.

Cynthia sat to his left, her black eyes calm, her movements elegant as always. Her voice came low and steady, laced with anticipation. ”We’re almost there...”

Across from her, Aria tucked a lock of her purple hair behind one ear, her amethyst eyes sparkling. ”Silver City’s never been more lovely... lit up golden like that.

Rias, slung over Leon’s shoulder with a relaxed elegance, released a sultry hum. Her red eyes were half-lidded, her voice a teasing purr as her fingers languidly stroked his thigh. ”Mmm... doesn’t it feel right, daddy? To come back under such a perfect light?”

Leon provided no response, merely a delicate smile curving his mouth. His eyes never wavered from the gates, now within sight to show a slight hesitation in movement. The vast column of ordinary pilgrims and merchant carts still extended down the road, their access slowed by customary examinations. Guards were busy — examining goods, interrogating, and admitting people with practiced deliberation. It was routine, exhaustive... slow.”.

But then something changed.

As Leon’s grand silver-blue carriage came closer, the murmur in the background of the crowd and the rattle of hooves grew sharp. One of the gate guards, a youth dressed in gleaming armor, glanced up lazily at first — but when his gaze fell upon the crest painted in bright detail down the side of the oncoming carriage, he stiffened.

The color leached from his face.

His breath caught as his eyes fixed on the far banner streaming high above the highest carriage. Recognition flashed like a lightning bolt. He jabbed his elbow into the side of his friend, hard and insistent. The other guard, surprised, looked up — and then was frozen.

”By the Heaven... our lord return,” one of them breathed, voice hardly more than a whisper.

A heart skipped a beat of weight to those words as one of them bolted in the direction of the officer standing at the city gate.

Quick — inevitable.

There could be no doubt.

Above this polished carriage, the silver-blue moon crest streamed aloft, emblazoned with the unmistakable mark of House Moonwalker. The horses that drew it were Windsteeds — beasts of rare blood, seen only before their Duke. To one side, to the other, a row of knights flanked the procession, gleaming in finely-forged silver armor that sent a ripple through the crowd.

Whispers arose like the initial breath of wind that precedes a tempest. The people in line stretched forward, others on tiptoe, staring in awe.

”That crest... that is House Moonwalker...”

”Could it be?”

”Duke Leon... he has indeed come back...”

The gate captain came forward, posture tense but disciplined. His voice rang with sharp authority as he barked orders, and the guards immediately parted the crowd like some well-rehearsed dance. They pushed aside the merchants, groaned open the heavy iron gates, and soldiers took up their stations in solemn places.

As it drew near, its grace inescapable, the city watch did not hesitate. One by one-then all at once-they fell to their knees, heads bowed in reverent salute, offering the full measure of their respect to the man approaching.

Captain Black, out front of the caravan, nodded curtly at them — a silent expression of assent — without reining in the procession. The noble procession pushed on, slipping through the city gates as the final rays of sunset bathed Silver City in a burnished light.

Inside the gilded coach, Leon sat still behind the glass. His eyes watched the citizens below, but his face still had not twitched an expression — unreadable, composed. Even as the crowd stepped back on their heels and turned their staring faces toward the approaching caravan of wonder-filled eyes, he didn’t stir.

His calmness had a compananion

He is accompanied by his women who sat with him taking in all with their silent emotions each.

So, this...” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with quiet intensity, ”this is the respect he commands.”

Beside her, Lira leaned lazily into the velvet cushions, ever radiant, ever untamed by decorum. She chuckled, brushing a silver curl over her shoulder. ”It’s nothing less than what he deserves,” she said, her tone light but edged with reverence. ”This land breathes his name.

Opposite them, Tsubaki sat with her back straight enough to be impossible, the manner of a battle-hardened knight even in the security of silk. Her hand lay over her heart, but her fingers quivered slightly — as though restraining the temptation to draw blade in salute. The sight of those disciplined soldiers, the chorus of loyalty echoing in the streets- it had stirred something deep in her, something ancient and noble. Her lips parted, a shallow breath escaped as she stood behind the curtain. No words left her, but the awe in her eyes was unmistakable.

In the opposite corner, the twin sisters shared a knowing look — like two troublemakers let loose in a temple.

”Ah, the drama of it all,” Syra murmured, her smirk as sharp as ever as she casually tucked a lock of green hair behind her ear. Her eyes gleamed with excitement, soaking in the reverent silence outside the carriage like a fine wine. ”This is what I’ve missed.”

”Mmm,” Kyra hummed in reply, her tone low and almost amused. Her arms folded beneath her chest, lifting the curve of her bust as she leaned back with that thoughtful look she wore like armor. ”Feels like we’ve walked into one of those old fairytales again.”

And yet, and through the window, the market blurred past, and what none of them missed was the truth: the city belonged to nobody else but him, this city of his domain: his stage, his kingdom, his legend in every bowed head and silent cheer.