Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 456: Leon VS Aden

Leon VS Aden

The effect spread across the courtyard in a detonation, shuddering the air itself. Stone exploded apart, chips flying in a tempestuous whirlwind of dust and fire. The ground cracked open under their feet, blackened tiles shattering into splintered lines that crept outward like veins of destruction. Even the air flinched — heat and pressure collapsing inward before bursting outward again in a deafening wave that ripped through everything.

Flickering flames had once danced, but now curved back, broken and whipped by sheer power. Sparks and glowing coals blew through the mist, fluttering like rubied fireflies above the broken courtyard.

Aden stumbled, boots scraffling on shattered stone. The armor weighed down on him, dented plates crushing into his ribs with each ragged gasp. His chest was heaving, muscles howling from the impact. The sword trembled in his grasp—not out of terror, but from the strain of fighting something rational. He clenched his teeth, struggling to stabilize his stance, eyes searing with incredulity and defiance.

Leon did not stir.

He stood at the heart of the destruction as if the world beyond him did not exist. Smoke wrapped around his shoulders, curling effortlessly upward through the shredded air. The soft golden light in his eyes cut through the haze—firm, icy, unwavering. The blast had torn holes in the ground, shivered deep into the walls, and charred the sky itself, but Leon seemed untouched, as if the mayhem had merely passed by him.

The ruins encased him in the manner of a painting of serene defiance. The golden glint in his eyes smoldered like liquid metal, picking up every glint of the shattered courtyard. His black hair was gently stirred by a soft breeze, and for a moment’s fleeting heartbeat, there was an almost hideously peaceful quality to him—a man who had already come to terms with the burden of what he was.

”I told you,” Leon replied, his voice low and indomitable, ringing across the smoky air. ”You should’ve walked away.”

Aden’s face set in a stubborn line. He wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand and spat on the broken stone. His eyes blazed with pride and anger. ”Not until I know who you are!”

Leon leaned forward, his head cocked to one side. The smallest curl of a smile played on his lips—not scorn, but much weightier. Pity. He moved slowly forward, boots crunching on the broken ground. ”You wish to know?”

The air trembled. A rush of golden aura spread from him—restrained, but immense, like the sea about to unleash a tempest. The weight built up around them, and the air itself seemed to come alive.

”Then recall this name, Sir Knight,” Leon instructed, voice falling to a low, authoritative calm. ”I am Leon—next King of Vellore.”

The words hit like thunder.

Aden was caught frozen in mid-breath. For a moment, even the fire hesitated, the hiss of flame dying in the shocked silence. His sword shuddered in his hand, metal creaking beneath the pressure of his clenched fist.

”You...” Aden’s voice shattered, heavy with incredulity, the timbre of raw anger running through each syllable. His fists bunched at his sides, nails biting into his palms, as if he could hold in the tempest roiling within him. ”You dare—” The words ripped themselves from him, shaking and fierce. ”You dare speak such impertinence before me!?

His chest heaved, rage coursing through him, each beat of his heart resounding with a warning he could scarcely manage. Leon’s mouth curled up into a faint, intentional smile, slow and measured, as if he were a predator tasting the moment before he hit. There was no hesitation, no fear, just the confident knowledge of one who had already made up his mind about the result.”. He raised his arm on purpose, and under his skin, deep purple runes blazed to life, rotating in an almost fluid motion. They streamed up his veins, tracing arcs of bright light down his forearm, until the whole arm was ablaze with a pulsing, breathing, ghostly energy.

The light etched sharp shadows on his face, framing the poised assurance in his golden, pointed eyes.

”Believe it,” Leon whispered, his tone low, measured, but carrying the weight that made the air around him taut. Each word measured, each one splashing like a stone cast onto a still pond, rippling outward. ”Because after tonight, everyone will.” The implicit authority in the phrase was something that could not be denied — it wasn’t a threat; it was a promise.

Aden’s hands trembled, anger and shock vying for control. His voice ripped through the tension, raw and unbridled. ”Enough!” he roared, anger spilling unencumbered like a storm bottled up too long, storming into the room with a power that shook the walls.

A furious burst of green aura exploded from his frame, flowing outward in undulating waves that caused the very earth to shake beneath their footing. The carved sigils on his armor burned with an almost ravenous light, draining his mana so intensely that the air around him vibrated and hummed with unshaped might.

”Aerial Blade!” he roared, voice cutting through the mad tumult like a honed blade. The courtyard itself appeared to break under the howl of power. The wind turned, thickened, and solidified into a gigantic sword of honed force that shrieked as it ripped across the sky. Each step it took left devastation behind it—rocks shattered into rubble, trees that made it through the first impact were uprooted, and pieces of debris burst in a whirlwind of mayhem.

Troops who had not previously escaped threw themselves onto the ground, clinging to their helmets, noses buried into the remorseless gale which lashed at them.

And all the while, Leon remained steadfast, his figure impassive, nearly tranquil in the midst of the slaughter. Golden eyes sparkled with an unnerving peace, observing the destruction with the poise of a predator viewing prey. He raised his palm slowly, with purpose, with the aimless ease of swatting at an annoying insect. Nothing in the ruin appeared to affect him.

”Still don’t understand, do you?” Leon’s voice was low and soft, like a breath that caressed the fringes of Aden’s thoughts as though it were spoken in secret only for him to hear, but beneath the gentleness there was a weight that crushes with the fury of a tempest.

There was no ill will, no cruel smile, only a calculated, frigid pity that raged stronger in Aden’s blood than any rage he had ever experienced. It ignited something savage within him, hotter than flame, sharper than the sharpest sword he could conjure.