Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 519: The Three Who Reached for a King, Part II

The Three Who Reached for a King, Part II

The guard froze.

”Your Majesty...?”

Leon turned his head only slightly—just enough for the gold in his eyes to catch the torchlight and pin the man in place. There was no anger in his face, no raised voice... just an unblinking authority that made refusal feel stupid.

”I said,” he repeated, calm as a blade resting against a throat, ”open the gate. I want to go inside.”

The guard swallowed so hard it echoed. His throat clicked, his lips trembled.

A beat.

Two.

Leon’s expression didn’t move.

But inside?

He felt it—the guard’s hesitation, a tiny ripple in the air. Not fear of him. Fear of something else. Something about this cell.

Interesting.

Leon let that thought settle and tilted his head, meeting the guard’s eyes directly. ”Don’t tell me you didn’t hear me.”

The guard jolted as if slapped.

”I—I did, sire. I truly did. It’s not that I refuse. It’s just...” He stammered and bowed, forehead almost hitting the cold ground. ”Your Majesty—I don’t have the key.”

Leon blinked once. ”Explain.”

The words came out soft, but the guard flinched as if struck.

”Sire, I am the cell-keeper for most of the prison, yes, but this particular gate—this cell—its key is always held by the warden. Only him.”

Leon’s brows lifted, just slightly. ”So you’re supposed to guard this place without being able to open it yourself.”

The guard stiffened. ”Yes, sire.”

”And you think that makes sense?”

”N-no, Your Majesty.”

Leon breathed out through his nose, a slow exhale. ”Then go fetch him.”

The guard’s eyes widened again.

”Sire... it’s late. He might be upstairs in the barracks, or in his quarters—”

Leon cut him off with one look. Not a glare. Not a threat.

Just a quiet, predatory patience that made the guard’s legs wobble.

”Do you plan on making me repeat myself again?” Leon asked.

”N-no, Your Majesty!” The guard bowed so fast he nearly hit the floor a second time. ”I will bring him immediately!”

He ran—literally ran—down the hall, boots clattering, voice shaking as he shouted up the stairwell for the warden.

Leon watched him go, then sighed under his breath.

”Honestly... that works too.”

He didn’t say it for anyone to hear. It was more to himself, a private grumble at the lingering fear people had of Garay’s old rules. A kingdom ruled by terror didn’t heal instantly. Fear didn’t vanish just because the throne changed hands.

Leon let his gaze drift back to the cell.

The three prisoners hadn’t moved.

But their eyes were open.

Sharp.

Ancient.

Fixed on him with unsettling stillness.

There was something in them—something instinct recognized before rational thought could catch up. A quiet, heavy presence. Not overwhelming, but... significant.

Like the cold stillness before a mountain storm.

Leon narrowed his eyes.

Three crippled Grandmasters... and yet instinct says they’re something else entirely.

A few minutes passed before footsteps approached again—two sets this time.

The guard returned first, panting slightly, followed by a taller, broader man. Middle-aged but built like iron. Short-cropped hair, a scar running from ear to collarbone, and a stern look that said he’d spent half his life dragging corpses out of dungeons.

He bowed deeply.

”Sire. I am the Warden of Nagareth’s central prison. I was told you requested access to this cell.”

Leon studied him briefly. Strong presence. Tight posture. The kind of man who didn’t break easily.

Good.

”Open the door,” Leon said.

The warden hesitated—not out of disobedience, but out of genuine concern.

”Sire... I must warn you. These three are—”

Leon’s gaze slid over him. Not hostile. Just utterly uninterested in excuses.

The warden’s jaw tightened. He exhaled.

”Understood.”

He reached to his waist, unhooking a thick keyring with only three keys—old iron, heavy and loud as he sorted through them. One of them was blackened, carved with layered seals.

Leon caught that instantly.

Interesting.

The warden pressed the key to the lock. It clicked with a deep, grinding sound. The metal gate groaned as it swung open, heavy chains clattering against stone.

Leon smiled faintly. ”Thank you.”

He stepped inside.

The warden and guard followed, though both kept a careful distance behind him—as if afraid of being too close, or too far.

Leon ignored them.

The air inside the cell felt different. Colder. Denser. The torches outside barely reached the pillars, leaving the prisoners half-soaked in shadow.

Leon stopped a few feet from the central pillar.

A breath rasped through the darkness.

Then a voice—rough, dry, heavy with age—cut through the cell.

”Kid.”

The old man lifted his head. Bones cracked faintly in his neck as he straightened.

”Who are you,” he rasped, ”and why the hell are you here?”

Leon met the old man’s stare—and smiled.

”I’m Leon Nagareth,” he said casually. ”And I am the king of this land.”

For a moment, the dungeon was silent except for the slow, dripping water.

Then the old man huffed out a hoarse laugh.

”Hah... so that bastard Garay had a son after all.”

Leon’s smile vanished instantly.

”I’m not that idiot’s son.”

He tilted his head, golden eyes cutting through the darkness like a blade.

”I’m his rival.”

A faint shock crossed all three prisoners’ faces—too subtle for an ordinary guard to notice, but painfully clear to Leon. Their eyes sharpened, searching his face, measuring his presence again.

Leon raised a brow.

”What?” he asked. ”You don’t see the resemblance? That’s because there is none. I’m the same age he was when he seized power.”

Another prisoner—this one chained to the left pillar—let out a low, skeptical grunt.

”So... you’re telling us you’re not his blood. Fine. We’ll bite. Then why are you here? Why walk into our cage?”

Leon shrugged lightly. ”Curiosity.”

All three glared at him.

The old man scoffed. ”Curiosity about what?”

Leon’s smile sharpened a little.

”Whether you three are fools... or suicidally brave.”

The man on the right pillar growled, voice rough with anger.

”Are you mocking us, brat?”

”If you came here to play word games,” the old man snarled, ”then get the hell out. We don’t talk to children.”

Leon didn’t move.

His expression didn’t flicker.