CHAPTER 315: WHEN LOYALTY BURNS BRIGHTER THAN FEAR

When Loyalty Burns Brighter Than Fear

The last drop of blood hissed as it touched the ancient parchment—sharp, final, like the end of something sacred. Then silence. A soft, red shimmer rippled across the scroll’s surface, rising slowly into the air like smoke from burning incense. It danced upward in lazy tendrils before vanishing, leaving no trace. Just heat in the air... and the sharp, pulsing stillness of too many eyes watching.

Leon stood at the center of the hall, unmoving. His spine was straight, posture solid, face unreadable. Both hands held the scroll steady as it pulsed faintly with light—just for a single heartbeat. Then it flickered. Broke. Disintegrated into golden sparks that scattered and disappeared like ash. The warmth lingered in the air. So did the silence. And so did the weight.

Inside his head, a faint chime rang like a bell struck far away.

[System Notification: 717th Blood Contract Signed Successfully.]

His golden eyes flicked once. No outward reaction, just a subtle shift—a breath, a tightening at the corner of his mouth. Seven hundred and seventeen. That number settled inside him like a stone dropped into deep water. He felt it land somewhere in the dark, marking the place. He let the breath go slowly, almost thoughtfully, and gave the smallest nod. It wasn’t for anyone else. Just for him. Just to say: we’re past the point of no return now.

They were all watching.

Hundreds of eyes. Different kinds. Some bloodshot from too many battles. Others sunken with grief and years of hunger. Soldiers with dried blood still under their fingernails. Elders with faces carved by time and loss. City officials who stank of ink and sleepless nights. Parents with children pressed tight against their sides, hollow-cheeked and weathered by the slow grind of survival. Some looked at him with awe, fragile and uncertain. Others with brittle resolve. And some—some looked at him with a quiet, unshakable kind of trust.

But all of them were looking only at him.

The man who had just signed away their future.

Leon turned his head slowly, his gaze moving across them like a tide pulling back before the wave. He didn’t speak right away. Just let the moment hang. Let it settle into them. A small smile curved across his lips—not a show, not a leader’s smile. Just something honest. Faint. Real.

"...It’s done," he said, almost under his breath. As if he needed to say it aloud to believe it himself.

He lifted his chin a little.

And something shifted. The air leaned in. His presence pressed out in quiet waves—not dominating, not demanding. Just real. The kind of weight that didn’t shout. It just was.

When he spoke again, his voice carried—not loud, not raised—but grounded. Solid. The kind of voice people choose to follow.

"Thank you," Leon said, his gaze holding theirs. "For trusting me."

The silence that followed cracked open slowly. It was heavy, not empty—full of everything that couldn’t be spoken in that moment. Fear. Relief. Gratitude. Grief. No one moved. No one even breathed too loudly.

Then, like ice finally giving way under sunlight, a soft laugh rang out. Someone else let out a quiet sigh. Then murmurs, a word here, a smile there. The sound spread—scattered, warm, uncertain but real. Voices rising like kindling catching fire. Laughter. Light words. A murmur of life, blooming again.

"Anything for you, Duke!"

"You’ve never led us wrong!"

"Your word is law for us!"

"We stand with you!"

"You saved our families!"

Leon’s smile stayed, but something in his eyes darkened. Just a little. Like a shadow drifting past. The room felt it. The air pulled tight again.

And just like that, faded into steel.

"You all signed the blood contract," he said, his words deliberate now, slow and edged with weight. "So let me remind you."

The hall quieted instantly.

His next words were cold, unforgiving.

"If you break it..." Leon’s voice lowered, sharpened like a blade drawn slow across stone, "the curse doesn’t just fall on you. It spreads. To your bloodline. Your children. And theirs. It doesn’t forgive. And it never forgets."

A collective breath held tight in every chest. Faces stiffened. Some men clenched their fists without realizing it. Mothers’ eyes flicked downward, toward memories of soft hands and innocent faces. Fingers trembled over keepsakes—old pendants, prayer beads, worn rings that now felt heavier.

And yet... not a single one stepped back.

They nodded. One by one, silently. Firmly.

Leon gave a single nod in return. "Good."

He stepped down from the dais, boots landing with a soft thud against the stone. The sound echoed faintly, each step unhurried, reverberating through the chamber like a slow heartbeat. He wasn’t addressing them from above anymore. He was down there with them now—among them. Still their leader, still apart, but closer. Present.

His pace didn’t waver. Calm. Measured. Each step felt deliberate, like he was walking not just toward them, but through something invisible and heavy.

"You might be wondering," he said, voice steady, "why your children weren’t brought into this room. Why only you were called to stand here when the contract was to be signed."

A soft murmur rippled through the crowd—curious, low, uncertain. Some leaned in. Others glanced at one another, waiting.

Leon came to a halt at the center of them, turning slowly to meet their eyes. All of them.

When he spoke again, his voice changed—not weaker, not lighter, but closer. Like something heavy held with care. Like truth carried in the hand instead of the mouth. "Because they’re still too young." Too small to carry something so heavy. The contract doesn’t care if they understand or not. Once signed, it binds—and I won’t allow that."

His eyes scanned them, one after another, not judging, but making sure they truly heard him. "If even one of you hadn’t understood, I would’ve sent you away too. I mean that. But you did understand. And because of that... for the future I see coming... I need you."

A thick, uneasy silence held the hall in its grip. Not dramatic. Just... there. Heavy in the way that made people forget to breathe. The only sound came from the rain outside—soft, steady, tapping against the windows like it had nowhere else to go.

"But you all... chose to stand with me. And I promise—I’ll never forget it."

Leon’s voice didn’t rise, didn’t push. But it hit. Like a quiet truth dropped into the center of the room. The people before him—these men and women who had followed him not because they had to, but because they believed—stood still. No shifting, no fidgeting. Just the weight of what he’d said settling in.

Some nodded, slow and small, as if afraid moving too fast would break something. A few lifted their hands to their chests, silent but steady, a vow without words. Others blinked back tears that came too quickly to hide, glancing down like maybe no one would notice. It wasn’t loyalty. Not exactly. It was something deeper. Trust, yes—but also pain. And hope.

Leon let out a breath. It wasn’t dramatic. Just long. Tired. A quiet exhale that left his chest and didn’t come back. His eyes—those golden eyes—shifted as he raised his head. No longer warm. No longer soft. There was steel in them now. Not anger. Not cruelty. Just... resolve.

His voice dropped lower, steadier. Each word planted like a stake in the ground.

"Now... let’s come to the real reason I had you all sign this contract."

He stepped forward, not fast, not slow, but with that kind of movement that made the room notice. The torchlight flickered, throwing shadows that caught on the sharp line of his jaw, the straightness of his back. All around him, people straightened without meaning to. Some held their breath. Others didn’t dare look away.

His gaze moved across them one by one. Not reading. Not questioning. Just seeing. Holding.

"From this day onward... the world must believe you are all dead."

The words hit like a slap. Not loud—but loud in the way silence cracks. The gasp that followed wasn’t from one person. It was all of them. A single, sharp intake of disbelief, like the ground had shifted and no one had known they were standing on the edge.

"You... you mean...?" someone stammered.

"What?!"

"Dead?! What do you mean?!"

Even Johny—loyal Johny, who had followed him through war and peace—stepped forward, his brows tight with concern. "My Lord... why do we need to pretend we’re dead?" he asked, voice low yet urgent. "Why such an extreme step?"

Leon closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. The soft torchlight caught his golden irises, now gleaming not with compassion, but cold resolve.

"Because," he said slowly, each word striking like a blade, "for my plan to succeed... Silver City must fall. And every soul within it must vanish from the world’s eyes."

He paused—still, composed, the weight of his decision pressing behind his voice. "If I don’t do this... everything we’ve worked toward will crumble."

The words hung heavy in the air. Silence followed. Thick. Stunned.

No one moved.

Then—soft footsteps, hesitant—an older man stepped forward. A city official, judging by the ornate trim on his noble robes, his face worn by years of politics and survival. He looked like someone who’d spent his life behind walls, not battlefields. But even so, there was a flicker of courage trembling just beneath his voice.

"Duke Leon... may we know what this plan truly is?"

Leon didn’t answer right away.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, slow and unreadable. Not warmth. Not cruelty. Just... something else. But his eyes—his eyes had turned to steel. Hard. Cold. Unflinching.

And then, like dropping a blade onto the floor, he said it. "My plan... is to take over Vellore Kingdom."

Outside, thunder split the sky with a deep, rolling crack—but even that was nothing compared to what erupted inside the room.

Mouths fell open. Chaos broke out in whispers, disbelief lacing every voice. "What?!" "Impossible!" "Vellore?!" The name alone sent waves of dread through the air.

Leon raised a hand, silencing them with a simple gesture.

He took another step forward.

"The truth is... Vellore attacked us yesterday. You saw it. You bled for it. Now, I intend to return the favor."

His words were steady, unwavering. All eyes snapped to him again.

"You can’t mean—"

"My Lord—"

The voices rose, but Leon did not flinch. He turned, pacing slowly, letting the weight of his revelation settle.

"I know it sounds mad," he said calmly, "but I have a plan."

The crowd—nobles, soldiers, citizens—watched him with held breath. Despite their fear, they wanted him to go on.

Leon’s eyes narrowed, sharp like a blade drawn under moonlight.

"Right now, Vellore is involved in a war with Moonstone Kingdom. Their attention is divided. Their borders are exposed. While they focus forward... I will strike from behind. I’ll take their heart while their eyes are looking elsewhere."

He stopped, letting the words sink in.

"And for that... the world must believe Silver City is gone."

Confusion turned to realization, but the fear didn’t disappear. Whispers lingered like ghosts in the chamber.

Several officials stepped forward, pale as ash. "But Why must we fake our deaths?"

Leon didn’t blink. His voice was cold, calculating.

"Because I want them to believe Silver City was destroyed... that I perished along with it. Buried beneath stone and ash. And by the time they uncover the truth—that it was all a lie—I’ll already be inside their walls, slipping through their fingers like smoke... tearing the heart from their kingdom, conquering the capital of Vellore, and raising a new kingdom of my own."

He scanned their faces—some twisted in disbelief, others frozen in awe. Panic, fear, confusion—they danced in the crowd’s eyes. Yet something else had begun to form. A spark of belief. A seed of possibility.

Leon raised both hands slowly. His tone softened, just enough.

"I’m not asking you to fight. I won’t risk your lives in my war. All I need is your silence. Your trust. Your obedience. Nothing more. Just follow the plan."

For a moment, silence returned.

Then a voice shattered it.

A firm voice. Familiar. Loyal.

Black stepped forward, boots loud in the quiet chamber, and dropped to one knee.

"No, my lord," he said, clear and fierce. "With all due respect, if you go, I go."

Leon’s brow lifted. "Black—"

But the knight cut him off, his words fierce and unshakable. "I swore my blade to you. Not just when things are easy... but when they are hardest. If you want a kingdom—this loyal subordinate will bring it to your feet. You won’t need to move, my lord."