CHAPTER 316: GLORY TO KING LEON

Glory to King Leon

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."

There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt.

Johny stepped forward right after, unwavering.

"Me too, Lord. Don’t even try to stop me... or the blade that swore loyalty to you, and you alone."

The voice rang out fiercely, unwavering.

Then came a shift. A wave. One soldier after another stepped forward with purpose in their eyes.

"I will go!"

"We’ll follow you!"

"Don’t ask us to stay behind!"

"We’ll go."

"You won’t stand alone."

Their voices didn’t echo in fear—but in fire. The air itself began to buzz, alive with devotion. What started as scattered cries turned into a storm.

"If our Duke becomes King... we’ll flourish like never before!"

"Better you become king than any of those snakes! We’ll live better under your rule!"

"No one else is worthy!"

Then, one voice broke through—louder, prouder, a heart pouring through a single cry.

"GLORY TO WOULD-BE KING LEON!"

Like sparks catching dry grass, it spread.

"GLORY TO KING LEON!"

"GLORY TO KING LEON!"

Leon froze in place. His heart struck his chest like a drum, his golden eyes widening—not in fear, but something far more human. Emotion.

They believe in me... Even though I’ve made no move toward the throne, they already believe I’ve won the kingdom.

They’re chanting my name... shouting it like a promise.

They trust me this deeply?

He raised both hands, a silent gesture of calm. The shouting gradually faded, though the fire in their eyes did not.

"Listen—please! Listen!" His voice was steady, commanding, but it carried a raw edge beneath the surface.

The crowd quieted. Still burning. Still loyal. Still his.

Leon’s voice slowed, heavy with unspoken weight. "This will not be easy. We begin my plan now. Still, I don’t want to endanger all of you. Many here are not suited for battle... some are too young, others simply not ready." He let the silence hang there—real, honest, and painful.

"Now... it’s time we begin."

He turned toward the center dais and stepped forward again. "First, I will send all of you to Blackthorne City. Temporarily, you will live there in hiding, under the protection of Duchess Nova."

A stunned gasp rippled through the room like wind through dry leaves.

One woman, hesitant, raised her hand. "But... Blackthorne is ruled by Duchess Nova..."

Leon’s expression softened. A faint smile curved at the corner of his lips.

"Yes. She’s someone I trust. Just like I trust you all... and like I trust my wives. Because... she’s one of us and my wife."

More gasps. More disbelief. Even Black, always composed, raised a brow.

"Duchess Nova and Lord... together? Since when?"

Leon smiled—calm, steady, and entirely unbothered by the ripple of surprise that moved through the crowd. His voice, when he spoke, carried a quiet warmth that softened the edge of formality. "Back in the capital... while you were busy protecting me and others, she and I grew close." His gaze shifted toward the black-clad woman who had drawn their attention, his eyes tender as they met hers. "Yes. She and I share the bond of husband and wife." Then, turning to the gathered crowd, his tone deepened—not in volume, but in weight. "She will guard you without hesitation. In these times, with war closing in from all directions, know this—no harm will come to you under her watch."

The room was silent for a moment. Lips parted. Minds turning. But then came the nods. Acceptance.

Leon continued, his tone firm again. "Captain Black and my other officials, along with my wives, will escort half of you to Blackthorne City."

The moment hung still... until one voice from the crowd called out, strong and trembling. "But what about you, Lord? You don’t plan to come with us? Are you going to Vellore?"

Leon looked toward them, calm, assured. A smile touched his lips—quiet, but certain.

"I’ll join you all... after a few days. Directly in Blackthorne City."

"Why not now, my lord?" Ronan asked, his brow furrowed.

Leon closed his eyes briefly, breathing in deep, before opening them again with clarity.

"Because... for now, I’ll remain here to cultivate. I can feel it... I’m close. Very close to a breakthrough."

The chamber fell into stunned silence.

"What?!"

"Lord... close to Monarch Realm?" someone whispered, almost breathless.

Leon nodded once, golden eyes gleaming. "Yes. If I ascend... then we will no longer have to fear Vellore’s attack from the front. I will defend all of you myself."

And this time, they all cheered—not from surprise or desperation, but from something far more powerful. Joy. Pure and unfiltered. Their voices rose again, not as loud as before, but richer—soaked in the kind of hope that doesn’t just appear, but erupts when something real takes root. There he stood—Leon—not just their leader now, but something else. Something greater. A man standing at the edge of becoming legend.

For the next hour, he didn’t waver. Didn’t stumble. He walked them through every part of the plan with calm, ruthless clarity. Maps unfurled. Names whispered. Hidden tunnels beneath the bones of the city. Messages that only a few trusted souls could read. Disguises layered so thick, even loyal allies would blink twice before recognizing one of their own. Every piece laid down like stone in a path forward. The kind of planning that made people believe not just in survival—but in triumph. When it was done, when his voice finally fell silent, the room no longer felt like it held weary refugees. It buzzed like the heart of a revolution. They weren’t just survivors anymore. They were something more. Chosen. Crucial. Part of a storm waiting to break.

The chamber felt alive. The air vibrated with overlapping voices, excited murmurs tumbling into one another like sparks from flint. Tension had melted into fire. Their tiredness, for now, forgotten. Leon lifted his hand, and the noise folded away, retreating like a wave pulling back from the shore. Silence fell, not heavy—but expectant. He looked at them—really looked—at every soul who had once stared through him with hollow eyes, now lit from within.

A tired smile flickered across his lips—faint, almost boyish. "That’s all for now." His breath left him in a soft gust, shoulders easing. "And enough planning for today."

He stepped back a little, eyes moving across the crowd like a quiet blessing. These people had handed him everything. Their lives. Their hopes. Their children. "For now... Let’s eat something. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be long."

The words dropped like a warm cloth over the room. So simple. So necessary. Heads dipped in agreement. Slow smiles broke across faces—exhausted, yes, but steady. Real. For the first time, they weren’t just following orders. They were in this together. With him.

Leon turned, catching the eye of one of the waiting maids. "Call the children. And my wives."

She gave a graceful bow, her voice clear and unwavering. "At once, Lord." And then she was gone, swift and silent through the heavy doors.

Not long after, they opened again—this time not with tension, but with a rush of life. Laughter spilled in before anything else. Quick footsteps. High, bright voices. Children poured into the chamber like sunshine after storm. Some clutched sticky sweets in small fists. Others waved toys or chased one another in wild zigzags, wide-eyed and shrieking with joy. A few flung themselves into open arms without hesitation, their giggles cutting through the weight in the room like a blade.

"Mama! Papa! Look! Candy!"

"We played with the nice big sis!"

"Papa, I got sweet fruit!"

"Mama, the big sis with green hair told us stories!"

Mothers and fathers dropped where they stood, arms flung wide, catching their children with trembling hands, clutching them as if afraid they’d vanish again. Like this moment could crack from being too good, too sudden, too real.

"Oh my... you really liked that much candy, huh..."

Leon stood still, watching them—watching all of it. His expression unreadable. Quiet. Then his gaze shifted, drawn slowly to the grand doorway. There, standing tall in the warm glow, were eight women. Each of them radiant in her own way.

His wives stepped inside in a slow, elegant line. Rias. Mia. Lira. Tsubaki. Syra. Kyra. Cynthia. Aria. Women so stunning they could stop a room cold with a glance—but tonight, they brought something else. Something softer. Something needed. They moved with grace, but more than that—with purpose. A few gave nods to the crowd, others smiled, and none needed to say a word. They didn’t come to impress. They came to reassure.

Parents, still holding their children close, stood quickly and dipped into deep, grateful bows. "Thank you, my ladies... Thank you for caring for our children."

The women replied with nothing but gentle smiles. Calm. Maternal. Fierce in their silence. No words needed when the heart speaks loud enough.

Then came the smell. Rich. Heavy. Warm.

The doors opened again, and the maids returned, carrying large, steaming pots. The scent of roasted meat, thick stew, and spiced bread filled the air. Bellies growled. Mouths watered.

"Food is ready, my Lord... my Ladies. Please, come and eat."

Tables were pulled into place, chairs shuffled across stone. But many chose the old way—woven mats, plates balanced on knees, knees pressed to knees. Community over comfort. Familiarity over form.

Leon stepped forward, clearly intending to join them on the floor like everyone else. But a few rose to meet him, blocking his path with a quiet firmness.

"If you want to be our king, then sit like one, my lord," Ronan said, arms folded, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Leon let out a short laugh—quiet, but real. "Even if I become king... I’ll still just be your Leon. For my Silver City citizens."

Ronan nodded once. "Then let us enjoy this moment as family."

And they did.

Lantern light grew softer, warmer, as night bled in. Leon took his place at the head of the long table. His wives settled close beside him. All around them, people sat and ate together. Soldiers next to farmers. Maids next to guards. Parents spoon-fed children, their hands no longer trembling. Their voices no longer hushed.

Laughter echoed. Not the bitter kind. Not the strained kind. Real laughter. Honest, tired joy. For once, no one had to glance over their shoulder or whisper through fear. For once, the pain of everything they had lost didn’t crush the room.

Outside, rain pattered gently on rooftops. A steady rhythm. Soft. Cleansing.

Inside, there was only warmth. A hush in their bones. A rare, impossible peace.

When the last plates had been scraped clean, Leon stood. His voice was quiet, but carried. "We’ll leave the rest for tomorrow. Sleep well, all of you."

He turned toward the chambers, his steps slow, the soft brushing of silk and leather following behind. His wives walked with him. And five more followed close behind—Fey, Rui, Lena, Mira, and Mona. Maids, yes, but more than that. Trusted. Beautiful. Steady. Each one silent, eyes calm, steps sure.

Outside, the night had thickened. Shadows stretched long and deep across the world. But within these stone walls—within the bruised heart of this broken city—something still pulsed. Quiet but fierce. A single ember that refused to die.

And from that ember... a king would rise.

The rain didn’t stop. It never does, not really. But it washed, it whispered. It kept the night company.

Inside, the final night in the safehouse stretched on. A hush. A warmth. A promise.

Not the end. Only the beginning.

And just as that calm finally settled into every corner of the room, just as people began to breathe again— A voice shattered it.

Sharp. Bone-deep. Cracking the stillness like a whip through fog.

A scream—not wild, not panicked—but precise. Commanding. Too loud to be dismissed. Too sharp to be random.

"SILVER CITY CITIZENS, CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"

It didn’t just echo. It ripped.

Not just loud. Deafening. The kind of voice that came from someone used to being obeyed. It tore through the air like a blade—straight through walls, through rain, through the bones of every soul present.

Everything inside stopped.

Breath held. Heads turned. Utensils froze mid-air. Children’s laughter cut off like a string snapped in two. Plates half-raised. Conversations stilled. The world narrowed to silence.

Leon had nearly stepped into his chamber. But the moment that voice rang out, he stopped cold.

His back straightened. Not with fear. With purpose.

The soft creak of his boots echoed through the silence like a countdown.

Slowly, he turned. His golden eyes—so warm moments ago—sharpened. Hardened. All softness gone. Focus locked like a blade drawn clean under moonlight.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Peace had lasted only a breath longer than fate would allow.

And now, it was gone.