Supreme Spouse System.

From Hell, Watch Me Rise

Together, they stepped into formation—three surrounding one.

Leon stood firm, sword lowered but ready, his golden eyes locked onto the lone masked figure before him. To his right, Captain Black's blade gleamed, still wet with blood. On the other side, Ronan held his axe in a tight grip, posture tense, gaze sharp and unwavering.

The masked man said nothing.

No threats. No curses.

Only silence... thick and suffocating, as if his rage was a living thing—coiled behind his mask like black smoke waiting to ignite.

This was it.

The final confrontation.

Only four men remained.

Leon. Ronan. Black.

And the masked leader—the one who had lit the fires of this chaos—now standing alone, surrounded by the storm he'd summoned.

Just when the air brimmed with a silence too heavy to hold, a strange sound broke through it.

A soft chuckle.

At first, it was high-pitched, almost childish.

Then it rose, steadily—growing louder, deeper, sharper.

The masked man threw back his head and laughed—a wild, guttural howl that echoed across the shattered battlefield. His body trembled with the force of it, hand clutching his stomach as if the madness itself amused him.

"Haa… haa… HAAHAHAHA!" His voice cracked, laced with a blend of hysteria and something darker.

Leon narrowed his eyes, the golden glint in them hardening.

Black's brows drew close, suspicious.

Ronan took half a step forward, his hand subtly brushing the hilt of his dagger.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Ronan muttered under his breath, "…What is wrong with this man?"

Leon didn't look away from the figure ahead. "Why are you laughing?" he asked, voice low and cold. "Have you lost your mind? All your soldiers are dead. You're standing here alone. Does death amuse you now?"

But the man only laughed harder.

"HAAHAHA! AHAHAHA! —Hahh…"

Black took a sharp step forward, voice cutting through. "Answer the Duke's question. Or has madness taken your ears as well?"

Gradually, the laughter began to fade. He was still shaking, breath heavy, his gloved fingers wiping away imaginary tears beneath the mask. "Ahh… sorry," he breathed out, chest rising and falling. "I just thought of something funny."

Ronan scowled. "Funny? At a time like this? What, you trying to imagine how you'll look when we cut you down?"

The masked figure tilted his head, chuckling once more. "A decent joke, I'll admit… but no. I just know something you don't." He grinned behind the cloth. "You still haven't figured it out, have you?"

Leon's voice turned sharper. "…Figured out what?"

The man tapped the side of his mask with one finger, mockingly thoughtful. "In the time you spent killing my men… your five minutes have already passed."

"…What?" Black's body stiffened.

Raising a finger, the man began to count lazily in the air. "Hmm… give or take, two… maybe three minutes left now."

Both Ronan and Black tensed, realization creeping into their expressions.

Leon's voice cut through the building tension. "And what about you? Planning to die with us?"

A slow chuckle. "Oh, Duke Leon," he replied with a sigh, as if reminiscing. "The moment I took this mission, I accepted I might not walk away." He shrugged, an eerie calm in his posture. "But I don't need to live… as long as you die with me."

Leon's jaw clenched. "Do you seriously believe we'd stay here and let that happen? We can leave whenever we want."

"Oh?" the man whispered, amused. His voice dipped again into laughter—quiet, but charged with malice. He raised his hand with purpose.

In an instant, Leon shifted his stance. Ronan and Black mirrored the motion, weapons rising like reflex.

But the masked man didn't strike.

Instead, he reached up to his face.

His fingers grasped the black cloth—and with a slow, almost reverent motion, he peeled the mask away.

The fabric slipped down like a curtain falling after a performance.

And the sight beneath it froze all three men in place.

A face emerged—middle-aged, regal, unmistakably noble. His skin was smooth, untouched by time. Gray hair curled lightly above a proud jaw. But it was his eyes—black, deep, commanding—that made their breath still.

Each of them stood frozen… not in fear, but in recognition.

Ronan's eyes widened in disbelief. Black drew a sharp, instinctive breath.

Leon's golden gaze remained fixed, unmoving—yet something cold crawled down his spine. His face darkened, not with anger… but shock.

That face… they knew it.

"…You—" Black's voice cracked as he tried to speak.

Leon said it aloud, his tone low and steady. "General… Dire." He took a breath that barely steadied him. "You're… one of Vellore Kingdom's strongest generals. General Dire."

The man smiled, calm and unsettling. "I'm honored my old friends still remember me."

Leon's jaw tensed.

"…Ten years ago," Dire continued, voice calm and venom-laced, "I was humiliated. Defeated. Stripped of my honor by a boy barely out of training—a new Duke whose name had yet to spread beyond the capital." His lips curled with bitterness. "That defeat ruined me."

Leon's reply was unwavering. "Then it's good you remember it clearly. Because that same Duke will defeat you again—today."

For a fleeting second, Dire's confident smile flickered… but he regained it quickly. "Ahh… you always had that confidence, didn't you?"

Black stepped forward slowly, piecing things together. "So you were a general of Vellore… That means… Vellore didn't strike from the eastern front. They came from the southern border, didn't they?"

"Bingo," Dire replied with a smirk.

Leon's heart sank, even as his face showed nothing.

"By the way, the eastern border of Moonstone Kingdom…" Dire said with cruel smoothness, "It has already fallen. Even if you survive… what's left to save?"

"…What?" Ronan's voice cracked, his breath hitching.

Black's hands balled into fists. "You bastard… you all planned this from the start."

Dire's smile deepened, like someone who didn't feel the need to answer. Instead, he raised his gaze to the dark sky, lifting two fingers.

"Two minutes left. Why not spend them wisely? Reflect. Pray. Don't waste it all on kingdom politics."

Leon's fist clenched as the weight of those words crashed into him. His golden eyes narrowed with cold clarity.

"You… were only here to stall us. So we wouldn't attack. So we'd stay put and leave the city undefended."

"Correct," Dire nodded, expression calm. "Ruthless efficiency. Now, you have less than two minutes left."

Leon turned with sharp purpose toward his men. "Captain Black. Ronan. Leave Silver City. Now. Run at full speed. Don't look back. That's an order."

Both men froze, stunned.

"What… my lord?" Black asked, uncertainty thick in his voice.

"You heard me." Leon's voice was calm, but there was thunder rumbling beneath. "Go."

"No! We can't leave you!" Ronan took a step forward, fists clenched. "We'll hold him back. You go—!"

Leon looked at both of them. Something deep inside him ached. The loyalty in their eyes was unquestionable. These men would die without hesitation for him. Still, his voice remained steady, though firm.

"I'm not asking you."

"But—" Black tried to protest, but Leon didn't let him.

"This is an order," Leon growled, voice firm and final. "Go."

A heavy silence fell. For a long moment, no one moved.

Ronan looked at him as if the words had struck him in the chest.

Black's frown deepened. "No, my Lord. Not this time. I don't care if it's an order—I'm not going anywhere without you."

Ronan stepped beside him without hesitation, voice strong and unwavering. "Me either."

Leon's eyes widened slightly. It was the first time either of them had defied him. But this wasn't disobedience born of pride—it was something deeper. Loyalty. Brotherhood. A love forged through battle and time.

He looked away, a quiet breath escaping his lips. His voice softened slightly, though his face remained unreadable.

"…Captain Black. Ronan. I appreciate your loyalty. Your dedication. But this isn't a game."

"But—"

Leon's golden eyes blazed with fierce resolve. "I said go. I have a way to escape the city."

Black's expression twisted with disbelief. "With less than a minute and a half left? How?"

Leon met his gaze head-on, unshaken. "I said I have a way."

His voice dropped then—low, heavy, filled with something undeniable.

"If you've ever seen me as your Lord... then go."

The words landed like thunder. Even Ronan flinched. Never before had Leon spoken to them like this—not with such weight. Not even once.

Black clenched his jaw, took in a long breath, then nodded. "Then promise us, Lord. Promise you'll get out in time."

Leon responded with a firm, cutting nod. "I will."

Their eyes locked one last time—brief but deep. Then the two men turned, sprinting toward the smoky exit with everything they had.

Their silhouettes disappeared into the fading chaos.

From behind, Dire gave a low, almost admiring chuckle.

"Well… we're enemies, but as generals, my respect for you grows, Duke Leon Moonwalker."

A smile crept across his face—strangely genuine.

But when he turned back, that look sharpened into something deadly.

"But this ends here. You die with me now. Your men were never my targets. You… you are the one I came for."

Leon said nothing. He stood still as stone, the fading firelight casting sharp shadows over his features. Slowly, he lifted his head, golden eyes flickering like dying embers.

He reached out silently through the telepathic link, his thoughts calm but urgent.

[Are all of you out of Silver City?]

The soft voices of his wives echoed in his mind, all answering at once.

[Yes.]

That was all he needed.

He cut the connection immediately—no hesitation. He couldn't afford to let them hear the fear laced in his heartbeat… or the danger pressing down on him like a storm. If they felt it—if they sensed even a sliver of it—they might try to return.

And that was something he wouldn't allow.

Not now. Not ever.

Dire's voice shattered the silence. "One minute left, Duke. You're really going to waste it standing there in silence?"

Leon slowly raised his head.

Those golden eyes—once alive with warmth—had turned cold as winter steel.

And then it appeared.

That smirk.

Calm, effortless… laced with danger.

The same smirk Dire had seen ten years ago—the smile of a man who defied death itself.

Dire's grin faltered.

"Oh? So… you've accepted death?" he asked, voice cautious now.

Leon tilted his head slightly, that smirk deepening.

"Who said I'm going to die?"

Dire blinked. "What?"

Leon's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with something far beyond defiance. "You think I'd die now? I didn't come to this world, survive a year clawing through blood and fire, build a harem, plan how to conquer this damned world and dream of who I'm adding next to my bed... just to die here?"

His voice dropped, laced with something dark and undeniable. "No. This story's just begun."

Dire stared at him like he'd gone mad, eyes twitching. "Losing your mind at the end, Duke?"

Leon chuckled low, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. "Oh really?" His smile stretched wider, sharp as a blade. "Then from hell, watch me rise. I'll dominate this world—and you'll be nothing but ashes."

"…Bold," Dire muttered, his expression curling into one of disgust. "It's too late. You'll never outrun the blast now. Silver City will fall. You'll—"

"Oh really?" Leon cut in again, eyes closing calmly.

And then… something began to stir.

A soft golden shimmer bloomed at the center of his chest—just beneath the solid curve of his muscle. It pulsed once. Then again. A heartbeat of power, slow and steady… until it began to glow brighter. And brighter. With every breath, every beat, it surged.

A force long buried.

Now awakened.

Dire stepped back, the first crack in his composure showing.

"…What… is that?"

Leon opened his eyes.

Golden. Blazing. Unbreakable.

And then—he smiled.