Chapter 427: The Weight of Loyalty
The Weight of Loyalty
Leon’s jaw clenched, a barely perceptible crease of tension flashing through his face. His aura surged with it—far from raging or reckless, but heavy and controlled, the kind of barely restrained pressure that made the air around him grow thick. It weighed over the soldiers like the crush of a storm cloud, black and smothering, threatening thunder but withholding the blow.
"Your orders, sir," he replied finally. His voice did not require loudness. It cut harder than the loudest cry, gentle but with an edge, such as steel gliding over glass. Every word flowed into the quiet, leaving no room for air. "So why? Why disobey me?"
No one was brave enough to speak. The silence that ensued was total, thunderous in its oppression, as though even the air hesitated to breathe.
Not a man moved in his seat. No breath was lifted high enough to break the crushing silence. As if the night itself had shivered in terror, the rustling of grass ceased, the wind’s whisper chopped off under the darkness of his words.
The quiet dragged on—first one minute, then another. Every beat of the heart seemed to fall harder, louder, until it was pounding in the chest like a drum that no one wanted to listen to. The air had weight, pressing down on them all.
Leon’s golden eyes narrowed, twin bars of flame flashing in the shadows. Under the placid mask on his face, irritation chafed, cold and merciless. He had given them a reprieve—a long one, more clemency than they had earned. And still, not a peep came. Not a response.
His patience broke.
"Tell me," he said, every word like steel against stone, "or do you intend to keep me waiting even longer? Shall I remain here all night as you scramble to make up excuses?"
The air had become thick, the quiet tense as a drawn bow. His voice had lashed out like a whip, and yet no one would make a move. Eyes darted uncertainly, but their bodies remained fixed, not wanting to meet the force of his stare.
Finally, after what had seemed like forever, Captain Black moved. He advanced, boots scuffling against gravel in slow, measured cadence. He stiffened his shoulders in an attempt to seem stable, but the slight shake in his voice gave him away.
"My... my lord," Black replied, bowing his head respectfully, "we followed you because we could not stand the idea of your going alone into the enemy’s country. Not when peril follows you every step of the way."
The silence shattered like glass.
Ronan and Johny exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them before each gave a resolute nod. Their voices spoke over one another, firm and assured.
"He’s right," Ronan said, his face unyielding.
"Yes," Johny echoed, his voice steady but firm. "If we let you go, we’d be bad soldiers. That’s why we followed."
Leon’s golden eyes darted between them, cutting and unremitting. His jaw was still clenched, the unspoken accusation in his silence more powerful than any could be.
Then, a gentler but unyielding voice crept into the tension, cutting cleanly through the night.
"They’re all right," Nova said, her steady voice infused with quiet flame. She moved forward, the soft light of her green eyes illuminating the silver of the moonlight. "And before you say I’m your wife, keep this in mind—I am a fighter first, above all else. Did you really think I’d stay behind and let you go into harm’s way by yourself?" She closed the distance between them, her eyes fixed on his. "No, Leon.
I go with you."
Her voice was full of certainty. Not begging, not apologizing—just stating what she knew.
Leon looked at her, his golden eyes expressionless, their shine like a closed door that no one could ever open. He didn’t say anything.
The burden of his silence weighed upon the air until it was as heavy as a man’s chest. Captain Black misconstrued it for the calm before the tempest, for fury restrained by will. His jaw clenched, a rivulet of sweat trickling down the side of his face as he steeled himself for the inevitable.
Then, with a crash, he fell to one knee, the sound of his impact sudden against the dirt road. Dust swirled around his fist as it hit the ground. His head was bowed low.
"My lord," he replied, his tone firm though his shoulders shuddered, "I did disobey your order. I will accept punishment. If you will not forgive my rebellion, then take my life here and now. That is the only just sentence."
The sound of his kneel echoed down the road like a challenge, an echo that would not be silenced.
Ronan’s breathing caught, and then he stumbled forward, dropping into a low bow until his forehead almost touched the ground. "If he kneels, then I kneel. Take my life, if that is what must be done. But I will never regret to follow you."
Johny’s knees hit the ground too, his voice firm although his eyes flamed with rebellion. "Take ours, or let us follow. Those are the only roads, my lord." They hung in the air like steel. The other men around him hesitated for only a heartbeat before one after another they dropped down beside him. Boots dug into the dirt, armor creaked, and before long a row of men bent low, bodies submitting to an oath made without sound. Even the fresh faces—those Leon had hardly had time to recall, strangers selected for this night—dropped to do the same.
They pushed their heads forward, their devotion tugged tight into the ground at his feet, as if chiseled there by the burden of their decision.
Leon gazed at them, golden eyes going wide in shock. His chest constricted, not with anger but with something much denser.
"What the fuck..." he cursed, the words escaping before he could swallow them down. His mind ran round and round, slicing and unrelenting. Do they all love me that much? Enough to sacrifice their lives so readily?
For the first time that evening, a crack rent through his iron calm. No roar, no fury—just a naked ball of pride and frustration churning in his belly, knotted with an exasperation so intense that it left him trembling.
He pulled a hand across his face, fingers hard into his forehead as though he could rub away the ridiculousness of it. His breathing hissed between his teeth, low and harsh. Then he coughed once, curt and controlled, restoring his calm.
"Enough," Leon said at last. His voice had lost its hardness, but the weight of command still encircled each syllable. "Get up. All of you."
Silence weighed down like a thick fog. No one stirred. Their foreheads remained bowed, knees planted deep in the ground as if the ground itself was pinning them there.
Leon’s tolerance grew thin. His golden eyes contracted, their light bright and deadly. "I said—stand."
The air vibrated with the sound of his voice, but reluctance still bound them where they stood.
He took a deep breath, then expelled it gradually, a sigh tinged with suppressed anger. "If you disobeyed me once, I’ll forgive you. But this is the last time. Cross me again, and I won’t be so lenient. Now... stand."
His words this time cut into their stubbornness like a knife.
They raised themselves up, each one of them slow and uncertain, dust clinging to their knees, their eyes rising just high enough to see him—relief dancing there, but still wary, as if they were testing the waters to see if his anger had really passed.
Soft feet drew near to him. Nova drew nearer, boots whispering on the ground until she was nearly at his elbow. Her head leaned slightly, lips in the very smallest hint of a smile, though her gaze remained wary.
Leon shifted toward her, tension still mapped across his face. He breathed out through his nose, his tone going low, bordering on intimate. "You... my wifey, we’ll talk later. I’ll deal with you once I clear this mess."
The words, said so carelessly but with such gravity, hit Nova harder than she anticipated. Her heart jerked, racing too quickly for her to calm. A burning wave of guilt mixed with the flush developing in her chest—she disobeyed him, she knew it, and yet he restrained himself from wrath.
All she could manage was to drop her lashes, concentrate on steadying her breath, and silently endure the censure he had passed upon them.
Leon’s look swept over them again, slow and relentless. The flame of their devotion was burning so hot it nearly seared to behold. He released a breath, shook his head, the slightest flick at the edge of his mouth revealing something trapped between cynical resignation and reluctant affection.
"I believe that your intentions are good," he replied finally, his voice calm and steady. "I believe you are afraid. Very well. I’ll let that go—and permit you to accompany me."
The air changed. Shock ran through the crowd like a blast of cold wind. Eyes flashed between faces, faces stretched wide with surprise. None of them had anticipated this. They had prepared themselves for punishment, even banishment. But permission—mercy—was the very last thing they had expected to hear.
Leon’s golden eyes narrowed, a piercing glint of warning slicing through the silence. "But mark this—next time I issue an order, you obey. Loyalty without obedience amounts to nothing."
The soldiers stiffened at once, their backs snapping straight as their voices rose in unison, firm and confident. "Yes, my lord!"
Only then did Leon let his breath slip free, the tension easing from his shoulders with that quiet exhale. The edge of his frustration melted away, leaving behind a cool steadiness. "Good," he said at last, his tone calmer, decisive. "That’s enough. We’ll find an inn and rest. We’ve walked long enough tonight."
He glanced around at Natsha, his voice dropping to something softer, intended only for her. "Natsha. Lead on."
She nodded in acceptance, a light bow that sent the tip of her bobbed black hair flying against her cheek. Her lips curled slightly, firm and unyielding. "Yes, my lord. Here—the Sunrise Village is before us."
Leon let out a low, nearly imperceptible sound of acknowledgment and began moving forward, each step measured, the burden of the evening’s tension on his shoulders. Nova fell into stride alongside him, presence steady but concealing the frantic pounding of her heart, a pulse she couldn’t slow despite trying to match his steps. Natsha preceded them ahead, leading the way through the deserted lanes towards the village, movement confident, a silent assurance of guidance.
Behind them, the troops had formed up, their pace ordered and disciplined. No longer skulking in the shadows, they walked now in the open, the subtle crunch of earth beneath their feet echoing in the quiet night. There was a silent regard in their pace, the sort that resulted from having seen the storm of loyalty and rebellion Leon had just endured. As they walked under the wooden gateway of Sunrise Village, Leon’s eyes rose to the twin moons suspended in the ink-dark heavens. Their silver light poured over the rooftops to illuminate modest homes with their silvery softness. The houses were plain, strong enough to endure, their chimneys exhaling thin plumes of smoke that curled indolently into the darkness. Lanterns danced down the dirt streets, their warm amber light painting the village small, delicate, and... peaceful.
The antithesis to the still-present tension gripping his chest, the feel of orders issued and defied. Leon exhaled a slow, measured breath, the sound nearly lost to the night around him. His words were a soft murmur, barely more than a whisper, but beneath them pulsed a current of hunger, of anticipation—and something far darker, sharper, that hinted at danger. His lips curved ever so slightly, almost a smirk, as his gaze hardened, eyes glinting with a fire that refused to be contained. "...I’ve let them follow.
Now let’s see what comes of it."
With that, he walked deeper into Sunrise Village. His shadows no longer crept behind him but moved out freely, stretching in long, dark lines that followed along the roads, identifying him, tailing him, bearing the threat of what was to follow.