Chapter 280: The Night Without Moons
The Night Without Moons
The warm welcome at the Moonwalker Estate had slowly faded into the gentle hush of evening. Deep within the grand halls, where golden chandeliers bathed the marble in soft flickers, Leon stood alone in his chamber. The weight of command rested on his shoulders as his long coat draped elegantly behind him, casting a dignified silhouette in the dim, amber glow.
The last of his wives had already retired to their rooms, the air now quiet, intimate. The estate slumbered under the illusion of peace. But Leon could not.
He stood motionless before the tall, arched window, his gaze sweeping across the cityscape. Tonight, however, Silver City offered no comfort. The heavens above it were cloaked in a thick curtain of brooding clouds. No soft silver light spilled through. The twin moons—ever-present guardians of the night—were absent.
There was no shimmer. No glow. Just an unsettling darkness stretching endlessly across the sky. A sky stripped of moonlight. Empty. Ominous.
Leon’s gaze lingered for a breath longer, then shifted sharply. Behind him, Ronan stood in respectful silence, his bearing straight as ever, yet his eyes betrayed something weightier—something he hadn’t spoken yet.
The atmosphere thickened as Leon finally spoke, his voice lowering into a commanding timbre, warm authority slipping into cold steel.
"Now..." The word hung in the air like a blade being drawn. His golden eyes glinted with intent as they locked onto the older man. "Tell me what you came to say."
Ronan stepped forward, offering a small bow before rising again, tension evident in his jaw.
"Yes, My Lord."
He raised his head fully, and the flicker in his gaze turned into solemn gravity.
"There’s something wrong in the city."
Leon didn’t flinch, but his brows arched slightly, the shift in his posture subtle yet alert. His golden eyes narrowed, sharpening like a blade unsheathed in silence.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his tone smooth but laced with an edge that cut deeper than any shout.
Ronan inhaled quietly, folding his gloved hands behind his back with a soldier’s grace. Then he began, voice steady but shadowed with unease.
"These past seven days... ever since His Majesty’s war decree was announced, every region has gone into full alert. Silver City, of course, followed. Our gates are now under constant watch. Patrols run day and night. Identification checks have tightened. We monitor everything—every merchant, every wagon, every border."
Leon gave a slow nod, his face unreadable in the dim light.
"That’s expected. But?"
"But..." Ronan’s voice dipped lower, his gaze now sharp and focused. "Over the last six days, a wave of outsiders has entered the city. Many of them carry the guise of scholars, merchants, or everyday laborers. Harmless enough on paper."
Leon crossed his arms loosely, watching him with steady calm.
"That doesn’t sound too unusual," he said. "Silver City thrives on trade and intellect. In wartime, travelers shift where the coin flows... and knowledge travels faster than blades."
"True," Ronan acknowledged, nodding once. "And yet, something doesn’t feel right. Their documents are spotless. Their stories—too neat. Too coordinated. Almost scripted. And one more thing..."
He paused, the next words spoken with quiet urgency.
"Most of them—regardless of origin—end up at the same place each night. A tavern in the lower ring."
Leon’s eyes flickered slightly, a faint ripple of tension tracing his jaw.
"Which one?"
"’The Iron Mug.’" Ronan’s voice was grim now. "It’s become their nightly gathering point."
Leon didn’t respond right away. A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken calculation. The dark sky beyond the glass seemed to press inward as if it too were listening.
"Continue."
"That wouldn’t raise concern alone," Ronan continued, his voice measured, eyes steady. "But two days ago, the city scouts noticed suspicious movement along the outskirts—particularly near the ruins beyond the eastern perimeter, and deeper toward the Silver Forest. Tracks of movement. Controlled. Coordinated. But by the time our patrols arrived... nothing remained."
Leon turned away from him, his boots echoing softly as he approached the tall arched window of his study. He stood there silently, gazing over Silver City as dusk settled in. Evening shadows had stretched long across the rooftops, but the sky—tonight—felt heavier than usual, like it was pressing down on the city itself.
"Any Tunnels?" he asked, voice low, thoughtful.
Ronan shook his head. "No freshly dug tunnel entrances confirmed within Silver City’s limits. But... I feel something, My Lord. Something that doesn’t sit right."
"You trust your gut?" Leon asked softly, eyes still locked on the distant edge of the city where the horizon darkened like spilled ink.
"I do," Ronan replied without pause. "My Lord, I feel something is coming. I don’t know what. But it isn’t good."
The room fell still. Neither man spoke, and for a long breath, silence reigned. Leon’s golden gaze remained fixed on the moonless sky. A sky that felt... unfamiliar. Empty. As if warning him of a coming storm.
His instincts stirred uneasily. That feeling—why did it seem so familiar?
Could it be Vellore? No... too subtle. Not his usual chaos. But if it was Vellore, and this tactic was new, then it could already be affecting other parts of the kingdom. He needed confirmation.
Closing his eyes, Leon activated the Lover’s Seal. A soft pulse echoed in his chest.
("Nova? Can you hear me?")
The telepathic link awakened, and a heartbeat later, her voice flowed into his mind—warm, breathy, and laced with teasing mischief.
("Yes, my love~ Loud and clear...")
Leon’s golden eyes flickered with amusement and quiet concern. "Why are you panting?"
A breathy laugh responded, light and alive. ("Heh. Sorry—just finished sword practice,") she admitted, her tone laced with sultry playfulness. ("Don’t worry. I’m not dying, just sweating.")
He exhaled softly through his nose, lips curling faintly. ("That explains the heavy breathing.")
("Mmm. And here I thought you’d be more curious,") she teased with a light purr. ("But I can feel it—your tone. You’re not calling to flirt. You’re thinking.")
He blinked once. She could read him even through the link. A small smile touched his lips. "Nova..."
Her voice gentled immediately. ("Alright, alright,") she said, her teasing hum softening into concern. ("So? What’s going on, Leon?")
He didn’t avoid the question.
("Tell me—have your scouts in Blackthorne seen anything odd the last six days? Strangers entering? Unusual traffic? Increased movement across the city?")
A short pause followed, then her voice returned, firmer now. ("No. Nothing like that. Our patrols have been tight. If someone tried something, we’d have caught it. My scouts haven’t reported anything out of place.")
Leon stood quietly, absorbing every word. The absence of reports elsewhere only solidified the truth—this threat was targeting his city alone.
("Leon... something happened in Silver City, didn’t it?") Nova asked, her tone sharpening with concern.
His golden gaze narrowed faintly. ("Just a hunch. No solid evidence yet. But let’s say... I believe a few insects have found their way into my garden. I plan to crush them before they crawl too deep.")
("Do you want me to come?") Her reply was swift—serious and prepared. No hesitation. It warmed him.
A faint smile touched his lips. ("No need. I’ll handle things here. Just keep your end secure.")
("Hmm. Alright. But Leon?")
("Yes?")
("Don’t brush off this feeling. Trust your instincts.")
("I always do.")
Another moment passed, quiet but thick with meaning.
("Then stay sharp, my love. And if it does get serious... don’t wait to call me.")
("I will. I promise.")
("Good,") she murmured, her voice dipping back into warmth. ("Now go do your warlord thing. I’ll take a hot bath and think of you.")
Leon let out a low, amused chuckle. ("Take care, Nova.")
("You too, husband.")
And with that, the telepathic connection faded.
The study was quiet again, the only sound the distant call of the evening wind brushing against the tall windows. Ronan remained where he stood, respectfully silent. He hadn’t heard a single word of the exchange but knew better than to interrupt.
Leon finally turned back to him, his expression once more composed.
"Ronan," he said evenly, "can you estimate how many of these suspicious individuals have entered—and their cultivation levels?"
Ronan’s eyes sharpened. "Yes, My Lord. Roughly sixty people. Ten of them are in the Master Realm. Three among those are high-tier Masters. The rest are novices, but not unskilled."
Leon’s jaw tensed. "Any in High Master Realm?"
"Three," Ronan confirmed grimly. "They’re well-disguised, but unmistakable once we observed their aura traces."
Leon’s gaze darkened. "Too many to be coincidence..."
He turned once again toward the window. The city now lay under the full cover of night. Lamps flickered along the streets, but their glow seemed distant. The sky loomed above in a shade of black too deep for comfort. Strangely, the twin moons—ever-present—remained hidden.
A chill crept under Leon’s skin. Something felt wrong. Off. Like the calm just before a lightning strike.
His voice dropped, barely more than a whisper.
"The sky feels heavier tonight," he muttered.
Ronan followed his gaze. The twilight had turned oppressive, and though the streets were lit, they looked dimmer than usual. Above them, no starlight shimmered. The moons were absent, as if watching from behind veils of shadow.
Leon exhaled long and slow, then turned back to his right hand.
"Go meet with Captain Black," he commanded. "Choose a unit. Take them. Arrest anyone suspicious—if they resist, subdue them. Bring them in. We don’t act without proof... but we will act."
Ronan bowed, his voice unwavering. "As you command."
Leon’s golden gaze remained fixed, but his voice dropped an octave—low, intense, edged with weight. "We’re standing on the edge of war, Ronan. One mistake... one moment of carelessness, and we won’t just lose land. We’ll lose lives."
"I understand, My Lord." Ronan replied steadily, but something flickered in his eyes—a brief, uneasy pause that didn’t go unnoticed.
Leon turned slightly, studying him with the quiet scrutiny of a man who’d seen battle, betrayal, and burden. "Speak."
Ronan inhaled, steadying himself before continuing. "However... under the King’s wartime decree, arrests of civilians after dusk are strictly prohibited—unless they’re caught in the act. Moving tonight could be interpreted as defiance. It may stir conflict... perhaps even backlash from the capital."
Leon’s jaw tensed, the muscles flexing beneath his skin. Silence stretched, thick and heavy.
He didn’t like it. The hesitation. The delay. Every second that passed was a chance for the enemy to vanish. But Ronan wasn’t wrong. A premature move could backfire—not just politically, but strategically. And right now, he couldn’t afford a scandal at court.
After a long, controlled breath, Leon spoke again, his words slow and deliberate. "Then wait for the first light of dawn. At sunrise, take the troops. Arrest and detain every suspect on your list. Bring them to the central court tomorrow—let them answer with their own words."
He turned his gaze away, back to the darkened window. "Instruct Captain Black to double patrols through the night. No one enters. No one leaves. This city is sealed until I say otherwise."
Ronan stood still for a breath longer, the weight of duty lingering in his posture. Then, with a respectful bow, he spoke calmly, "Very well, my Lord. I shall take my leave now. You’ve returned from a long journey—there’s no need for me to keep you any longer. Please... rest."
Leon didn’t turn to face him. He remained by the window, golden eyes fixed on the horizon, where the night stretched on without mercy. Not a single moonbeam pierced the darkness, as if the heavens themselves were cloaked in silence.
"Your concerns about the city matter, Ronan," Leon said quietly, voice low but certain. "Don’t ever diminish them."
A beat passed—still, but heavy with understanding.
Ronan gave a solemn nod, his voice softer now. "Thank you, my Lord. Then... I’ll take my leave. I’ll begin the task at once, just as you commanded."
He turned toward the door, steps composed, posture precise. But just before crossing the threshold, he paused—shoulders held in a way that betrayed a thought still clinging to him.
Leon’s voice cut through the silence, calm but commanding. "Something else?"
Ronan turned halfway, the shadows across his face softening. He opened his mouth as if to speak—but instead, a faint smile appeared, more thoughtful than dismissive.
"Nothing urgent, my Lord," he said gently. "Just a fleeting thought... one we’ll revisit another day."
Leon watched him closely, reading the man like a page worn by years of service and loyalty. If it had been vital, Ronan would have said it. But if he was leaving it for ’another day’—then it could wait.
With a silent nod, he dismissed him.
Ronan exited, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
And Leon was left in silence.
The room, dimly lit by flickering lantern light, felt colder than before. He stood alone, eyes drifting back to the window. What met him was not the peaceful stillness of night, but a curtain of black—a sky void of stars, void of moons, as if the heavens themselves had turned their gaze away.
Something pressed against his chest. An unease without shape. A pressure without source.
He couldn’t explain it. But he felt it.