Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 60: The Moon Goddess Priestess

The Moon Goddess Priestess

In one smooth motion, Leon flipped backwards, boots crashing against shattered stone with silent intensity. He fell into a low crouch, body tensed like a stringed bow, the devastated plaza creaking under the impact of his mana. Dust billowed around him like a phantom’s breath.

His instincts came into shape before his mind did— —raw martial reflex. His aura wrapped around him tightly; a storm restrained on the brink of unleashing.

He looked over the open square.

"Who are you?" he snarled, his voice low and tinged with cold rage. "Why the devil did you bring me here?"

At the plaza’s center, there crouched a robed woman on ancient stone, her stance impossibly serene. Her dark robes gathered behind her, unmarred by wind or time. With unnerving serenity, she stood—dusting dust from her robes as if time were hers in abundance.

The air stilled. Too still.

Leon narrowed his gaze. Something in her wasn’t right. She was. off. Controlled, in a way that went against nature. He sensed the energy emanating off her—and then his heart thumped once hard.

Grandmaster Realm.

Even so, he didn’t budge.

He stood up, tension hidden beneath the calmness of a man who’d walked through death so many times, he no longer feared shadows.

Behind her, two other silhouettes stood quietly, wrapped in darkness. Their faces were completely concealed, no hint of aura escaping. But even with their quiet, something was amiss. Deadly. Like hunters poised for the signal.

Leon’s gaze wandered beyond them—and then locked up.

In the center of the destroyed city, under pale moonlight, there was a statue.

Enormous. Alien.

Twelve feet high, chiseled from unblemished marble that glowed softly in the dark. Her eyes were shut, her face peaceful, her hands folded in prayer. Her robes billowed in exquisite ripples, so delicately carved they appeared to be silk in a breeze, not stone carved by men.

Leon’s breath caught, not from the statue itself, but from what floated above it. A chakra—appear like divine relic—hanging in mid-air, glowing and slowly spinning. Its four curved blades glowed with pale blue-white light. Each quadrant had a missing key, empty spaces. But even so, incomplete, its power throbbed through the air like a heartbeat, heavy with raw, unstable mana.

Leon remained quiet for a moment; eyes locked on her. Then, his voice firm but low, he spoke, "Tell me—why did you bring me here? And what is that artifact?"

The robed woman finally spoke. Her voice was gentle. Too serene.

"Listen, gentleman," she said softly.

He didn’t budge.

"Relax gentleman, you don’t need to be so guarded."

Leon scoffed, the dry edge on his smirk. "Relax? After you invade my city, trap me in this bitch of a barrier, and ambush me?"

He pointed at the floating relic. "And That thing’s overflowing with mana that enough for destroying city. Yet, you want to tell me I shouldn’t be careful with you."

Her voice stayed steady, calm. "You don’t have to be so careful. We didn’t bring you here to hurt you—or anyone. Please, believe that."

She nodded toward her friends, then back to Leon. "And as for being brought here... We didn’t bring you here," Cynthia continued, her voice calm. "You came into the ruined city voluntarily. We only reacted to what we felt."

Leon’s eyes narrowed.

She continued, her voice calm. "My friend reacted because she felt something out of the ordinary—someone strong passing through a forbidden area. Whether you were dangerous or not, we couldn’t determine unless we acted."

Leon hesitated, furrowing his brow. Shit—she was right. He had sensed something odd in the devastated city and decided to pursue it. No one pulled him in. Still.

He released a cold, bitter laugh. "Is this your idea of a warm welcome?"

She nodded slightly, a flicker of something akin to regret in her tone. "I know how it seemed. Our arrival was. sudden and suspicious. But our intentions aren’t hostile."

Leon’s gaze narrowed. "What do you want from me? Why are you here?"

There was a moment’s hesitation. Then, quietly, she said, "We’re looking for someone."

"Who?"

She hesitated.

"That," she said finally, "I can’t tell you. Not yet."

Leon’s laugh was a snort of contempt. "So, I’m supposed to trust you? You slip into my city, hidden in shadows and half-fibs—and expect me to go along with it?"

His eyes narrowed; voice cut with steel. "Remove the hoods. If you’re seeking honesty, begin with your face."

The woman looked at him for a second, then nodded slightly. Her long fingers slid back the hood as she raised her hand slowly.

A waterfall of obsidian-black hair cascaded loose, catching the moon in a silken glow. Her skin was pale, radiant, unmarred by age or flaw. Her features were impossibly delicate—delicate brows, long lashes, soft lips pursed in a calm, knowing smile. But it was her eyes that stilled him.

Great. Quiet. Ancient.

Dark irises curled with a knowing older than years—melancholy and memory coiled into quiet. Leon’s stance faltered, just a little, his instincts failing before something more than loveliness. Something timelessness.

She didn’t entice him with her loveliness; he was lost in it and fell silent.

Behind her, the other two drew back their hoods as well.

They were twins, but not.

They were both the same flowing, waving green locks, cascading over their backs like green vines. The hair was aglow as if kissed by moonbeams. Their eyes, however, spoke a different tale. One’s eyes blazed like a polished emerald, hard and piercing, having an almost obstinate aura to her—her look a whispered command. The other’s eyes were gentler, shining softly like the initial light of dawn, filled with a warmth that could thaw even the hardest of hearts.

Where the first walked with the disciplined grace of a warrior, her presence is firm and measured, the other presence like a zephyr, fluid and elegant. Her every step floated, as if her feet hardly touched the ground.

Their bodies were both lithe and strong, with gentle curves that spoke of inner strength. They were warriors formed under the light of the moon, their bodies shaped with a divine beauty, strength veiled in the tender lines of their figures. There was intent in their very existence, an unmistakable harmony between power and grace.

Leon’s eyes lingered, entranced by their own special beauty, each in her own unique way.

The priestess cocked her head, a small smile twisting on her lips. "Do you believe us now, even a little?"

Leon blinked, shaking off the trance, and straightened. His voice came out more firm than before, but with the remains of a faint edge. "That. helps. But I still need answers."

The three of them shared an unspoken look, one not missed by Leon. The priestess stepped closer, her slow and deliberate motion. She gave a slight bow, her eyes never wavering from his.

My name is Cynthia," she said, her voice possessing the tranquility of power that came with having witnessed centuries. "I am a priestess of the Moon Goddess Selene." She hesitated for a moment, letting the seriousness of her statement sink in. "These are my guardians—Kyra, and Syra."

When Cynthia uttered the word "Selene," a severe knot seized Leon’s chest.

Moon Goddess Selene.

The name struck him like a star falling from the sky—abrupt, blinding. His mind dispersed, shards of ancient memories—half-forgotten rumors of a goddess who should not have existed.

His breath froze, and his eyes opened wide—not in fear, but recognition. Unbelief.

In Galvia, Selene existed barely as myth. A name so deep within centuries of quiet that few had ever heard her spoken. And those who had... relegated her to myth or bed time tale. A forgotten moon goddess, whose people had whispered themselves away into nothingness until all that was left was ruin.

But Leon knew better.

Not from books. Not from scholars.

But out of the wisdom imparted by the System, Leon had viewed glimpses—snatches of moonlight glowing on ruined altars, words whispered in extinct tongues, and the dark outlines of a nation that had dissolved from Galvia. Not chased, but escaped by will. They had glided into stillness, into concealment, as if holding something holy, something the world was no longer worthy to lay hands upon.

And now. here she stood.

This woman, in front of him, who asserted herself to be a priestess of that goddess.

Cynthia, and the two behind her—Kyra and Syra—saw the change. The change in position. The subtle relaxation of his shoulders. The flashes of doubt that chased themselves across his face like clouds over the moon. He was no longer prepared to fight. He was sitting like he was lost in thought.

Cynthia shared a look with her friends, then returned her gaze to Leon with a gentle, knowing smile.

"You know about our goddess," she said softly.

Leon took a slow breath. The weight of memory, myth, and mystery bore down on his chest.

"Yes..." he whispered, his voice low. "I do."

Her eyes flashed—not surprise, but something warm. Like hope at last stirring.

But Leon’s voice was unyielding. "Which is why I’m asking again: Who are you really, to assume such a title?"

Cynthia smiled with a subtle, knowing nod. "A reasonable question, noble sir."

Leon’s eyes narrowed. "From what I understand, Selene’s people exist in the shadows. Secreted in the world’s fringes. Ever watching, never showing themselves. So, what are you doing here? In my city?"

Her calm face changed—just a little. A flash of struggle behind her eyes. She looked away from the statue of Selene, eyes far away.

Then, at last, she sighed.

"You know our names," she said softly, "but we do not know yours. May I ask?"

Leon frowned, the question taken aback. But after a moment, he stood up straight.

"My name is Leon Moonwalker," he said softly, but firmly. "Duke of Silver City."

The air was still.

Cynthia’s eyes flashed—just a flicker, quickly covered. Behind her, the two guardians exchanged a glance, fleeting but unmistakable.

For the first time, a tone of reverence crept into Cynthia’s voice as her head bowed into a bow. "Then... you are the Lord Duke."

Kyra and Syra imitated her, their movements smooth and fluid, voices rising together. "Our respects, Lord Moonwalker."

But Leon cut short their movement with a sharp upraised hand. "Stop. I don’t like formality."

His tone was abrupt—firm, but not cruel. The force behind it wasn’t arrogance, but fatigue. The kind that resulted from someone who’d borne a title too long to care about reverence.

The three halted halfway through their bow, taken aback by the interruption. Then, as if sensing the change in his mood, they stood up slowly.

Cynthia watched him quietly for a moment, scanning his face—not for weakness, but for comprehension. Then she flowed into a graceful straight posture.

"As you desire, Lord Leon," she murmured.

"I’d like us to speak clearly," he said. "No more playing games. You’ve had time to craft your lies or truths. So now tell me—why do you come here?"

Cynthia’s smile diminished slightly, replaced by something. weightier. Pensive.

"If you’ll permit it, Lord Duke," she said with calm face, "Before I respond, there’s one thing I must ask you," she whispered. "Then I swear you’ll have your answers."

Leon’s eyes furrowed. "You’d rather have me answer first?"

She nodded and remained calm and unwavering. "One question only."

For an instant, silence lay between them. Suspicion glimmered in his eyes, wound tight as a spring—but no deceit in her expression. No concealed blade in her words. Only quiet. Honesty, maybe. Or something akin to it.

But he didn’t believe her.

But something in her presence—the calm, her aura—made him want to hear her out.

After a deep breath, Leon nodded slowly, unwillingly. "Fine. Ask me."

A soft smile crept back to her lips—soft, with an almost regretful look.

"Thank you," she whispered. "It means more than you can imagine."