Leon breathed shallowly, eyes dull. "Here’s the deal. Respond when I tell you to. Obey when commanded, and obey like the puppet you are now. Do your part, and... I don’t care how you live. Your pride, your ambition—keep it. As long as you take orders, I won’t chain anything else."
Natasha’s fingers clenched into shaking fists.
He moved around her, slow and deliberate, as if speaking to a minion instead of a Monarch-level foe who had attempted to murder him. "Just think of it this way: instead of receiving orders from your beloved kingdom, you receive them from me now. Simple."
Her face whipped around to him, incredulity written across her features. "You... you’re attempting to claim a kingdom for yourself."
Leon paused, then laughed—a rich, pleasant sound that made a shiver run down her spine. "Of course, dear."
He stood, running a hand through his hair as if he were talking about something as inconsequential as the weather. "You worked for the king, didn’t you? So you know exactly what a fool he is. With my growing popularity, influence, and power... I figured it was only a matter of time before he struck at me."
He looked over at her, the smile giving way to something icier. "So, I alredy start planing ahead but—."
Leon shifted slightly, looking up toward starry sky. "But you just made things easier. Really, I should thank you."
Natasha gazed at him in shock, her breath caught in throat. She had anticipated cruelty, perhaps even mastery—but not this. Not ambition so grand, talked of so casually.
Behind Leon, Nova remained quiet, immobile. Her arms were crossed, her green eyes inscrutable, though a trace of tension still lingered in her stance.
Natasha looked at Nova, seeking some hint of shocked and surprised on his face from her own.
There was a silent tense interval that stretched between them all.
Then, with a slow exhaled shakily —half resentment, half surrender—Then Natasha shoulders slumped. The final strands of resistance within her relaxed—not shattered, but stretched to the limit by reality.
She gazed down at her hands once more, then at the pain that was not there but felt like it, lodged deep inside her chest. No getting away from it. No resisting it. No negotiating with it.
Her fingers curled slightly. Her pride hurt.
Then, barely more than a whisper, she breathed the words her voice was soft. Hollow. "So this... is fate, then."
Leon did not react to her fractured sigh. He just observed.
Once more, a weary sigh escaped Natasha’s lips—dry and bitter. It wasn’t defeat. It was acceptance. She had lost. Totally. Totally. The war was done, and she was no longer hers.
And as if to remind her, the chains wrapped around her heart didn’t merely grow tighter—they pulsed, with a rhythm that matched her heartbeat. Each beat whispered the same truth: You belong to him now.
His smile came back—weak and impenetrable, as if he found the entire performance mildly diverting. But beneath the smile lay something much colder: satisfaction.
She had lost. He knew it. And now... so did she.
With a wave of his fingers, a tiny glow flashed through the air as he pulled out a pill of jade hue from his storage ring. The pill glowed softly with transparent golden lines inscribed on its face—a sure sign of alchemical perfection at the highest level.
"Here," he offered it out between two fingers. "A healing pill. It’ll get you back on your feet."
Natasha’s glance darted to the pill, then to him. Natasha fixed the pill with her gaze but didn’t go for it. Her eyes crept gradually from the softly glowing pill to the man holding it out. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously clenched her jaw. "And you expect me to think this isn’t poisoned?"
Leon’s smile was faint, his eyes serene. "If I wished you dead, I would not have taken the time to enslave you. That would’ve been. wasteful."
He spoke in a light, almost playful tone—but there was no denying the truth hidden beneath it.
She lingered a moment more... then nodded shallowly, slowly extending her hand. Her fingers touched his palm as she accepted the pill, her hand still shaking from fatigue and the ongoing ache in her chest. "A Monarch Realm cultivator... brought low to a puppet for a Grandmaster."
She gave a dry, humorless laugh. "That’s the sort of irony even I hadn’t anticipated."
Leon remained silent, simply looking at her with amusement and detachment.
Then Natasha with the pill between the tips of her fingers, she studied it carefully. It glowed dimly, its power tangible—rich, powerful, almost abnormally sophisticated.
"This pill..." she whispered. "This is not something from the kingdoms and not some Empire."
Leon smiled weakly. "Let’s just say my sources are... unusual."
The pill, of course, was from the system—designed through top-level alchemy beyond anyone in this world. Its impact wasn’t just medicinal—transformational, speeding up internal regeneration, aligning meridians, and refilling vitality at a pace most Monarch-level cultivators would die for to attain.
Natasha put the pill into her mouth.
The instant it touched her tongue, heat coursed through her veins like golden flames.
Heat radiated across her chest in liquid starlight flowing through her meridians. The bruises on her ribs disappeared, the internal trauma to her organs mending. Torn muscle and bruised skin throbbed, tensed, and healed. Even the hairline cracks within her bones closed with a gentle, soothing hum. A gentle light arose under her skin as the pill’s effects flowed through her like molten sun.
She breathed quietly, eyes wide. "The strength... this is more than high-quality... it’s—"
She caught herself. No use asking. No use wishing. Because when she glanced at his smiling face know he didnt respond.
So she stood slowly—legs still shaky, but the strength coming back fast. In seconds, her stance was again upright, proud again.
But something had shifted.
The fire in her eyes hadn’t come back. Not yet.
Natasha glanced from Leon... to Nova... and back. And in spite of herself, she let out a little, mirthless laugh.
"Thank you, Duke Leon. for your kindness," she said, her voice laced with quiet sarcasm. "How chivalrous of you to cure your new puppet."
Leon smiled half-way. "You’re welcome. I prefer my tools operational.
Nova did not stir, her face inscrutable as she watched Natasha’s every change in position, as if waiting for a venomous beast that hadn’t made up its mind to strike.
Then Leon’s face hardened. He moved forward, the atmosphere shifting once again.
"So when you heal then," he said, narrowing his eyes just slightly, "why don’t we begin with something easy? Tell me which kingdom you belong to. And who you truly are."
The air was motionless.
Natasha blinked. Her lips opened, and then nothing came out. Instinct fought with reason. Duty competed with survival.
And then it hit her—hard and fast. The chains encasing her heart tightened, horribly constricting for an instant, like a cruel reminder.
A stinging pulse hit her chest like a bolt of lightning.
She stumbled, her teeth clenched as her hand rushed to her chest. It didn’t implode her like previously—but the message was unmistakable. The seal would not abide by silence.
She took a breath—tortured, reluctant.
"I..." She glanced at Leon once more. Bitten her lip. Then slowly released air through her nostrils.
"...Vellore," she said at last, her voice husky. "I am from the Vellore Kingdom."