Chapter 961: He Might Lose His Head
Chapter 961 – He Might Lose His Head
For a moment, that decision sat warmly between them.
It felt good.
Too good.
Like a blanket thrown over a battlefield. Like holding hands while a storm gathered outside the window. Like convincing themselves that love and presence alone could soften the weight pressing on Lux’s shoulders.
Then Yue spoke.
"That is good help from all of you."
Her voice was calm.
Too calm.
Everyone turned to her.
Yue sat with her hands folded over her lap, posture elegant, face unreadable. She looked like moonlight carved into a woman, old enough to know that comfort was precious, but not always useful.
"But I don’t think that is what he needs now."
The warmth cracked.
Sira’s smile faded first.
Yue continued, "The king is trying to remove him, remember?"
No one spoke.
"He cannot slack off."
The words landed like a slap.
Not cruel.
That made it worse.
"He cannot afford to." Yue’s eyes moved across them, one by one. "If Lux slows down too much, if he rests at the wrong time, if he misses the wrong movement... he might lose his head."
Silence.
The living room suddenly felt colder.
Because harsh or not, Yue was right.
They all knew it.
Lux could not simply be hugged into safety. He could not be seduced away from danger or fed into peace or tucked into bed and expected to wake up in a kinder political reality.
King Kaelmor was moving.
The Upper Realm was moving.
Ancient debts were moving.
And Lux stood in the middle of all of it, not because he wanted a throne, but because everything dangerous kept recognizing him as a piece on the board.
Sira lowered her gaze.
Her fingers curled against her arm.
For once, she did not argue.
Naomi was the first to breathe through it.
"True," she said softly.
Her voice was steady, but her expression had changed. The human heiress was gone for a second. In her place sat a woman who understood boardrooms, power, inheritance, and people who smiled while trying to cut someone’s future apart.
"We need something that actually helps him."
Rava looked at her.
Naomi’s eyes sharpened. "Something that helps him make that elf surrender to him. Or at least listen."
Ely flinched slightly at the word surrender, but she did not object.
Naomi continued, gaze sweeping around the room. "And we need to search for other ancient beings who might still be trapped."
That made everyone still.
Other ancient beings.
Not just Yue.
Not just the first elf.
If Kaelmor’s power came from borrowed, stolen, or bound sources, then one prisoner would not be enough. A king like him would not rely on a single chain. Not if his family had inherited the art of turning debts into power.
Naomi’s eyes moved from one woman to another.
Hoping.
Asking.
Reminding.
They were not ordinary women.
Not one of them.
A human hotel heiress, yes, but tied to mortal wealth and modern influence. A kraken heiress. A dragon heiress. A high elf from a prestigious family. A Pride Lord’s daughter. A Sloth Lord’s daughter. A Gluttony daughter. A nine-tailed fox demi-human. An ancient dragon herself.
Most of them had been raised inside power.
Authority.
Money.
Old names.
Old houses.
Old blood.
Most of them had never known poor life, not truly. Not the way common mortals knew it. Not the way desperate demons knew it. Their families had history that stretched backward into shadows.
And shadows loved to hide monsters.
Naomi spoke again, quieter. "Our ancestors may have held more power than we know. They may have known beings we forgot. Or buried things we decided were inconvenient."
Gula hugged her plate closer, but she did not eat. "That is not wrong."
Sira lifted her gaze. "Pride archives are full of exaggerated glory. Half of it is probably true, which makes the other half irritating."
Lullaby yawned softly. "Sloth archives are messy."
Everyone looked at her.
She blinked.
"Too much sleep. Too much dust. Too many sealed rooms."
Gula murmured, "Gluttony archives have crumbs."
Sira stared.
Gula added, "And records."
"Comforting."
Ely, who had been silent, turned to Yue. "Do you know what powerful beings existed in your era?"
Yue looked at her.
Ely’s voice was careful, but urgent.
"I mean... you must have heard about something, right? Names. Rumors. History. Creatures powerful enough for Kaelmor to want them."
Yue did not answer immediately.
Her eyes shifted toward the window, though the curtains were closed and night pressed against the glass.
"Ancient times are different from now," she said at last.
No one interrupted.
"Some information was false even then. Some stories were born from fear. Some from pride. Some powerful beings were never heard about at all because they wanted it that way."
She lifted her tea cup but did not drink.
"And some lived in seclusion. They did not boast about their power. They did not gather followers. They did not open accounts on..." She paused, searching for the phrase.
Sira supplied, "Social media?"
Yue gave her a flat look. "Yes. That."
Gula snickered.
Yue continued, "There was no social media in the past. No internet. No mortal rumor feeds. No public rankings updated every hour by bored demons with too much confidence."
Sira muttered, "That sounds peaceful."
"It was also inconvenient."
Naomi nodded slowly. "Even nowadays, the truly wealthy often avoid the spotlight."
Yue looked at her.
Naomi continued, "The richest families rarely want their real holdings visible. They know attention brings taxes, enemies, leverage, kidnappings, lawsuits, media, politics. Trouble."
Yue nodded. "We were the same."
The room settled into thoughtful silence.
Ely leaned forward a little. "But have you heard something? Anything. Rumors. History. Names that might connect to our bloodlines."
Yue hummed.
Slow.
Thoughtful.
Then she lifted one hand and pointed.
At Fiera.
Fiera blinked. "Me?"
"Yes."
Fiera’s ears twitched. Her nine tails shifted behind her like a sudden breeze had touched them.
Yue studied her. "Fox clans were powerful in ancient times. As powerful as dragons in certain eras. Especially nine-tails."
Fiera’s posture changed.
Not prideful exactly.
More startled by the weight suddenly placed on her shoulders.
"My clan?"
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