Soulbound: Dual Cultivation-Chapter 390: Furious King Highmoor

Renly knelt before the king and delivered the message exactly as Lucas had instructed, every word careful and precise, yet the moment the number left his mouth the atmosphere inside the tent shattered beyond repair. The king’s eyes widened, not in shock alone but in something far colder, and before Renly could finish explaining how the information was obtained, the king’s aura surged violently.

"Twelve thousand," the king repeated in a low voice that trembled with disbelief, then suddenly roared, "Twelve thousand waiting for us."

The table beside him exploded into fragments as his fist came down, maps tearing, ink spilling, cups and instruments crashing to the ground in a storm of splintered wood and metal. Renly flinched but did not rise, remaining where he was as the king paced like a caged beast, overturning chairs, ripping banners from their poles, his breath heavy and uneven.

"Get out," the king snapped suddenly, pointing toward the tent entrance without even looking at Renly.

Renly hesitated for only a heartbeat. "Your Majesty, Lord Xavier also warned that this news may be meant to provoke doubt. He said you should not let it cloud your judgment."

The king’s head snapped around, his eyes blazing. "Out," he shouted, his voice cracking with fury and something dangerously close to despair.

Renly stood, bowed deeply, and left at once, the flap of the tent falling shut behind him as if sealing the king inside his own thoughts.

Outside, Henrietta had already sensed the disturbance. The violent fluctuation of aura, the sounds of destruction, the way soldiers nearby avoided even looking at the tent told her everything. She stepped forward anyway, pushing past the guards before they could stop her.

"My king," she called, her tone firm but concerned, "what has happened."

The tent flap was yanked open from the inside, the king standing there with disheveled robes and eyes that no longer carried warmth.

"Leave," he said sharply. "You are not to enter."

Henrietta frowned. "If there is danger, then I should be the first to know. We stand together in this war."

His jaw tightened. "I said leave."

Something in his voice made her pause. It was not authority alone. It was fear masked as command. She took a breath, softened her tone. "You do not have to shoulder this alone."

The king’s hands trembled at his sides, and for a moment it looked as though he might say something else, something honest, but the moment passed. His eyes hardened.

"No one enters this tent," he declared loudly enough for the guards to hear. "No one."

He turned away and disappeared back inside, the flap dropping once more, final and unforgiving.

Henrietta stood still for several seconds, her brows drawn together, unease creeping into her chest. She had seen the king angry before, even ruthless, but never like this. Never shaken.

Inside the tent, the king sank onto a broken chair, his breath finally leaving him in a ragged exhale. His hands would not stop shaking no matter how tightly he clenched them. Twelve thousand soldiers meant preparation. Preparation meant foreknowledge. Foreknowledge meant betrayal.

Someone close to me, he thought bitterly, pressing his trembling hand against his forehead.

His mind raced through faces he trusted, Then one name surfaced unbidden, heavy and suffocating.

The Empress.

His chest tightened painfully. She knows too much. She always has. And now Lucas, and Henrietta. They were strong, capable, loyal, yet loyalty was exactly what betrayal wore best.

If even one of them has turned, the king thought, his eyes darkening, then I am already surrounded by enemies wearing familiar faces.

He laughed quietly, the sound hollow and broken, and stared at the ruined maps scattered at his feet.

"In war," he whispered to the empty tent, "a king who cannot trust is already half dead."

The king remained alone in the wreckage of his tent long after the echoes of his outburst had faded, his gaze moving slowly from the shattered table to the torn maps on the ground, his thoughts circling the same realization of betrayal. Every possibility he examined ended the same way, with trust eroded and every command carrying the weight of suspicion, and the bleakness of it pressed so heavily on his chest that even breathing felt like an effort. No sudden maneuver could fix this. No clever feint could erase the fact that their movements were being anticipated. He understood then that whatever hand guided the enemy was close enough to hear his plans spoken in confidence, and that knowledge hollowed him from the inside.

"So this is what it comes to," he muttered to himself, his voice rough and unsteady, "marching forward while blind and smiling at traitors."

There was no solution that did not demand sacrifice, and no delay that would improve their odds. The longer they waited, the tighter the noose would draw, and hesitation now would only confirm to the unseen spy that their deception had worked. With a sharp breath, the king straightened, forcing composure back into his posture even as his thoughts remained fractured. A king could doubt in silence, but never in front of his army.

He stepped out of the tent, the light outside harsh against his eyes, and the soldiers nearby stiffened the moment they saw him. His expression was calm again, too calm, the stillness unsettled even veterans.

"Sound the advance," he said, his voice steady and carrying. "We continue marching at once."

A murmur rippled through the camp as orders were relayed, boots began to move, and banners were lifted once more. Henrietta approached him quickly, her steps light but urgent, her eyes searching his face for answers that were not there.

"My king," she said quietly, keeping her tone respectful yet concerned, "what happened inside. You were not yourself. If there is danger, I need to know."

He did not look at her at first. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where dust already rose from the army preparing to move.

"There is nothing you need to concern yourself with," he replied evenly.

Henrietta frowned. "You destroyed half your tent and dismissed everyone. That is not nothing."

At that, he finally turned to her, and for just a heartbeat she saw it, the fracture beneath the surface, the weight of betrayal gnawing at him. Then the wall came back up.

"Enough," he said coldly. "Ask me no more questions about this. Focus on your duty."

Henrietta stiffened, the words striking harder than she expected. "I have always done my duty," she answered, her voice firm, though hurt flickered briefly in her eyes. "To you and to Valerion."

"I know," the king replied, too quickly, and that alone told her everything she needed to know. His distrust was no longer selective. It was spreading.

He turned away before she could say anything else, raising his hand to signal the commanders. "We march now. No delays."

Henrietta watched him walk off, her jaw tightening as unease settled deep within her. Whatever Renly had told him had not merely angered him. It had shaken him to his core.

The army began to move once more, banners fluttering and formations reforming, the king rode at the front with a straight back and an unreadable expression, while inside his mind the same thought repeated endlessly, heavy as a curse.

If I cannot trust those closest to me, then this war is already lost.