Chapter 561: Chapter-561
Heena just shook her head, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. ’Damn idiot,’ she thought, though the corner of her lips remained slightly curled.
As they walked down the center aisle toward the Vanguard’s designated seating area near the front, Heena’s eyes swept the room.
It wasn’t entirely just men and their child-brides. Scattered around the outer edges of the Great Hall were a few female officials. They were noticeably older than the noble wives—mostly twenty-five to twenty-nine years old—and wore plain, unadorned official robes.
However, they were all seated at the very back of the hall. They were small-time officers—clerks, minor archivists, and low-level scribes. Nothing of actual power or consequence.
The System trotted beside Heena, looking at them in confusion. "Host, if women are allowed to be officials, why are they all at the bottom?"
’Because the law is an illusion,’ Heena explained coldly. ’Yes, women are legally allowed to take the civil service exams. But ninety-nine percent of families refuse to let their daughters study. They do not spend money to educate a girl whose only purpose is to marry into another family. So, the only ones who make it here are the absolute exceptions, and even then, the men make sure they never rise above the archives.’
She took her seat at the grand Vanguard table, her champagne-colored robes pooling beautifully around her, standing out like a blazing beacon in a room full of dark blues, greys, and traditional pinks.
Samuel sat right beside her, perfectly relaxed.
The trap was fully set. The civil court was gathered, the female officials were pushed to the back, and the child-brides sat silently beside their masters. All they were waiting for now was the Emperor, the tea, and the chaos.
Samuel had barely even adjusted his robes and settled comfortably onto his silk cushion when the vultures descended.
Before he could even reach for the jade teapot, a flock of noble wives, daughters, and a few overly curious civil officials casually drifted over to the Vanguard table. They hid their eager, prying eyes behind painted silk fans, giggling and offering exaggerated, overly polite greetings.
To the rest of the Imperial Court, Samuel was not a terrifying Southern mastermind. Right now, Samuel looked exactly like a giant, baked red potato tossed straight into a pit of starving rats.
Every single person in the hall wanted to poke him, peel him apart, and extract every ounce of gossip they could get their hands on.
Their logic was completely sound. If you wanted to know military secrets, political movements, or even just the daily routine of the Vanguard household, you were entirely out of luck. You could not pry a single word out of Heena’s mouth unless she explicitly wanted you to hear it. The terrifying Grandma Marcuset would sooner cut out your tongue than answer a personal question, and the grandfather was a master of laughing off interrogations with vague jokes.
The Marcuset family was an impenetrable iron fortress.
But Samuel? The loud, brightly dressed, cushion-complaining idiot from the South? He was the weakest link. To them, he was a massive, loose-lipped opportunity just begging to be exploited.
"Young Master Samuel, is it?" one of the Minister’s wives cooed, leaning in close, her eyes sparkling with malicious curiosity. "We have heard simply fascinating rumors about your arrival in the capital. Tell us, how is a gentleman from the gentle South adjusting to the... harshness of a military household?"
Her eyes darted briefly toward Heena, implying the ’harshness’ was sitting right next to him.
Another noblewoman quickly chimed in. "Yes! And how did you manage to win the heart of our fierce Vanguard Madam? We are all simply dying to know the secrets of your courtship!"
Heena did not intervene. She simply picked up her small porcelain teacup, took a slow, elegant sip, and watched the show.
Pop.
The glowing blue lion materialized under the table, resting its chin on its paws. "Look at them," the System whispered, shaking its head. "They think they are interrogating a village idiot. They have no idea they are poking a sleeping dragon."
Samuel didn’t disappoint. He immediately puffed out his chest, his eyes widening as if he were absolutely thrilled and deeply flattered to be the center of attention among such high-ranking society ladies.
"Oh, my dear Madams!" Samuel exclaimed, his voice loud enough to carry to the neighboring tables. "You are far too kind to ask! Adjusting to the Vanguard estate? It is an absolute nightmare! Do you know they don’t even use silk bedsheets? Only cotton! I have been moisturizing for three days straight just to recover!"
The noblewomen exchanged gleeful, patronizing looks. He is exactly as stupid as the rumors say, they thought.
"Is that so?" the Minister’s wife prodded smoothly, trying to dig deeper. "But what about the household affairs? Surely my lady shares her burdens with you? What does the Vanguard plan to do about the southern border disputes?"
Samuel let out a loud, dramatic sigh, waving his hand dismissively.
"Oh, borders and swords and all that boring stuff? My lady doesn’t let me touch any of it!" Samuel whined perfectly, leaning in to whisper loudly as if sharing a highly classified state secret. "Honestly, I think she just keeps me around because I know exactly how to brew the perfect cup of honey-peach tea. My secret is stirring it counter-clockwise! It completely changes the flavor profile!"
The women blinked, completely derailed. "Honey... peach tea?"
"Yes!" Samuel beamed, completely ignoring their political prying. "And let me tell you, finding a good tailor in this capital is harder than fighting a war! I went to three different shops today, and not a single one had the right shade of neon pink! Can you believe the absolute tragedy of it?"
For the next ten minutes, Samuel subjected the elite spies of the civil court to a relentless, mind-numbing avalanche of absolute nonsense.
He talked about fabric textures. He complained about the humidity ruining his hair. He went on a highly detailed tangent about the specific diet required to maintain his glowing complexion. He talked so much, and so loudly, that the noblewomen were physically backing away, their smiles frozen and their eyes glazing over in sheer exhaustion.
He gave them an ocean of words, but absolutely zero drops of real information.
Finally, unable to endure another second of Samuel’s passionate rant about the thread count of Southern embroidery, the women offered stiff, strained bows and practically fled back to their own tables.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Samuel let out a soft, satisfied exhale. He reached over, poured himself a cup of tea, and leaned back on his cushion.
Heena lowered her cup, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "Neon pink?" she murmured, her voice dripping with dry amusement.
Samuel turned to look at her, the foolish facade vanishing for a split second, replaced by that dangerous, dark smirk.
"What can I say, Wife?" he whispered, his dark eyes gleaming under the golden lantern light. "I give the people exactly what they want. A beautiful, empty-headed distraction."
"I think you enjoyed that quite a bit," Heena murmured, keeping her eyes fixed on the retreating backs of the noblewomen.
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