Chapter 630: Chapter-630
"Oh, don’t worry, Grandpa," Heena smiled brightly, standing up from her chair despite the throbbing ache in her head. "The capital is going to explode for a completely different reason. I am getting married in three days."
The room fell dead silent.
The grandmother paused mid-sip. The grandfather’s jaw practically hit the floor.
"YOU ARE WHAT?!" the old Marquis roared, his blood pressure instantly skyrocketing back to dangerous levels.
The teacup in the grandmother’s hand violently rattled against its saucer. The grandfather gripped the edge of the wooden table so hard the thick mahogany audibly cracked under his fingers.
"Married?!" the grandfather repeated, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "In three days?! Seera, Vanguard weddings take six months of preparation! The imperial decrees, the guest lists, the dowry negotiations—"
"Samuel is handling it," Heena interrupted calmly, brushing a stray speck of dust from her dark robes. "He returned from the mountain temple this morning. He is currently tearing the capital apart to secure the auspicious dates, the ceremonial silks, and the banquet halls."
The grandfather looked like he was about to have an actual medical emergency. "That crazy scholar rode back already?! And he agreed to this absolute madness?!"
The grandmother didn’t yell. She slowly set her tea down, her sharp, experienced eyes locking onto Heena’s pale face. She saw the heavy powder, the forced energy, and the quiet, terrifying urgency hiding behind Heena’s sociopathic calmness.
"Three days," the grandmother mused softly, the shock fading into a heavy, profound sorrow. "You are rushing this because you don’t think you have the time to wait for a proper six-month engagement, do you, child?"
Heena didn’t look away, nor did she lie. She offered her grandmother a small, incredibly genuine smile that held far too much weight for a twenty-two-year-old. "I just don’t see the point in wasting time, Grandma. Samuel wants it. I want it. Why let the civil court dictate our happiness with their endless bureaucratic traditions?"
The grandfather’s rage instantly evaporated. It was replaced by a suffocating, protective panic. He looked between his wife and his granddaughter, the unspoken truth of Heena’s failing health suddenly hanging heavy in the room. He didn’t know the exact diagnosis of the blood clot, but he knew his granddaughter well enough to recognize a general preparing for their final, glorious stand.
He swallowed hard, his eyes growing suspiciously bright. Then, he slammed his heavy, calloused hand flat on the table, straightening his back with the full, terrifying authority of the Vanguard Marquis.
"Three days," the grandfather barked, his voice thick with emotion but laced with absolute military command. "If my granddaughter is getting married in three days, then by the heavens, it will be the most spectacular, opulent wedding this miserable capital has ever seen!"
He turned on his heel, marching toward the door with the energy of a man walking into a warzone. "I am mobilizing the entire Vanguard army! We are going to buy out every silk merchant, butcher, and jeweler in the city! If any of those civil court bastards try to outbid us for the red wedding silk, I will personally throw them into the river!"
As the grandfather stormed out to turn the estate into a military-grade wedding production line, the grandmother walked over and gently kissed Heena’s forehead. "Rest, child. Let the old folks handle the battlefield for a few days."
When the room finally emptied, Heena sagged against the table, a sudden, violent wave of dizziness washing over her. She gripped the wood until her knuckles turned white, breathing through the sharp, throbbing pain in her temple as she waited for the latest round of painkillers to kick in.
Inside her mind, the System was completely silent for a moment before speaking up with rare, genuine gentleness. "Host... are you absolutely sure you can physically survive a royal-level aristocratic wedding ceremony? The endless kneeling, the heavy gold headpieces, the long banquet... it’s exhausting even for a healthy person."
"I have to," Heena replied internally, squeezing her eyes shut. "Once the wedding is publicly finalized, Samuel becomes an official Vanguard. He becomes entirely untouchable by the imperial family. And more importantly..."
She slowly opened her eyes. The pain was still there, but a dark, brilliant flash of sociopathic calculation cut right through the exhaustion.
"A grand, rushed Vanguard wedding is the absolute perfect distraction," Heena murmured, a chilling smile touching her lips. "While all the old foxes in the civil court are busy panicking over what to wear to my estate and trying to figure out if my marriage is a political threat... my shadow guards are going to quietly, completely gut the Ministry of Rites."
.
.
.
The heavy wooden doors of the main hall closed behind them, cutting off the chaotic noise of the estate’s servants scrambling to prepare for the sudden wedding.
The old Marquis and Marchioness walked side-by-side through the quiet, winding stone paths of the inner courtyard. The winter wind was biting, but the chill in the air was nothing compared to the absolute, freezing dread settling over the grandfather’s heart.
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the crunch of their boots against the gravel.
"Tell me I am thinking wrong," the grandfather suddenly broke the silence. His voice, usually so booming and full of absolute Vanguard authority, trembled slightly. He didn’t look at his wife, staring blankly at the stone path ahead.
The grandmother kept walking, her posture perfectly straight and regal. But her knuckles were entirely white as she gripped her wooden fan.
"Well," the grandmother replied softly, her voice carrying a heavy, profound sorrow. "I think you are entirely right."
The grandfather froze in his tracks. His massive hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, his broad shoulders shaking.
"The look in her eyes," the grandfather choked out, his chest heaving as if he couldn’t draw enough oxygen. "That look..."
"It was the exact same look," the grandmother finished his sentence, stopping to look back at him. "As a general fighting a completely lost war. A soldier calmly preparing their affairs before a final, fatal charge."
"But there is no way!" the grandfather suddenly snapped, absolute desperation bleeding into his voice as he paced the stone path.
He ran a heavy, calloused hand over his face. "I have been personally managing the alpha squad! The shadow guards are actively monitoring every single cup of tea, every plate of food, every breath of air that enters her quarters! From their daily reports, I know for an absolute fact she hasn’t been poisoned! None of the civil court’s venom has touched her since she entered this mansion. She hasn’t been ambushed! She hasn’t been assassinated! So what is killing her?!"
He looked at his wife, his eyes wide and silently pleading for her to make it make sense. He was a man who understood swords, arrows, and military strategy. If there was an enemy, he could crush them. If there was an assassin, he could hunt them down.
But this? This invisible shadow hanging over his granddaughter was driving him completely insane.
They reached a highly secluded, walled-off section of the plum blossom garden. The trees were bare, their dark, twisted branches reaching up toward the gray sky.
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