Chapter 633: Chapter-633
"I practice with heavy weights in the courtyard," Samuel defended himself, trying to salvage his romantic, protective aura.
"A deadweght sandbag and a living human body have entirely different centers of gravity, scholar," Heena deadpanned, raising a single, highly judgmental eyebrow. "Just tell me... what exactly do you think I am? A sandbag?"
For the first time in his brilliantly manipulative life, the genius scholar was completely, utterly speechless.
Samuel stood there, holding his fiercely intelligent, impossibly stubborn wife in his arms, his mind completely buffering as it tried to process the sheer absurdity of her logical trap. He had tried to be romantic. He had tried to be the strong, protective husband. And she had somehow turned it into a physics debate about the center of gravity of a sandbag.
He stared at her deeply unamused, challenging expression. Then, he threw his head back and let out a booming, helpless laugh that echoed off the chamber walls.
"I surrender," Samuel declared, his chest rumbling with genuine amusement. "You win, Wife. My logic is flawed, my romantic declarations are mathematically inaccurate, and I am completely at your mercy."
He carried her over to the massive, silk-draped bed and gently laid her down. He leaned over her, his golden eyes filled with an overwhelming, dark affection that made Heena’s chest suddenly ache.
"You did that on purpose," Samuel murmured, tapping the tip of her nose. "You completely derailed my question about your health by picking a fight over a sandbag. You are a terrifyingly brilliant woman, Marquisate Seera Vanguard."
Heena offered a small, entirely unrepentant smirk. "I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Son-in-law."
Samuel chuckled softly. He didn’t press the issue. He pulled the heavy, embroidered quilt over her, tucking it securely around her shoulders.
"Sleep, Wife," Samuel commanded, his voice dropping into a soft, hypnotic rhythm. "No more plotting. No more war maps. Tomorrow, you are going to stand in front of the entire capital and marry me. You need all your strength to deal with those old civil foxes staring at us."
Heena closed her eyes, the warmth of the bed and the heavy dose of painkillers finally pulling her under. "Mhm. Just... don’t burn the estate down while I sleep."
"I make no promises," Samuel whispered into the dark, staying by her bedside until her breathing finally leveled out into a deep, exhausted sleep.
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Across the sleeping capital, the Ministry of Rites was completely unaware that its centuries-old foundation was being quietly dismantled.
Inside the central archive, Kael and his shadow guards worked with terrifying, silent efficiency. The glow-stones cast long, eerie shadows over the towering rows of wooden shelves.
"Commander," one of the shadows whispered, gesturing to a locked iron chest hidden beneath the floorboards of the Chief Examiner’s private office.
Kael knelt, driving a hardened steel wedge into the lock and snapping it with a muted crack. He threw the lid open. Inside were stacks of imperial examination scrolls, bound in yellow silk.
Kael unfurled the top scroll. It was an essay on river dam engineering—a brilliant, flawless piece of academic work. But at the top of the scroll, the original name, a commoner named Li Wei, had been forcefully scraped off the parchment. Written over it in fresh, elegant ink was the name of the Minister of Rites’ youngest nephew.
Kael’s scarred face twisted in absolute disgust.
"They didn’t just swap the grades," Kael whispered, realizing the sheer, brazen audacity of the civil court. "They literally stole the physical exams of the commoner geniuses and slapped aristocratic names on them. The idiots in the noble houses didn’t even write their own papers."
He looked at the hundreds of stolen futures sitting in the chest. This wasn’t just corruption; this was a complete betrayal of the empire’s foundational promise that anyone, regardless of birth, could rise through merit. When the commoners found out about this, there wouldn’t just be a political trial—there would be a full-scale riot.
"Bag it all," Kael ordered, his eyes gleaming with the Vanguard’s thirst for blood. "Take the chest, the grading ledgers, everything. The Madam is going to love this."
The shadow guards quickly loaded the heavy scrolls into waterproof canvas sacks, melting back out the windows and over the high stone walls just seconds before the Ministry’s night patrol walked past the door.
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The next morning, the capital awoke to the deafening, joyous blast of military horns.
The Vanguard estate had been transformed overnight. It didn’t look like a traditional, delicate aristocratic wedding venue; it looked like a glorious, triumphant military encampment covered in red silk and gold. Massive red banners depicting the Vanguard broadsword crossed with a scholar’s brush hung from the towering stone walls. Thousands of red lanterns floated above the courtyards.
Inside her chambers, Heena sat rigidly in front of the bronze mirror.
A small army of elderly maidservants fluttered around her, adjusting the layers of the breathtaking, gold-embroidered red wedding gown. The silk was incredibly heavy, pressing down on her frail shoulders, but she forced her posture to remain perfectly, terrifyingly straight.
They placed the bridal crown upon her head—a massive, intricate masterpiece of solid gold, rubies, and dangling pearls. The sheer weight of it sent a sharp spike of pain shooting through her skull, but she didn’t even flinch. She simply gripped the edge of the vanity table and breathed through it.
"Host..." the System whispered, floating in the mirror’s reflection. It looked at her, its digital eyes wide with genuine awe. "You look... you look like an Empress going to war."
Heena stared at her own reflection. The heavy makeup hid the dark circles and the pale skin. With the red lipstick, the gold crown, and the fierce, dark intelligence burning in her eyes, she didn’t look like a dying woman. She looked like a deity of absolute destruction.
She stood up, the heavy red silk dragging across the floor. She picked up a delicate, red-jeweled dagger and slid it smoothly into a hidden sheath strapped to her thigh beneath the gown. Old habits died hard.
"Let’s go," Heena murmured calmly. "It’s time to show the civil court exactly what happens when you corner a Vanguard."
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Across the capital, far away from the military horns and red lanterns of the Vanguard estate, the Prime Minister’s manor was suffocatingly quiet.
Naturally, as the head of the civil court, the Prime Minister had received a gold-embossed invitation to the sudden Vanguard wedding. And despite the sheer political panic gripping his faction after the Ministry of Revenue’s collapse, absolutely none of them could afford to insult the Emperor by not attending a royally blessed marriage.
In the deepest, most opulent wing of the manor, the Third Wife sat rigidly in front of her vanity mirror.
Her maidservants were carefully pinning heavy jade and pearl ornaments into her hair. The thick layer of white powder and rouge on her face expertly hid the fading bruises on her jawline from his last visit. She was trembling slightly, entirely consumed by the quiet, terrifying anxiety of simply existing in this house.
The heavy mahogany doors slowly opened.
The maidservants immediately dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads against the floor in absolute silence.
The Prime Minister strolled into the room. He was dressed flawlessly in pristine, sweeping white robes embroidered with silver cranes, looking every inch the benevolent, untouchable immortal scholar.
The Third Wife completely froze. Her blood turned to ice. She hurriedly stood up, her silk robes rustling, and bowed so deeply her back ached.
"My... my Lord," she trembled slightly, unable to keep the raw fear out of her voice.
The Prime Minister didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked incredibly relaxed. He walked gracefully toward her, a soft, angelic smile playing on his lips.
"Wife," the Prime Minister murmured smoothly, stopping just a few inches away from her bowing figure. "You are getting ready."
"Yes, my Lord," she answered quickly, keeping her head firmly lowered, terrified to meet his dark, melancholic eyes.
The Prime Minister reached out. With a single, long, elegant finger, he gently tilted her chin upward so she was forced to look at him. His touch was feather-light, but to her, it felt like a razor blade resting against her throat.
He analyzed her pale, terrified face, the heavy makeup, and the expensive silk robes he had bought for her when she was still a fresh, entertaining novelty.
"You look really beautiful today," the Prime Minister said softly, his voice echoing with a dark, thrumming warmth.
For a normal wife, such a compliment from a husband would bring a blush of happiness.
But in the Prime Minister’s manor, those exact words were a well-known, horrifying omen. The shadow guard standing silently outside the door closed his eyes. The terrified maidservants on the floor squeezed their eyes shut, holding their breath.
Because the Prime Minister only ever praised his dolls when he was getting ready to throw them away.
The Third Wife’s breath hitched. She forced a stiff, agonizingly fake smile, completely unaware of the intelligence dossier regarding a brilliant Miss Luo currently sitting on his desk.
"Thank you... my Lord," she whispered, a cold sweat breaking out down her spine.
The Prime Minister patted her cheek affectionately, a deeply hollow gesture, before turning toward the door. "Finish getting dressed, my dear. We wouldn’t want to be late for the Vanguard Madam’s grand spectacle."
Then he patted her cheek again and smiled as he turned around.
What happens when the civil court officials, including the Prime Minister and his terrified wife, finally arrive at the Vanguard estate’s military-grade wedding banquet?
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