Chapter 699 --699

Chapter 699: Chapter-699

"May she live a thousand years!" the aristocratic faction chorused, their voices thick with arrogant triumph.

Heena raised her gold cup, her lips curving into a sharp, blood-chilling smile. She brought the sweet wine to her lips, drinking deep, feeling the cold steel of the hidden sword pressing against her thigh.

The music swelled once more, faster and more joyous than before. The dancers spun in a blur of ribbons. The banquet had officially commenced in a hurricane of laughter, exotic food, and flowing wine. It was the most beautiful, opulent, and joyous celebration the Great Dynasty had ever seen.

And Heena sat perfectly still in her black and crimson, waiting for the exact moment to turn it into a graveyard.

The grand banquet progressed into a dizzying, intoxicating spectacle of imperial excess.

Course after course was carried out by the endless stream of pale green-clad maids, each dish more extravagant than the last. There were translucent shrimp dumplings intricately folded to resemble blooming lotus flowers, slow-roasted wild boar glazed in dark soy and mountain honey, and delicate, shimmering bowls of snow-fungus soup sprinkled with edible gold leaf. The culinary mastery of the imperial kitchens was on full display, meant to overwhelm the senses and project the boundless wealth of the throne.

The entertainment shifted with the courses. The serene, weeping melodies of the zithers gave way to the deep, thumping, primal rhythm of massive hide drums. A troupe of foreign acrobats took to the polished jade stage, their bodies painted in striking patterns of silver and blue as they flipped and contorted through the air. They were followed by fire-breathers who sent roaring plumes of orange flame toward the gilded ceiling, illuminating the rapt, flushed faces of the nobility in flashes of brilliant heat.

Heena sat at her mahogany table, an island of lethal, unshakeable calm in the center of the hurricane.

The Class-S Vitality Booster was a terrifying miracle. It did not just erase the blinding agony of the blood clot; it elevated her physical senses to a state of god-like hyper-awareness. She could taste the subtle, woody undertones of the plum wine on her tongue with perfect clarity. She could hear the faint, silken rustle of a court lady adjusting her robes three tables away. She could track the exact, frantic pulse of a nervous, lower-ranking minister sweating through his collar across the aisle.

She was burning her remaining life force as raw fuel, and the resulting high was intoxicating. For the first time in months, she felt no weakness, no nausea, no suffocating fog dragging at her thoughts. She was entirely invincible.

Because of her scandalous, martial attire and the terrifying aura radiating from her every movement, the space immediately surrounding her table had become an unspoken dead zone. The lesser nobles cast nervous, sidelong glances at her bare, pale arms and the crimson slit of her skirt, whispering furiously behind beautifully painted silk fans. But the heavyweights of the court—the entrenched, arrogant aristocrats of the Assistant Prime Minister’s faction—viewed her isolation not with fear, but with smug, drunken amusement.

They noted the empty cushion beside her. They noted the absence of her brilliant, fiercely protective husband.

Emboldened by several cups of potent fermented peach wine, a young aristocrat decided to test the waters. It was Lord Lu, the eldest son of the Minister of Rites, a man whose family was deeply embedded in the Empress’s shadow network. He swaggered over to Heena’s table, holding a silver flagon in one hand and a sloshing jade cup in the other. His face was flushed, his smile arrogant and slick with alcohol.

"Madam Vanguard," Lord Lu slurred slightly, skipping the formal bow entirely. He leaned heavily against the edge of her table, his eyes dragging disrespectfully down the fitted bodice of her midnight-black top. "A truly... unique garment you have chosen for the Empress’s sacred natal day. Though I must confess, the entire court is wondering where your devoted shadow has gone. Has the brilliant Scholar Samuel finally tired of playing nursemaid to a dying woman?"

The surrounding tables fell deathly silent. The nearby ministers held their breath, waiting to see how the famously volatile Vanguard Madam would react to the brazen insult.

Heena did not raise her voice. She did not even immediately look at him.

She calmly picked up a small, silver carving knife from her plate. With slow, deliberate precision, she used the razor-sharp tip to spear a single, blood-red grape. She brought it to her lips, ate it, and then slowly turned her dark, unnaturally vibrant eyes up to meet Lord Lu’s gaze.

"My husband is currently away on Vanguard business, Lord Lu," Heena replied, her voice soft, melodic, and laced with absolute, freezing venom. She casually twirled the silver knife between her fingers, the blade catching the lantern light. "He is hunting. He has a very low tolerance for the stench of stagnant water... and bloated, bottom-feeding fish. I suggested he leave the capital tonight so he wouldn’t be forced to endure the smell of the court."

Lord Lu’s arrogant smirk faltered. The implication was entirely unsubtle, but the sheer, suffocating killing intent rolling off her small frame made the alcohol curdle in his stomach.

"You speak rather boldly for a woman with one foot in the grave," Lord Lu sneered, trying to recover his bravado, though he instinctively took a step back from the silver knife. 𝑓𝑟ℯℴ𝓂

"And you speak rather loudly for a man who only has one neck," Heena smiled, a beautiful, terrifying curving of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. She set the knife down with a sharp clack against the porcelain plate. "Enjoy the wine, Lord Lu. Drink deeply. You never know which cup will be your last."

The young lord swallowed hard, his face paling. He practically scrambled away, retreating back to the safety of his faction’s tables, muttering curses under his breath. Heena watched him go, entirely unbothered, her fingers lightly tracing the leather hilt of the sword hidden beneath her skirt.

The banquet transitioned smoothly into the presentation of the imperial gifts.

The Empress sat upon her golden throne, the picture of maternal benevolence, as the highest-ranking officials approached the dais one by one to present their tributes.

The Assistant Prime Minister was the first to step forward. He knelt with practiced, sweeping grace, signaling for a line of eunuchs to carry forth a massive, intricately carved wooden chest. When the lid was thrown open, the pavilion was bathed in a warm, crimson glow. Inside lay a flawless, six-foot-tall branch of pure red sea coral, untouched by human carving, naturally shaped like a soaring phoenix.

"To the Mother of the Empire," the Assistant Prime Minister declared, his voice carrying the smooth, oily confidence of a man who believed he was untouchable. "A symbol of your boundless grace, your pure bloodline, and your eternal longevity. May the heavens bless Your Majesty with a thousand years of peace."

The Empress smiled, leaning forward slightly, the pearl tassels of her Phoenix Crown swaying. "Assistant Prime Minister, you are too generous. The throne is deeply moved by your unyielding loyalty to the imperial family."

"A magnificent tribute," the Emperor added, his voice completely steady, rich with warmth and royal approval. He smiled down at the Assistant Prime Minister, his expression the flawless mask of a grateful sovereign. "Place it in the Empress’s private treasury. Such a rare treasure belongs only to her."