Chapter 660 --660

Chapter 660: Chapter-660

She continued walking, completely unbothered by the fact that the sovereign of the nation wanted her dead.

"Just watch," Heena said, a wicked, brilliant little smile appearing on her face. "As soon as my work is done, this Emperor will be running around like an ant on a hot pan."

"What do you mean?" the System asked.

"I didn’t give him a confession today, System. I gave him a highly venomous psychological distraction," Heena explained, her mind already three steps ahead of the throne. "By giving him a specific, six-month timeline, I have completely hijacked his paranoia. Starting tonight, he is going to redirect at least half of his elite shadow guards and intelligence budget just to desperately spy on my health."

Heena began checking off the Emperor’s predictable reactions on her fingers:

The Surveillance: "He will have spies watching how much I eat, how much I sleep, and if I cough."

The Medical Panic: "He will have his top imperial physicians secretly analyzing the dirt I walk on to see if I am genuinely sick."

The Strategic Paralysis: "He will spend so much time trying to figure out if I am dying, and how I am dying, that he won’t have the time or energy to plot against my family."

The System fell silent for a long moment, its processors whirring as it simulated the Emperor’s upcoming mental breakdown.

Then, it muttered softly, "Host... somehow, I feel like the Emperor is the one who should be terrified right now."

Heena smiled, a sharp, dangerous curve of her lips. "He absolutely should be."

The System looked at Heena, its expression slowly turning serious, losing its usual comedic panic.

"But... host," the System hesitated. "You’re definitely going to die, right? The six-month limit on this body... it isn’t a lie."

Heena nodded without a single ounce of hesitation. "Of course I am. My soul is too heavy for this broken vessel. Six months is the absolute maximum."

She continued walking through the bustling, lantern-lit streets of the capital as if they were discussing something completely ordinary, like the weather or the price of tea. The commoners on the street, recognizing the dark military robes of the Vanguard family, quickly parted ways for her, bowing their heads in deep, genuine reverence. To them, she wasn’t a political monster; she was the shield that kept the border barbarians at bay.

"But after my death," Heena mused, looking around at the grateful civilians, "I am going to need to do something to make sure these people calm down. If the Vanguard Madam suddenly drops dead, the public outcry will be massive. The military will riot."

The System blinked. "What do you mean? You’ll be dead. You can’t control what happens after."

Heena glanced at the floating orb, her eyes gleaming with absolute, manipulative foresight. "Think about it, System. What do you think the Emperor will do after I die?"

The System thought for a moment. "Give you a proper burial? Maybe declare a national day of mourning?"

Heena immediately waved her hand dismissively, scoffing loudly. "Please. That is nothing. That is amateur politics."

She smirked. "Killing me? Or watching me die? That isn’t enough for his ego. Just watch. That paranoid bastard is probably going to build a giant, solid gold statue of me in the center of the capital."

The System stared at her in utter disbelief. "Come on! That can’t possibly happen! He hates you! He literally just tried to gas you with neurotoxins!"

Heena rolled her eyes. "I am giving you an example of political theater, you idiot piece of code!"

She stopped in the middle of the street and turned to face the System directly.

"What I mean is, he will definitely do something incredibly big. Something grand, expensive, and highly public enough to show everyone in the empire just how generous, heartbroken, and merciful he is," Heena explained, her voice low.

The System frowned, its interface dropping. "And you are actively counting on that?"

"Of course," Heena smiled confidently. "It is the perfect failsafe."

She gestured toward the civilians walking around them. "If the common people and my feral military generals see the Emperor deeply honoring the person he supposedly had to kill... what are they going to think?"

The System remained silent, the dark logic finally clicking into place.

Heena answered for him, her voice a chilling mimicry of a naive civilian. "They will think, ’Ah, what a benevolent, grieving Emperor. He truly loved the Vanguard Madam. He couldn’t possibly be responsible for her tragic, sudden illness.’"

She shrugged casually. "And just like that, everyone stops asking uncomfortable questions. My husband and my generals don’t launch a suicidal rebellion against the throne, the Vanguard family retains its absolute legendary status, and the Emperor gets to sleep at night thinking he won. Everyone gets exactly what they need."

The System stared at her for several long, quiet seconds. It processed the sheer, multi-layered, sociopathic brilliance of her plan. She had not only planned out her own political domination and her own assassination, but she had flawlessly choreographed her own post-mortem public relations strategy to manipulate the Emperor from beyond the grave.

"Host..." the System whispered.

"What?"

"You are genuinely terrifying."

Heena smiled brightly, adjusting the collar of her military gown as the grand gates of the Vanguard estate finally came into view at the end of the street.

"I prefer the term practical," Heena corrected cheerfully.

The heavy iron gates of the Vanguard manor swung open before Heena even had to knock. The shadow guards stationed on the walls had recognized her approach from three blocks away.

As she stepped into the sprawling, heavily fortified main courtyard, the chaotic energy of the imperial court completely faded away, replaced by the familiar, comforting madness of her own home.

Sitting at the grand stone table in the center of the courtyard was her new, genius scholar husband, Samuel. He was elegantly sipping a cup of premium tea, looking like a painting of scholarly perfection.

Directly across from him, sitting on a tiny stool that was far too small for his massive frame, was their thirty-year-old adopted "infant" son, Saura Chijen. Chijen was surrounded by massive stacks of gold taels and property deeds, aggressively calculating the extortion money they had just seized from the Imperial Youth Academy.

"Ah. Welcome home, Wife," Samuel smiled, his golden eyes lighting up as Heena approached. He gracefully set his teacup down. "I assume from the completely unbothered look on your face that the civil court is currently weeping over their bankrupt treasury?"

"They are absolutely devastated," Heena beamed, pulling out a chair and collapsing into it with a heavy, satisfied sigh. "The Minister of General Staff practically broke his own knees throwing a tantrum on the throne room floor. The Academy is ours."

Chijen looked up from his abacus, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. "Mother. The total yield from the academy’s back-rent, combined with the psychological damages I inflicted on the Minister of Rites’ son, comes out to exactly two hundred and sixty thousand gold taels. Where would you like me to store it?"

"Put half of it in the Vanguard military pension fund," Heena ordered casually. "And take the other half and buy up every single grain distribution center in the southern district. We are going to financially choke the Prime Minister’s supply lines by Tuesday."

Chijen simply nodded, his soul completely leaving his body as he returned to his endless calculations. ’I miss being a poor scholar,’ he thought desperately.