Chapter 666 --666

Chapter 666: Chapter-666

Whoever originally coined the phrase "time flies when you are working" was an absolute, irredeemable liar.

Heena sat slumped behind the grand mahogany desk in the Royal Study, aggressively massaging her temples. In her personal, highly violent opinion, the scholar who invented that ridiculous saying should be dragged out into the Vanguard courtyard and beaten with a heavy leather belt. Time was not flying. Time had completely stalled, died, and was currently decomposing right in front of her.

She turned her head, glaring with absolute murderous intent at the bronze water clock in the corner of the room.

Drip.

Drip.

It had only been forty-five minutes. She felt like she had been sitting in this stuffy, incense-filled room for three lifetimes.

A familiar blue digital orb phased into existence right next to her ear. The System hovered in the air, its interface glowing with sheer, unadulterated judgment.

"Host," the System deadpanned. "Do you actually know what the concept of shame is?"

Heena slowly lowered her hands from her temples, giving the floating orb a deeply unimpressed look. "How many times are you going to use that exact same line? Honestly, System, do you not know any other phrases? You desperately need a software update."

"I repeat it because I have never, in all my digital processing cycles, seen a person as completely and utterly shameless as you!" the System retorted, its blue light flashing indignantly.

"Oh, really?" Heena smiled, leaning back in the plush chair and crossing her legs over the mahogany desk. "Thank you. At least I am a unique asset. I strive for originality."

"Unique?!" the System shrieked, floating away from her and aggressively pointing its pixelated arm across the room. "Host, you are literally sitting here complaining about being bored while he is over there!"

Heena lazily turned her head to look in the direction the System was pointing.

In the center of the Royal Study, the Ninth Prince was currently enduring absolute, muscle-shredding agony. The boy was locked in a painfully deep, wide-legged horse stance. Both of his arms were stretched straight out in front of him, absolutely parallel to the floor. Balanced delicately across his trembling wrists was a long, flat wooden ruler.

His face was beet red, sweat was pouring down his small forehead, and his legs were shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. If he dropped his arms even a fraction of an inch, the ruler would fall.

"So?" Heena asked, completely unfazed by the child’s suffering.

"You made a royal child do this?!" the System demanded.

"This arrogant little bastard needed to be humbled," Heena scoffed, picking up an apple from the royal snack platter and taking a loud, crisp bite. "He was throwing a tantrum and demanding I teach him how to beat people with footwear but did i forget how he is usually? No !. Did you really think I was just going to let him go easily?"

"So your solution was to torture him with this medieval physical punishment?!"

"Come on," Heena shrugged casually, chewing her apple. "I saw it in a martial arts movie once. It builds character. It makes your legs and hands strong."

The System’s digital eye practically popped out of its interface. "A movie?! Host, are you telling me you are torturing the royal heir based on a cinema trope? Have you ever even done this exercise yourself?!"

"Well," Heena waved her hand dismissively. "Maybe. In some ancient martial arts cultivation world a few lifetimes ago. Who remembers? The point is, it looks highly effective."

"Come on, Host!" the System groaned, floating back to the desk and dropping its pixelated head on the mahogany wood. "Why does it feel like you are just recycling random drama and movie scenes to use on this poor boy?"

Heena swallowed her bite of apple and glared at the orb. "What do you want from me, System? Do you want me to sit down and draft a comprehensive, multi-tiered military tutoring syllabus with learning objectives and weekly assessments? Come on. I am here to rest, not to actually work."

She gestured vaguely toward the imperial throne room outside. "I am already doing his paranoid father’s dirty work for free. Now you want me to do hard labor for the son, too? To heck with that."

"But you get a salary from the prince!" the System argued, desperate to appeal to her financial sensibilities. "You receive a monthly stipend for being his official tutor!"

"Exactly. Because I do not get a salary from his father," Heena countered flawlessly, her sociopathic logic locking right into place. "I do not have an official government post. I am an unpaid political consultant doing massive state-level assassinations. This tutor salary is basically just my tax-free retainer."

"That makes absolutely no sense and you know it!" the System yelled.

Heena instantly sat up straight, slamming her apple down on the desk. Her dark eyes locked onto the glowing orb, completely ready for a fight to cure her boredom.

"Why are you arguing with me right now?" Heena challenged, rolling up the sleeves of her military gown. "Do you want a proper argument? Is that it? Because I have three hours left on this clock. Sit down, square up your digital shoulders, state your thesis, and let’s argue."

Heena raised her hand, fully intending to flick the glowing blue orb right between its digital eyes.

Suddenly, her hand violently stopped in mid-air.

A spike of absolute, incomprehensible agony drove itself directly through the center of her skull. It wasn’t a dull ache. It was a searing, explosive pressure, as if her very soul was being violently ripped from the fragile, failing vessel of her body.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands flying up to clutch her head. Her fingers dug desperately into her scalp as her entire body seized.

"AH!"

The scream that tore out of Heena’s throat was gut-wrenching. It was raw, feral, and utterly terrifying. This was not the theatrical wailing of a politician playing the victim; this was the genuine, visceral shriek of a warrior being brought to her absolute breaking point.

The Ninth Prince immediately dropped his heavy wooden ruler, tumbling out of his horse stance in sheer panic. He stared in absolute horror as his invincible, shoe-wielding master collapsed over the mahogany desk, knocking the inkstone, tea, and scrolls to the floor in a chaotic clatter.

Heena desperately tried to pry her eyes open, her survival instincts screaming at her to assess the threat, but there was nothing. The ornate royal study, the morning sunlight, the terrified young prince—it was all gone. There was only pitch, suffocating darkness.

"No, no, no," Heena gasped, her voice trembling wildly as the blinding agony threatened to split her mind in two.

The heavy sliding doors of the study burst open. Maids and imperial guards flooded inside, drawn by the terrifying scream. Seeing the Vanguard Madam collapsed and writhing on the floor, the guards completely lost their military composure.

"Call the imperial physicians!" the guard captain roared, his voice cracking with panic. "Now!"

For twenty agonizing minutes, the pristine royal study was transformed into a chaotic trauma ward. The air grew thick with the pungent, bitter smell of medicinal smoke and emergency herbs.