Chapter 697 --697

Chapter 697: Chapter-697

"Take this off," Heena commanded, abruptly turning on her heel and marching back into the bedchamber.

The twenty elite Shadow Guards remained kneeling, utterly confused, as the heavy oak doors slammed shut once again. Inside, the terrified maids scrambled backward as Heena began violently untying the ceremonial sashes, letting the heavy outer robes fall to the floorboards in a pool of red silk.

"I am attending an execution, not a poetry recital," Heena stated, her dark eyes flashing with the unnatural, burning vitality of the Class-S stimulant. She pointed a sharp finger at the head maid. "Fetch the foreign silk garments from the southern trade chests. The two-piece set. Now."

The maids gasped, their faces paling in sheer horror. To wear a separated skirt and top to the Imperial Palace was a catastrophic breach of ancient aristocratic etiquette. It was considered brazen, entirely too martial, and scandalously modern for a court that worshipped rigid, layered tradition.

Heena didn’t care. She was about to massacre half the nobility; she wasn’t particularly concerned about their fashion critiques.

When she stepped in front of the bronze mirror ten minutes later, the transformation was lethal. She wore a tailored, midnight-black top that clung flawlessly to her energized frame, completely sleeveless to allow absolute freedom of movement for her shoulders and arms. The dark fabric was woven with subtle, shifting crimson threads that caught the light like drying blood. Below it, secured tightly at her narrow waist, was a sweeping, floor-length skirt of pure, vibrant crimson silk.

It looked elegant when she stood perfectly still, but the moment she took a step, the fabric parted to reveal a drastic, plunging slit traveling all the way up her left thigh. It was a garment engineered exclusively for mobility, speed, and violence.

"Leave," Heena ordered the maids.

The moment the room was empty, she walked over to her weapons chest. She bypassed the heavy, ceremonial broadswords and the ornate daggers. Instead, she retrieved a custom-forged, short-bladed sword—a sleek, double-edged weapon with a grip wrapped in black leather, completely devoid of any decorative gold or jewels. It was a tool meant only for piercing flesh.

She lifted the crimson silk of her skirt, exposing her bare leg. With practiced, mechanical precision, she strapped the heavy leather sheath securely high up on her inner thigh, pulling the buckles tight against her skin. She dropped the fabric. The heavy drape of the skirt concealed the weapon flawlessly. Unless she lunged, no one in the Imperial Palace would ever know she was carrying a lethal blade inches from her pulse.

Heena took one final look in the bronze mirror. The Vitality Booster was burning through her remaining life force like a wildfire, flooding her veins with a terrifying, god-like adrenaline. She felt no trace of the blood clot. Her mind was razor-sharp, every memory, every tactical calculation, every piece of the Empress’s conspiracy laid out perfectly in her restored cognitive vision.

She turned and pushed the heavy oak doors open.

When she stepped back out into the courtyard, the air itself seemed to freeze. The elite Vanguard guards looked up, their seasoned eyes instantly recognizing the subtle shift. This was no longer a sickly noblewoman playing political games from a carriage. The fitted black top, the flowing crimson skirt, the deadly, unhindered grace of her stride—she looked like a pure, unadulterated predator stepping onto a hunting ground.

Heena walked past the kneeling guards without a single glance, her crimson skirt snapping like a war banner in the morning wind.

"Move out," Heena commanded, stepping up into the waiting carriage. "Let us go show the Empress exactly what a Vanguard gift looks like."

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The sun dipped below the jagged horizon of the capital, pulling the last streaks of violet and bruised orange from the sky. In its wake, the Imperial Palace ignited.

Tonight was the Empress’s birthday, and the imperial seat of the Great Dynasty had been transformed into a sprawling, celestial paradise. From the highest watchtowers down to the sprawling outer courtyards, thousands of crimson and gold silk lanterns were hoisted into the evening air, casting a warm, flickering glow over the ancient white marble of the palace walls. The massive, winding moat that encircled the inner sanctum reflected the fiery light, making the palace look as though it were floating on a river of liquid gold.

The main gates stood wide open, flanked by rows of imperial guards in polished silver armor, their plumed helmets perfectly still in the gentle evening breeze. A seemingly endless procession of opulent carriages rolled over the heavy stone bridges. Horses adorned with braided silk harnesses and jade-studded bridles stamped their hooves impatiently as the highest echelon of the empire’s nobility descended upon the grand pavilion.

Heena’s carriage arrived at the heart of the procession. The Vanguard Marquisate carriage was massive, constructed from dark, lacquered ebony and reinforced with iron, a stark, martial contrast to the delicate, gilded wood of the civil ministers’ transports. When the heavy wooden wheels ground to a halt at the base of the grand marble staircase leading to the banquet hall, the surrounding chatter of the nobility noticeably dipped into a hushed, nervous murmur.

The entire capital knew the Vanguard Madam had been deathly ill. The rumors had painted her as a bedridden ghost, a frail, coughing shadow who was expected to succumb to her mysterious ailment before the winter snows fell. The aristocratic factions had been eagerly anticipating a hollow-cheeked, sickly woman who would struggle up the steps, a visual confirmation of their impending victory.

The carriage door opened. A Vanguard Shadow Guard, acting as a footman, offered his forearm.

Heena stepped out into the glowing lantern light.

A collective, audible gasp rippled through the gathered ministers, their wives, and the aristocratic heirs standing on the marble steps.

She did not look like a dying woman. She did not look like a traditional noblewoman, either. The Class-S Vitality Booster roaring through her veins had completely eradicated the deathly pallor of her skin, leaving her complexion vibrant, flushed, and flawlessly radiant. The dark, bruising exhaustion under her eyes had vanished, replaced by a sharp, predatory brightness that seemed to pierce right through the souls of anyone who met her gaze.

But it was her attire that sent a shockwave of scandalous horror and undeniable awe through the traditionalist court.

In a sea of heavily embroidered, restrictive, multi-layered silk robes that swallowed the figures of the noblewomen in pastel blues, soft pinks, and pale golds, Heena stood out like a bloodstain on pristine snow. She wore no outer robe. Her midnight-black top clung perfectly to her torso, entirely sleeveless, leaving her pale, toned arms completely bare to the cool evening air. The dark fabric was woven with shifting crimson threads that caught the lantern light, making it look as though embers were smoldering across her chest. Below it, her sweeping, floor-length crimson skirt flowed like a river of blood.

She took her first step toward the stairs, and the heavy silk of the skirt parted flawlessly along the drastic, thigh-high slit on her left leg, revealing the smooth, unhindered length of her stride. No one could see the lethal, leather-wrapped short sword strapped securely to her inner thigh, but the sheer, brazen mobility of her garment radiated an aura of terrifying, martial dominance. Her dark hair was swept up in a severe, elegant twist, anchored by heavy golden eagle hairpins that looked sharp enough to gouge out a man’s eyes.

She looked modern, dangerous, and breathtakingly lethal.