Chapter 716 --716

Chapter 716: Chapter-716

The heavy iron gates of the Vanguard Palace remained sealed to the outside world 364 days a year.

Only on the night of the annual Moon Festival did the ancient mechanisms turn. For a single day, the iron gates opened just enough to allow a highly exclusive, chosen group of individuals inside to pay their respects to the empire’s ultimate shields. No one was allowed to linger. The moment the festival ended, the palace was purged of all visitors.

For Samuel, that one day was the only day he truly lived.

Every year, as the autumn moon hung full and bright over the capital, the pale scholar in white robes would walk past the silent Shadow Knights. He would traverse the dark stone corridors and enter the inner cemetery sanctum.

He would kneel on the cold marble floor in front of the newest golden chest. Resting gently against the magnificent tomb was a small, perfectly painted portrait of a woman with cold, dark eyes and a brilliant, terrifying smirk.

Samuel would sit there in the heavy silence, brushing his fingers against the edge of the portrait, telling the warlord who conquered the world about how the seasons had changed, and counting the days until he could finally close his eyes and follow her into the dark.

But the great, peerless scholar did not live to see his hair turn entirely white.

At the age of forty, Samuel finally reached the end of his agonizing wait. And his departure from this world was as breathtakingly out of character as it was beautiful.

On the morning of the annual Moon Festival, the suffocating, perpetual winter that had gripped the Vanguard estate for nearly two decades suddenly broke. For the first time since Heena had died, Samuel did not wear his pristine, ghostly white mourning robes.

Instead, he ordered his bewildered servants to open the deepest, most sealed chests in the estate’s vault. From the cedar lining, he pulled out a cascade of brilliant, vibrant crimson. It was his wedding attire—the exact, heavy red silk robes he had worn on the day he married the terrifying Vanguard Madam. He even carefully pulled out the delicate, embroidered red veil.

The servants watched in absolute, paralyzed shock as the master of the house meticulously styled his hair, pinning it up in the exact same youthful fashion he had worn on his wedding day. He applied a faint touch of rouge to his cheeks, banishing the ghostly pallor that had haunted his face for eighteen years. He asked for fragrant oils and perfumes, scenting his robes with the sweet, nostalgic aroma of plum blossoms and sandalwood.

From the moment the sun rose, Samuel smiled.

It wasn’t a fragile, broken smile. It was a radiant, overflowing joy. He hummed a soft, melodic tune as he walked through the empty mahogany corridors, his steps so light he almost seemed to be dancing. He cheerfully ordered the servants to fetch this and prepare that, his voice ringing with a warmth they hadn’t heard in their entire lives.

The estate staff whispered frantically among themselves. Some wept tears of relief, genuinely believing that the heavens had finally granted their master a moment of peace, that he was finally stepping out of his grief and choosing to live for himself.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon and the silver moon rose over the capital, Samuel’s true intentions became clear.

He walked to the towering iron gates of the Vanguard Palace alone, carrying a massive, breathtaking bouquet of fresh moonflowers and red lotuses. When the heavy gates groaned open for the festival, Samuel did not walk in with his usual, crushing solemnity.

Instead, he looked up at the terrifying, towering Shadow Knights and offered them a bright, genuinely warm smile. He politely greeted the palace guards, bowing his head gracefully as he passed them. The hardened, emotionless sentinels were visibly stunned, their armored hands twitching in confusion as the man who had brought only sorrow to these halls walked past them like a groom rushing to his bride.

Samuel stepped into the sacred, quiet chill of the ancestral cemetery. As he approached the inner sanctum, out of sight of the guards, he lifted the delicate red wedding veil and gently draped it over his own head, letting the crimson silk hide the world away.

The night passed. The moon sank, and the cold, gray light of dawn began to creep over the Vanguard Palace.

By imperial rule, the gates had to be sealed. No one was allowed to remain inside the sanctum. When Samuel did not emerge with the morning light, the Shadow Knights and palace wardens respectfully marched down the polished stone corridors to escort the scholar out.

But when they stepped into the quiet cemetery, they froze in their tracks.

Samuel had not left. He was sitting on the cold marble floor, resting his head peacefully against the side of Heena’s golden chest, using the cold metal as a pillow. The beautiful bouquet of flowers lay gently by his side.

The guards rushed forward, calling his name, but there was no response. The great scholar had drawn his last breath in the quiet of the night, his soul finally breaking free to go find the woman who had taken his heart to the grave.

As a soft, morning breeze swept through the open archways of the sanctum, it caught the edge of the crimson silk. The red veil fluttered, lifting just enough to reveal Samuel’s face.

The guards fell completely silent, bowing their heads in profound reverence.

Even in death, all the lines of grief, the years of agony, and the weight of his brilliance had vanished from his features. He bore a gentle, breathtakingly peaceful smile. Dressed in his crimson robes, with the rouge on his cheeks and his hair perfectly pinned, he did not look like a tired, forty-year-old widower.

He looked exactly like the beautiful, hopeful young man who had once been carried into the Vanguard estate to marry a warlord.

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The absolute, peaceful darkness lasted for what felt like a single, suspended heartbeat.

Then, Heena opened her eyes.

There was no damp night air. There was no scent of silver moonflowers, no ancient obsidian stone, and no heavy, crushing spiritual pressure from the Vanguard ancestors. Most importantly, the agonizing, relentless throb of the blood clot in her skull was completely, blissfully gone. She took a deep breath, and her lungs filled with perfectly filtered, temperature-controlled, synthesized oxygen.

She wasn’t wearing the blood-stained crimson silk skirt or the torn black top anymore. She was clad in a sleek, immaculate white jumpsuit made of a frictionless, futuristic material.

She was standing in the middle of a sprawling, blindingly pristine white terminal.

This was the Nexus—the central hub of the Transmigration Bureau. It was a place that existed entirely outside the boundaries of time and space, a massive, geometric citadel of glass, white metal, and floating holographic interfaces. Countless other souls dressed in identical white suits were walking briskly through the grand concourse, some looking exhausted, some covered in spectral wounds that were rapidly healing, and others chattering animatedly with their assigned Systems.

"Host!"

A familiar, high-pitched digital chime echoed right beside her ear.