CHAPTER 463: “REST IN PEACE...FATHER.”

"Your Majesty, Empress Amalia. Her Highness the Princess has something urgent and asked me to inform you she must excuse herself for a moment."

After hearing the maid’s report beside her, Amalia glanced around the hall. The cold, elegant figure wrapped in a black dress had already disappeared. Around the wine table stood many nobles holding champagne flutes, eager to approach and speak with her.

Something urgent... But it’s already so late. Where could Sister possibly go...

Her two legs, sheathed in soft white silk stockings, stood gracefully upright, only the heels gently rubbed against the floor. After a moment, Amalia replied.

"I understand."

As the absolute center of tonight’s banquet, she couldn’t act entirely on whim. Numerous imperial nobles had traveled thousands of miles to the capital, all merely to get acquainted with the newly enthroned Empress of the Empire.

Leaving the event too early would easily wound these nobles’ hearts, leaving behind a bad reputation of the new Empress being aloof and arrogant, this would hinder their future efforts to unite all available forces and implement magical machinery reform.

Now that she has ascended this position, she must fulfill her duties properly, instead of acting like a child, relying on imperial privileges to recklessly indulge her desires, ignoring the responsibilities that came with them.

She took a sip of fruit juice, sweet liquid flowing between her lips and teeth. Amalia turned around, temporarily shelving thoughts of searching for Astrid. Her lips moved as she quietly conversed with Florence, a former minister of the late Emperor, discussing the specific details of funding allocations to the frontlines.

At this moment... Amalia truly began to taste the inconveniences brought by her imperial status...

It wasn’t just that things had gotten busier than before, even leaving early together with Astrid had become inappropriate.

If she were the previous Livia Calliste, she could have simply ignored all these nobles and left the venue immediately.

Meanwhile, Trin, responsible for delivering the message, continued guarding beside Empress Amalia to ensure her safety. After learning the situation, Astrid invited Elise to accompany her as they headed toward the Emperor’s private chambers beneath the night sky.

Although mentally prepared, when she saw the man lying on the bed, breathing faintly, his temples and hair completely white, Astrid couldn’t help but frown, her voice clearly laced with concern.

"Father, how are you feeling now?"

Long before the coronation ceremony began, Astrid had learned through Trin that Hibbort had consumed a magical potion that depleted his bodily potential. His life force had already been like a candle in the wind, and now, further drained by the potion, even the last drop of oil in the wick was likely to be burned out.

Hearing the anxious female voice beside the bed, Hibbort slowly opened his eyes. His clouded pupils turned sluggishly within deeply sunken sockets, vision blurred.

"Astrid..."

He didn’t answer Astrid’s question, merely calling his daughter’s name in a hoarse voice.

Upon hearing this, a hint of sorrow flashed in Astrid’s eyes. She leaned forward, bending her knees, half-leaning against the head of the man’s bed.

"I’m here, Father."

The girl spoke softly, gently taking the old man’s hand. Hibbort’s skin was abnormally rough, covered in hard calluses that stung the touch, and withered veins bulged beneath the dry skin, grotesque and terrifying.

Being so close, Astrid could even smell the faint scent of decay emanating from Hibbort’s body, a trace of things rotting, signifying that the man before her was already on the verge of death.

Hibbort’s condition was worse than Astrid had imagined. She had thought this old Emperor, who had always doted on her, might at least be able to sit up and exchange a few words, perhaps some casual family talk.

Instead, he lay bedridden, his voice calling for her barely a whisper.

This morning, he had still completed the transfer of power under everyone’s gaze. By tonight, he was already at death’s door.

Life, how resilient, yet how fragile.

Feeling the warmth from Hibbort’s palm, Astrid lowered her eyes, her moist lips growing paler.

The bedroom fell into silence. No one spoke. Astrid maintained her single-knee kneeling posture, not moving even as her legs grew numb.

After a long while, the old man on the bed spoke softly.

"How... is the banquet going?"

Hearing this, Astrid lifted her head, gazing at Hibbort whose cheeks showed an unnatural flush. Her heart tightened, and she answered quietly.

"Everything is proceeding in an orderly fashion. The new Empress is socializing with the nobles, sharing her future political policies and governing philosophies."

"They don’t seem to question Amalia’s gender. On the contrary, after this morning’s speech and parade, many have begun to express support for the female Empress."

To allow Hibbort to pass away with complete peace of mind, Astrid spoke only positive news.

"The Duke Thomas praised Her Majesty for your exceptional talent and youthful promise, saying she will surely become a wise ruler of a generation."

"Officials from the Council Hall are also offering congratulations to Amalia."

"All matters are progressing in the direction we anticipate."

No accidents, no setbacks, no sudden assassins or discordant voices of opposition.

All the arrangements Hibbort had made in advance had worked perfectly. Amalia had also lived up to expectations, successfully receiving the baton passed down by the old Emperor.

Hearing Astrid’s words, Hibbort’s eyelids twitched slightly. He let out an almost imperceptible breath through his nose, his voice low.

"...That’s good."

His voice resembles a withered leaf falling in the autumn wind, or an ancient bellows worn thin from prolonged use. Seeing this, Astrid intended to pick up the hot tea on the nightstand to moisten her throat. But before she could move, she felt Hibbort’s fingers brush hers, signaling her not to fetch the cup.

For one about to die, drinking or not drinking makes no difference.

"Listen to me, Astrid..."

"When I die, place the painting from my bedroom into my coffin. Bury it with me."

Hibbort’s gaze wandered toward the ceiling, his life force visibly fading at an alarming rate.

Astrid turned to look at the wall. The oil painting directly opposite the bed depicts a family of four: a gentle woman holding two children, with a vigorous Hibbort standing beside her, his robust figure resembles a towering pine tree.

"..."

"I will, Father."

Astrid’s voice was soft, her red eyes calmly fixed on Hibbort in bed.

"And the honeysuckle brooch in the drawer... the one in the reddish-brown box..."

"Also gather the medal beside it. Bury them all with me."

Perhaps due to a final surge of clarity before death, Hibbort’s voice became slightly clearer, no longer as fragmented as before. Astrid listened attentively, softly uttering "Hmm" only after Hibbort paused for a long time.

"Hmm."

Then, another few seconds of silence. After Hibbort had gathered his scattered thoughts, he spoke again.

"I remember the first time I saw you, you were such a tiny child, wearing a little white lace dress, trailing behind Fanya."

"Back then, you followed her wherever she went. Only after she left the Empire and disappeared beneath the Abyssal fissure did your attachment gradually shift to the head maid, the person closest to you."

"You even needed her help to dress, putting on your skirts and socks. Walking from one end of the garden to the other, you always had to be perfectly dressed, with servants holding an ornate parasol over you, proving to everyone that you were the most pampered little princess in the palace."

"Out of affection for my friend, and partly from guilt, I loved you as my only daughter, indulging those arrogant behaviors again and again, spoiling this treasured gem in my hands..."

"Never thought that in a blink, you’ve grown so big."

His hazy gaze shifted slightly to the left, focusing on the cluster of bright silver hair. In Hibbort’s usually stern blue eyes, a rare tenderness emerges.

Astrid looked at Hibbort, speaking slowly.

"If not for Father’s boundless care, I wouldn’t be who I am today."

In the original novel, Lyra was relentlessly targeted by the villainess princess Astrid Calliste, nearly having no place in the Empire, even sent to the borders with numerous obstacles arranged for her. Astrid’s power stemmed precisely from the old Emperor’s indulgence, nearly unconditional love.

Hearing this, a faint, barely perceptible curve lifted at the corner of Hibbort’s mouth. He continued from where he left off.

"As you grew up, you began to resemble Fanya in some ways, while inheriting your father’s aloof temperament. Unfortunately, your character gradually leaned toward that of my useless son."

"Fortunately, you later found your way back, becoming increasingly mature and steady. I even had to marvel at the growth of this imperial princess."

"Were it not for your soul remaining unchanged, I might have doubted whether you were still that willful princess who used to cling to me with childish demands whenever she wanted something."

As he spoke, Hibbort’s eyes carried a trace of nostalgia, as if all the past moments were replaying in his mind.

"..."

Astrid remained silent for a long time, whispering softly.

"Father..."

She had never been a parent herself, but having experienced guiding Amalia, she vaguely understood Hibbort’s paternal feelings, watching a younger generation grow up little by little.

"I’m truly grateful that during my childhood, I had someone as kind as you to care for and look after me."

This statement came from the heart, utterly sincere.

Holding Hibbort’s hand, watching the old man who seemed to have regained a flicker of vitality, Astrid pressed her hair against the back of his hand, speaking gently.

"And also, I have never resented you at any moment, not even during that oath-taking before the Imperial Scepter."

"I will properly assist Amalia Varelis, ensuring imperial authority does not fall into outsiders’ hands."

The first sentence was that of a daughter to her father; the second, that of a subject to her Emperor, both were Hibbort’s dying concerns.

As the most favored adoptive daughter, Astrid naturally didn’t withhold her words.

Gazing into Hibbort’s clouded eyes, after a moment, Astrid spoke warmly.

"Thank you for your indulgence and love all these years."

Regarding Amalia, if Hibbort had truly been a cold-blooded political machine, why would he repeatedly hesitate, never even reclaiming the power of public opinion manipulation from his third daughter?

This iron-fisted Emperor, who had neglected his own biological daughter, truly poured nearly all his love into his adoptive daughter, a woman with no blood ties to the imperial family.

Hearing her words, Hibbort slowly closed his eyes, his voice raspy.

"Astrid..."

"...I’m also glad to have had you as a daughter."

Standing at the end of life, receiving such a sincere response from Astrid, he felt deeply comforted.

The only regret is that Fanya and Gregor will never see their daughter, now grown graceful and dignified.

"From now on... the Empire’s future rests in your hands..."

Hibbort’s lips moved weakly, his voice so low it was nearly inaudible. Astrid immediately leaned closer, and in the final moment before his life completely faded, she heard the old Emperor’s words.

"I should... go meet her now..."

His eyes moistened slightly. His intermittent breathing ceases altogether. Sensing that the hand she held had lost all strength, Astrid’s eyelashes trembled, her lips moving silently.

"..."

This iron-fisted Emperor, who once stood before many nobles and defended Astrid’s happiness in her youth like a lion, now reached his final curtain.

Clutching Hibbort’s hand, pressing the back of his hand against her forehead, Astrid closed her eyes, her voice trembling slightly.

"Rest in peace...Father."

May the afterlife be free of power struggles. May this weathered old man finally feel the fragments of familial affection he could only glimpse from his adoptive daughter in his later years.

After a long while, Astrid straightened her body. Her legs, numb from prolonged crouching, ached slightly at the knees and calves.

She glanced at the golden-haired man lying completely on the bed, recalled his earlier words, stretched her ankles, and walked toward the study desk in the bedroom.

Opening the drawer, she found the red box Hibbort mentioned. Inside lay a silver honeysuckle brooch. Judging by the style, it didn’t seem meant for men, but rather a feminine accessory meant to be worn on formal gowns.

Thinking of this, Astrid turned her head toward the painting. The woman in the oil portrait smiled gently, the brooch currently in Astrid’s hand pinned precisely to her dress.

As for the medal nearby...

Astrid reached out and picked it up. The gray-brown medal bore a clear scratch on its surface, seemingly left by a blade.

Unlike the honeysuckle brooch, Hibbort had once told her the origin of this medal.

It was an imperial award given to princes by the previous Emperor. At that time, Hibbort was only eighteen, having helped Duke Charles suppress a rebellion on the empire’s frontier, thus earning this hard-won honor.

These could all be seen as crucial milestones in Hibbort’s life.

Staring at Hibbort’s possessions for a long time, Astrid carefully put them away, then went to the bedroom door and quietly gave instructions to Elise.

"Ask Mr. Anthony to come. I have something to discuss with him."

Hibbort had urged her long ago: to ensure political stability in the capital and prevent unrest, his death must be kept secret. His funeral arrangements will be handled by the Arcanist mage Anthony.

Elise nodded upon hearing this, immediately passing down the order, then remained in the corridor to continue protecting Astrid’s personal safety.

Feeling the night breeze brushing against her cheeks outdoors, Astrid casually swept a strand of silver hair aside. Thinking of the warmth that had just slipped from her grasp, the heaviness in her heart lingered, refusing to dissolve.

Even with prior experience of life and death from her previous life, this feeling still made her deeply uncomfortable.