Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 637 - 372: Three Letters (Part 2)
Chapter 637: Chapter 372: Three Letters (Part 2)
He was about to reach out to extinguish the lamp when there were two knocks at the door.
“Come in.”
A person pushed the door open, bowed, then whispered, “Your Excellency, Edmond has brought some people back to the mansion.”
The Duke looked up, the candlelight reflecting a faint glow in his eyes.
He quietly watched the shadow at the door, speaking in a steady voice, “Is that so… I’ll go over now.”
……
Seldon Calvin sat at the desk in the inner chamber of Vero Port, holding the confidential letter.
The paper crinkled slightly from sweat as he stared at the line: “Nine warships have arrived at the port, the flag is Red Tide…”
The candlelight cast a gloomy look on his face.
Nine warships, nine main forces.
Seldon knew very well what this meant: Louis’s Red Tide was no longer just a political appendage, but an economic powerhouse.
“The permafrost of the Northern Territory… has become a gold mine,” he murmured.
At that moment, Seldon genuinely felt anxious for the first time.
His father’s attention was shifting.
Louis, a brother who was treated as forsaken, now wielded a power that could unsettle the Imperial Nobility.
Goods from the Northern Territory flowed steadily into the South, while the Calvin Clan’s caravans depended on the Red Tide’s goods.
“If this drags on, my father will only remember Louis’s name, that waste,”
Seldon sneered, the image of his father’s indifferent face appearing in his mind.
“Ever since Gaius disappeared, I thought that chair was cemented for me, but now…”
He looked up, his gaze sweeping across the mirror on the wall, his shadow elongated by the candlelight.
“Louis… a waste presumed forsaken, yet somehow he stood up.”
Seldon recalled investing 8,000 gold coins, five trade routes, thirty Knights to support Pal, only for everything to become a futile corpse.
While Louis took merely 800 gold coins, yet brought back the entire Northern Territory.
The disparity was suffocating.
“The Empire’s political scene is in such chaos, yet he managed to build a fleet on the wasteland… And what about me? I didn’t even dare show my father a single loss on a ship.”
Seldon admitted for the first time, he was afraid.
“Perhaps… Father’s already considering bringing him back.”
His thoughts drifted back to four years ago. That night, Louis set out for the Northern Territory.
Seldon still remembered standing in the tower, watching the carriage disappear into the mist.
The Knights he sent, carrying a bottle of colorless poison, had orders to cause an accident along the way.
Unfortunately, it failed, but then he felt it was nothing, just a trivial move.
“I should have acted directly back then.” He murmured, shaking his head with a bitter smile, “I thought I was playing chess, but in reality, I had already made a grave mistake.”
In the following years, Seldon continually sent spies, merchants, apprentices, Knights… none returned.
It was as if those people had been swallowed whole by the Red Tide.
The family map on the wall hung quietly, the region of the Northern Territory marked by his own hand in deep red lines, denoted as “Red Tide Territory.”
Seldon gazed at that color, his breathing heavy: “Impenetrable… that place has become his Kingdom.”
“I must reclaim the title of Patriarch.” He gritted his teeth, his voice almost inaudible.
He forced himself to calm down and reassess the situation.
With Gaius missing, his father advanced in age, he controlled thirty percent of the trade and port networks, while Louis, though a Count, remained in the Northern Territory.
As long as Father did not publicly accept him, he remained the most eligible heir of the family.
“He can have the Northern Territory, but the Calvin throne can only be mine, but I need a plan…” He chuckled softly, though the smile lacked any warmth.
……
The night draped over the Imperial Capital, enveloped in cold fog.
The candle flickered, casting shadows on the piles of account books and letters on the desk.
The Fourth Prince, Rhein, leaned over, reviewing fiscal reports from his estates.
He wrote his last annotation, setting the quill down when a gentle knock sounded at the door.
“Enter.”
An attendant walked in, hands presenting a letter: “A personal letter from Director Mei Si of the Supervisory Institute.”
Rhein broke the seal, the letter contained only one line:
“The proposal Your Highness presented will be brought up at the meeting when the time is right.”
The candlelight revealed a fleeting smirk at the corner of Rhein’s eyes.
“Indeed, the sound of gold coins, more persuasive than any vow.”
Rhein murmured, “Mei Si… truly a greedy rat.”
“Karen, what do you think?” He turned, looking at the old man quietly standing behind him.
That was Karen Sol, former commander of the Empire’s Third Legion.
Now Rhein’smentor and guardian, the Emperor’s former system required each Prince to have an Imperial officer as their mentor, like Sai Fu for Astha.
“Mei Si is an opportunist.” The old man spoke evenly, “Offer advantages, and he will align. Yet such people, adept at shifting posts swiftly.”
Karen looked at Rhein, “Your Highness needs to act swiftly, settle him before the Regent King falls.”
Rhein leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady: “I understand. But…”
He reached out to unfold the Empire’s map on the table.
The candlelight illuminated the densely packed factional chart, marking the emblems and directions of the Eight Great Clans.
“This state of the Imperial Capital,” he said softly, “like a quietly crumbling tower.”
The map’s margins were annotated with lines of script:
Ministry of Finance: The two factions divided; one loyal to the Regent King, the other tilting towards himself;
Ministry of War: Completely controlled by the Second Prince;
Supervisory Institute: Initially neutral, now inclined towards Rhein;
Church Court of Dragon Ancestor: Hollowed out after suppression by successive Emperors.
Rhein withdrew his gaze, speaking gently: “The Empire must maintain its facade before decay sets in. And as long as the Regent King lives, I have time to orchestrate.”
He did not reside in the palace, nor did he often visit his ailing elder brother.
The Regent King, his brother from the same mother, was both his greatest obstacle to the throne and greatest assistance.
He hoped that his brother could endure a while longer, allowing the Empire’s order to pretend to remain stable, enabling him to gather further strength.
“Currently among the Eight Great Clans, how many are on our side?” Rhein asked.
Karen replied, “Three openly, possibly more secretly.”
He enumerated, “The Diaz Clan, through the Supervisory Institute, has clearly supported Your Highness.
The Simmons Clan has temporarily submitted, the Kaladi Clan harbors grievances toward military power, so they will be on our side.”
He paused, then continued, “The Calvin Clan outwardly aligns with the Second Prince, but their attitude is ambiguous; the old Duke always bets on the final victor.
The Raymond Clan is a hardcore faction, always supporting the Ministry of War.
The Holden Clan is falling apart, Berres remains watchful.
The Edmund Clan is virtually defunct, all Northern Territory power lies with that Calvin Count.”
Rhein tapped the table lightly, fell silent for a moment.
“That young Count…” he spoke slowly, “in his twenties, solely controls the Empire’s largest province.”
Karen nodded slightly, “The Red Tide’s system is indeed efficient. Everyone capable is mobilized, not relying on nobility’s favor.”
Rhein chuckled softly: “Coaxing him might draw in the Calvin Family as well. Yet… these are just words.”
Karen responded calmly, “Do not forget, he is a Calvin son. Foxes within a fox’s den would not easily acknowledge a master.”
Rhein refolded Mei Si’s letter, sealing it with wax.
“Fox?” his tone indifferent, “Then deal with them as one would with a falcon.”
Rhein stood up, instructing Karen, “Reply to Mei Si, informing him the funds will be transferred tomorrow. Also, have Intelligence look into the Northern Territory Count’s movements.”
Karen nodded slightly, turned to leave, the room returned to silence.
Rhein sat back in the chair, gazed at the map illuminated by candlelight.
The Imperial Capital, the Northern Territory, the Southeastern Port, the Border Fort, all connected by lines, resembling a sprawling net.
He murmured softly, “If the Regent King lives three more years, perhaps I’ll ascend to that position.”
“If he doesn’t last three years…” he paused, his expression calm. “Then let’s see who makes the first move.”
The wind seeped through the crack, making the Empire map flutter lightly in the breeze, as if heralding the start of a fracture.
