Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 723 - 404: Coronation Ceremony (Part 2)
Duke Diaz was dressed in the deep-patterned robe of the Inspectorate, with a sullen expression.
His family’s hereditary rights were still in the hands of the Royal Family, and he had to keep a close watch, no matter which way the wind blew.
The representative of the Holden family looked as withered as a piece of half-dead wood.
With a huge old debt owed to the treasury, they faced a dead end if they did not attend, and so they could only grit their teeth and sit at this table, symbolizing the power of the Empire.
The representative of the Beres family continuously rubbed his cuff, his face full of hesitation.
They were the most typical fence-sitters; whichever way the wind blew, there their knees would bend.
Now he appeared here, only because the trend seemed to favor the Fourth Prince.
The Kadari Family’s representative was absent; a family once personally purged by the former Emperor and stripped of their permanent seat in the Noble Council, now temporarily reinstated to make up the eight-seat requirement for the Fourth Prince.
Seated at the last position, with an expression of humility, at least outwardly appearing grateful.
And the three empty chairs, like tombstones, reminded everyone:
Duke Calvin was silent, even withdrawing his representative Eleanor from the Imperial Capital in advance.
Duke Raymond, the mainstay of the Second Prince’s faction, did not appear.
The Edmund Clan, though a name in the Northern Territory, was practically extinct, and even Louis sent no emissary.
The empty seats themselves were a form of provocation.
Mei Si, the Inspectorate Director, stood in the center of the long table, clad in a silver-insignia robe. Due to the absence of the Minister of Internal Affairs, he was temporarily assigned to preside over this grand ceremony. Although his authority was temporary, it made his presence seem exceptionally heavy.
His voice echoed coldly and hollowly through the array:
“In light of the Regent King’s unfortunate passing, the nation cannot be without a leader even for a day. It is now proposed to restore the system of the Electoral Prince, with His Highness, the Fourth Prince Rhine, as the inaugural Imperial Guardian.”
The hall fell into an awkward silence.
According to ancestral customs, such a weighty matter required a unanimous vote from the Eight Great Clans, but now only five were present.
No one spoke. No one was willing to take on the responsibility of speaking first.
Rhine stood on the steps, raising his chin, his voice chillingly cold: “Silence is consent.” He slowly scanned below: “Absence is abstinence.”
He then turned to the most compliant person: “Duke Simmons, what is the count now?”
Simmons, eager and impatient, raised the scepter representing nobility’s decision, his voice loud and clear:
“Five votes in favor! More than half, it’s passed!”
The attendant unfolded a parchment scroll, the gold patterns of the “New Imperial Charter” shimmering faintly in the firelight, the rules rewritten personally by Rhine.
Duke Simmons was the first to sign, his pen quivering across the paper, trembling with excitement beyond control.
Next was Diaz, Holden, Beres, and Kadari.
With each name inscribed, Rhine’s smile grew deeper.
When the fifth name was securely pressed upon the parchment scroll, he finally exhaled.
He raised a teacup, lightly toasting the imaginary storm outside the window.
The motion seemed calm, but more like a coronation ceremony for himself.
Father… if you were here, surely you would mock me. He murmured in his heart, even carrying a hint of barely detectable disdain.
But you never understood that politics should be elegant, not flowers watered with blood.
In those years, he watched his father purge dozens of families, his method brutal and direct, causing the entire Empire to succumb in terror.
That was not governance, just a butcher’s knife hanging over everyone’s head.
And I will not do so; true power should have the subjects kneel voluntarily, not be forced into a corner.
He didn’t speak these words aloud but etched them in his heart deeper than any vow: no need for butchers, no need for bloodshed, no need to purge dozens of families.
Just rules, just legitimacy on paper, just a few signatures, and he could make the Empire willingly place its power into his hands.
Tonight is the first step.
Though the throne is not vacant, the true Emperor? He has been missing for so long, perhaps never to return.
Even if he did return, it would be only to hold my coronation.
He set down the cup, turning to show the civil servants in the room a gentle, composed smile: “Gentlemen, a toast to the new order.”
The crowd responded in unison, their voices resounding beneath the dome: “To His Majesty Rhine!”
……
Torrential rain poured into the valley, the sound of the water like countless iron arrows striking simultaneously.
The Second Prince Kaelin brought his last 800 loyal personal guards to this place.
They had just broken through from the western suburbs, their armor full of knife marks, many still bearing unbandaged wounds, yet gritting their teeth and holding on, not one groaned.
As they passed through the last checkpoint and arrived deep in the valley, the sight before them caused even Kaelin to hold his breath tight.
Over ten thousand troops, including Raymond’s Greyrock Cavalry and the 10th, 31st Border Legions… stood solemnly in the rain.
Rain flowed down their helmets, washing the mud from their faces, but they stood unwavering, like rows of iron monoliths standing in the storm.
Kaelin rode past these knights.
Their eyes bore no confusion or expectation but a fierce gleam of being cornered.
Months without provisions had forced them to eat grass roots, boil leather, even kill horses with their own hands to survive.
This extreme pressure did not destroy but pushed them from men toward beasts.
They needed neither drugs to control nor oaths to bind them; hatred itself was the purest battle spirit.
Kaelin’s lips curved upwards slowly.
“This is not an army.” He murmured, satisfaction laced with coldness in his tone, “This is a wolf pack.”
He scanned the distance: “Rhine, that bookworm, has driven the Empire’s watchdogs mad with hunger… now, let him taste being torn apart personally.”
Just as the words fell, Duke Raymond rode out from the other end of the rain, his cloak billowing in the storm.
He exchanged no pleasantries, simply lifted a hand in signal.
At once, hundreds of supply wagons covered in oilcloth were simultaneously unveiled by the knights.
As the oilcloth hit the ground, a manic gleam flashed through the eyes of knights standing in the storm.
The wagons held no magic glows, no ceremonial decorations, only the most direct spark for the army’s morale:
—Chests of Imperial Gold Coins, blazing gold under the torchlight’s reflection.
Raymond, like a generous master, half raised his chin, his tone calm, even a bit contemptuous:
“Your Highness, Rhine thinks withholding the treasury can force your surrender.” He gestured to the supply wagons, “But he forgot a 300-year accumulation of the Raymond family can’t be stopped by such petty palace tricks.”
He raised a hand to suppress the rain: “These… are enough for this army to turn over every flagstone in the Imperial Capital.”
Kaelin was silent for a moment, then stepped slowly onto a rain-exposed platform, his armor shining in the lightning’s glare.
He unsheathed the sword symbolizing imperial authority, the blade slicing a cold arc through the rain.
The sound of rain seemed, for an instant, muffled.
Kaelin’s voice was loud and forceful, carrying an inherent arrogance of royal blood: “Knights!”
His sword pointed towards the direction outside Greyrock Valley: “I know you’re hungry —! I also know you’ve been wronged!”
The knights’ eyes glowed red under the lightning.
Kaelin’s voice suddenly dropped, yet it was more chilling than a roar:
“Rhine! That coward hiding in the Imperial Hall, only playing with ink!
He poisoned the Regent King! He cut off your provisions! He treated the Empire’s heroes like beggars!”
Thunder roared, lending a cold edge to his words.
He raised his longsword high, its tip stabbing at the night sky.
“I don’t want you to abide by rules, I want only one thing from you.” He enunciated each word, his voice like striking steel, “Enter the city, reclaim your wealth! Reclaim your glory!”
The wind swept the rain towards them.
In the next moment, lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating Kaelin’s side profile as cold and stern as wrought iron.
He shouted: “In two days, I want to drink Rhine’s blood in the Imperial Hall! And you shall drink fine wine on Victory Avenue!!”
He suddenly swung the Sword of Punishment downwards, landing it on the rock.
“Troops—move out!!”
The response was not chaotic cheers, but the simultaneous metallic rasp of thousands of weapons being drawn.
The sound was heavy, cold, like a giant beast awakening in the pouring rain, baring its fangs.
Kaelin slightly raised his chin, his chest heaving with fierce satisfaction.
The hunters set off on their nocturnal march into the city.
