Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence - Chapter 731 - 408: Endgame (Part 2)
Below the steps, Remont stood silently.
He looked at Kaelin, whose back seemed on the verge of collapse, tidied his cuffs, and revealed a faint smile.
It was a kind of chilling satisfaction.
Like a craftsman checking the sharpness of a blade he forged with his own hands.
Before this, Kaelin was merely a fallen prince.
And now he had publicly killed his brother, the Empire’s Regent King, cutting off all retreats.
This meant he could finally be molded into the Emperor he wanted to be.
Remont slowly ascended the steps, his boots echoing steadily and rhythmically on the cold stone surface.
He came to Kaelin’s side, gently pressed his trembling shoulder, as if comforting a child after a nightmare: “Well done, Your Majesty.”
……
The once lively and never-dark Victory Avenue now echoed only with wind howling through the ruins.
Seven days ago, it was adorned with flowers to celebrate the Fourth Prince Rheine becoming Regent King, decorated by the nobility like the heart of the Empire.
Seven days later, this once prosperous street was lined with gallows, the wooden beams creaking in the night rain, like a lament for the old order of the Empire.
The muddy ground, trampled by hooves, mixed with blood, alcohol fumes, and smoke, emitted a nauseating stench.
The firelight of the Nobility District reflected in the puddles, like tongues of fire twisting and dancing in the night sky.
Before these gallows, Duke Simmons was dragged over.
He was no longer the figure of seven days ago.
His prison clothes were stained with mud, the torn parts revealing emaciated, dry knees, and his wig knocked off, exposing sparse, gray hair.
His face was wet from rainwater, but it couldn’t wash away the confusion and fear in his eyes.
The head of one of the Eight Great Clans, at that moment, was like an old fish dragged ashore, gasping for air.
“I… I’m an Electoral Prince… I have immunity… immunity…” Simmons muttered repeatedly, as if chanting a protective curse, but with each utterance, his voice grew weaker.
As if he too realized that these titles wouldn’t save him in the Imperial Capital.
The executioner stood before him, shouting to the surrounding knights: “Simmons Grand, one of the Eight Great Clans, adherent of the Old Empire, betrayer of military authority, assisted in the chaos in the Royal Capital according to military law, execution by hanging.”
“I… I’m loyal! I’ve always supported the royal power! I…”
Before he could finish, a bag was placed over his head, and his voice was completely silenced.
The noose was tightened.
The captain raised his hand and waved down: “Drop.”
The plank was removed, Simmons’ body suddenly dropped, making a dull snap like a broken branch.
His legs convulsed a few times, gently shaking the gallows like a withered branch in the wind.
Soon after, his struggles ceased completely.
The rain continued to fall, unable to wash away the blood on Victory Avenue.
The remains of the Eight Great Clans’ aristocrats swayed in the wind and rain, becoming the first sacrifices of the new Empire map.
Besides Simmons, several high-ranking officials of the former Empire were tied together.
Karen, Rheine’s tutor, who formulated all his seizure plans.
Mei Si, head of the Supervisory Institute, drafter of the “New Charter.”
Finance Minister Bellier, it was his plan to strip the Second Prince’s knights’ corps of provisions.
And dozens of civil servants, once the core of that elite circle.
Now their necks were bound by the same rope.
Their faces dusted with ash water, eyes blank, pushed to kneel before the gallows like livestock.
The night wind blew open the bags, raindrops tapped their cheeks, but none made a sound.
The curtain fell faster than expected.
As the nooses simultaneously tightened, there were no longer any celebration lights under the sycamore trees lining Victory Avenue.
In their place were the bodies hanging from the branches.
Wooden plaques hung around their necks: “Parasites of the Finance Ministry.” “Traitor of the Supervisory Institute.” “Rheine’s lapdogs.”
The night wind blew, gently rocking the dozens of bodies, and the plaques clattered with hollow sounds.
The onlooking commoners stood far away, their expressions numb, neither pleading for the dead nor daring to speak.
Because they understood: the new master was more brutal than the old.
……
The high windows of the Imperial Hall continued to stream with rainwater, trickling down the glass.
The sound of torrential rain pounded the eaves, dull and continuous, as if the entire Imperial Capital held its breath for tonight’s storm.
The Second Prince Kaelin sat on the Dragon Throne.
He wore no ceremonial robe, no gold-embroidered trim, no Ceremonial Crown, only a jet-black marshal’s uniform, its shoulder armor stained with dried blood.
He refused the title of Regent King, rejected all titles presented by the civil servants.
Kaelin merely raised his chin slightly, uttering two cold words: “Just write—Emperor.”
The civil servants buckled at the knees, not daring to question further.
On the steps at the entrance of the hall lay the battered helmet of the 8th Legion’s leader, its cracks stained dark brown with blood.
A personal guard knelt on the ground, reporting tremblingly: “Your Highness… the 8th Legion… was completely annihilated, no survivors.”
Kaelin was silent for a moment, his metal prosthesis rasping against the armrest of the Dragon Throne with a harsh screech.
“They followed the wrong person,” he said softly, “but they exemplified the knights.”
He raised his hand, ordering: “Give them a proper burial.”
No one in the Imperial Hall dared to oppose.
That was Rheine’s most loyal legion, yet it received a treatment higher than any traitor.
On the other side of the hall, two legion commanders knelt, their faces full of expectation and humility.
They had made a decision in the siege: to defect.
Now they thought they had chosen correctly.
“Your Majesty!” they kowtowed in unison, “We wish to serve you with all our might! To cleanse the world for you!”
Kaelin looked down at them, with no warmth in his eyes.
He suddenly chuckled, a sound that made everyone’s hair stand on end.
“The 5th Legion deserted. The 18th Legion, cowardly.”
He lightly tapped the armrest with his hand: “Implement the Eleven Execution Law.”
There was an immediate deathly silence in the hall.
For every ten, one was selected for immediate execution, the rest were incorporated into the Death Warrior camp, and in the next battle, they would charge first.
The two legion commanders collapsed to the ground, their faces instantly paler than the dead.
Kaelin looked down on them: “This is your chance for redemption.”
One sentence, and the hearts of all speculators simultaneously tightened.
The lights in the Supervisor’s building extinguished in the rainy night, the iron gate slammed open, and three hundred volumes of files were thrown into the furnace.
Kaelin no longer needed the Supervisor; he only needed a military tribunal.
The lock teeth of the treasury vault door shattered, the door fell, shaking the entire cellar slightly.
Knights carried out crates of Gold Coins, filling the military wagons.
The civil servant wailed: “That’s the disaster relief fund! That’s the Empire’s reserve fund! You can’t…”
Kaelin cut him off coldly: “Transport it to the military camp, distribute it all as rewards.”
Amidst the pouring rain, crates of Gold were transported to the military camp outside the city, knights holding torches cheered around the gold boxes.
Then a new edict was thrown from before the Dragon Throne, landing on the wet, cold stone bricks, opening with a crisp sound.
It was the “Wartime Military Governance Order.”
The moment the civil servants raised their heads, each of their faces turned deathly pale.
“These laws are immediately abolished,” Kaelin’s voice was low, yet carried an unresistable absolute force.
One civil servant couldn’t help but cry out: “Your Highness… that’s the Empire’s code…”
“Your master from last night is already dead.”
At that moment, no one dared say another word.
The entire Imperial Hall seemed to have been slit open by an invisible dagger from the old era.
The roots of civil servant governance were uprooted, the careful system Rheine had built turned to ashes this night.
Kaelin returned to sit on the Dragon Throne.
He closed his eyes, as if listening to the rain.
After tonight, the Empire no longer needed explanations.
No longer needed laws. No longer needed those detailed articles written by civil servants.
He slowly opened his eyes, his voice low and calm: “From today, the Empire will be ruled by the military.”
No one in the hall dared to make a sound.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, like the first death knell for a new era.
