Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 467: Chapter 294: Imperial Capital in Turmoil (Part 2)

The restless faction, like the remnants of the Kadari and the Roland family, are in secret meetings and recruiting soldiers. They have waited too long for this moment.

The indifferent faction, controlling the economic lifeblood: the business associations, the treasury department, the Imperial Capital’s foreign trade office… They are silent, but they are watching, watching who will be the next center.

She wrote in the letter with meticulous handwriting:

They are all waiting for the one who can first step onto the stage and present a new Emperor or proclaim themselves as Regent King.

And this is the gamble about to change the entire Empire’s fate.

At the end of the letter, she wrote specific action suggestions: The Duke must immediately privately notify all distant Calvin relatives to be vigilant about the sweeping impact of the “royal succession dispute” among the old nobility.

After finishing the secret letter, she ignited the seal wax, pressing the family crest stamp down fiercely.

The rain stopped.

She looked up at the palace roof, where dawn’s light emerged. A drop of cold dew fell on her fingertip, like some mysterious omen.

“Oh Emperor…” she murmured, “if you have truly disappeared, then next, it’s time for us to take the stage.”

……

The night was deep, the wind passed through the iron-leafed trees, lifting a corner of the study’s curtain, carrying strands of frosty evening breeze.

Duke Calvin sat behind the desk, expression grave.

Before him was a letter from the Imperial Capital.

“Emperor Ernst August lost contact on his return from Northern Tour, with three legions accompanying him, now all without news…”

The entire study fell into a terrifying silence, only the occasional crackling of the firewood in the fireplace could be heard.

“A heaven-sent opportunity or a catastrophic annihilation…” Calvin raised his eyes and calmly uttered to himself, then he folded the letter again and sealed it in a gray cloth bag.

Duke Calvin stood before the fireplace, staring at the flames for a long time, then slowly walked to the map.

He gazed at the wall map covering the entire Empire, his eyes stopping on the red dot representing the Imperial Capital, sneering: “If it’s true… heh.”

Then his fingers moved towards the Southeast Province border: “But if it’s false, then any actions would be rebellious and family exterminating.”

At this moment, he made up his mind.

“Do not take a stance, do not make a statement, do not contact anyone. Order the patrol regiment to seal the borders, guard both internally and externally. Southeast Province, even if losing the Imperial Capital, must ensure self-preservation.”

He sat down, personally picking up the pen, writing the first order letter, stamping it with the Calvin Family’s seal.

“The Empire’s ship is about to sink? I still need to choose which mast it will be.” He pondered for a long time, and then called for someone again: “Draft the strategy for ’Suggesting the Crown Prince be made Regent.’

“This Prince has a gentle personality, no military power, no authority, indeed the best puppet. By making the first move, sending the letter into the Imperial Hall, let the council circle see our Calvin family’s loyalty.”

He paused for half a moment, then instructed: “But do not deliver it immediately. Wait until the Imperial Capital is completely turbulent before presenting it, precisely to stabilize people’s hearts.”

Almost simultaneously, a Gale Bird carrying the Red Tide seal landed on the main manor’s mailbox.

When the personal guard chief brought the letter into the study, Duke Calvin was still looking at that secret letter from the Imperial Capital.

“…A letter from the Northern Territory?”

He frowned slightly, accepting the letter, the candlelight reflecting on the seal wax’s Red Tide Sun pattern.

Unsealing the letter, he glanced over it.

“Grave Gorge… reinforcements counterattack… massive defeat of the Barbarian army… main force returned.”

His fingers tightened, slightly crumpling the paper. Several breaths later, he raised his head, his expression inscrutable.

Finally, his gaze stopped at the familiar yet emotionless signature, “Louis Calvin, Red Tide Lord.”

After reading the entire letter, he didn’t immediately speak, instead bowing his head in contemplation, as if sinking into the calm, unruffled letter.

Several breaths later, he lightly, lowly sighed.

“…That child has ultimately stepped out of the chessboard I set.”

This letter only mentioned in passing the “Grave Gorge Battle,” the surprise attack of reinforcements, the reversal of the battle situation, the Northern Alliance Army’s narrow escape, and subsequent support requests.

All were articulated with rational phrasing, and formulaic personal greetings meant for a son to send to a father, without any trace of emotional fluctuation.

Over the years, the letters have become increasingly cold, as if he were merely a superior, a family backstage, rather than a father.

His emotions were complex, his thoughts intertwined and tangled:

As the patriarch, he had successfully wagered on the Northern Territory, now holding the discourse power to “develop the Northern Territory.”

Making the Calvin Clan’s position in the Northern Empire increasingly prominent.

But Louis never showed any affection of “a son towards a father.”

His letters carried a cold tone, orderly and precise, filled with requests for battle situation reports and resource coordination, like reporting to a superior, not a father-son conversation.

Moreover, the aide he sent to Red Tide has long been unable to intervene in core affairs, even Bradley, the old servant, has recently been vague in his language, avoiding key points.

This subtle shift in loyalty left him deeply uneasy.

Red Tide has now become a “tower of ambiguity” to him; he cannot see its internal structure, nor know its true strength.

And he had an idea he hadn’t shared with anyone: if he could somehow summon him back to the Southeast, under complete Calvin family control, not only would it consolidate the Northern Territory, but also ensure the family’s survival for a century.

But he knew, this wasn’t easy.

His eldest son, Gaius, originally thought to be the best candidate for the next clan leader, serving as Deputy Corps Commander of the Dragon Blood Legion, talented and adept in both military and politics, yet since the insect disaster in the Northern Territory he was severely injured and fell into a coma, his fate uncertain.

The place the Emperor arranged for his recuperation is also mysterious, now the Emperor is missing, Gaius is feared to be in grave danger.

Louis became the only offspring still “shining brightly.”

He closed his eyes, pondering for a long time before slowly opening them, murmuring to himself: “…Perhaps, he should indeed return, but not now.”

He picked up the quill, beginning to write new orders on the letter paper.

Dispatch a new trade envoy to Red Tide as soon as possible, ostensibly to negotiate trade routes, but actually to investigate the true power structure.

The technical personnel Louis needs can be sent to him, but intelligence personnel must be embedded within.

Additional chips may be infused, but whether he truly wishes to pass the patriarch position to Louis, must be carefully observed.

……

The air in the Imperial Capital, on the fifteenth day after Emperor Ernst August’s “disappearance,” had already completely changed.

As if an invisible hand had suddenly pushed away the sword of Damocles hanging over all aristocrats’ heads.

The originally incontrovertible pressure abruptly failed, leaving behind an expanse of heart-racing emptiness.

On the surface, the Imperial Capital is still singing and dancing, nobles still chattering in the halls, but every polite exchange hides probing and blade-like sharpness.

The Emperor’s offspring are like beasts smelling blood.

The Second Prince and Fourth Prince are secretly contacting old allies, rumors of the Third Prince’s death are reoccurring, muddling the situation.

Several Princesses are also reaching out to their maternal clans and allies, planning for self-preservation.

Yet everyone knows: if the Emperor truly returns, today’s every small move could lead to family annihilation.

So everyone pretends to be cautious, while secretly flowing like a torrent.

“The Empire cannot be without a ruler for a day.” This is the sentence everyone in the Council Hall keeps saying.

Hence after a short and intense game, all sides miraculously reached a certain tacit understanding:

Push the frail and sickly, utterly powerless Crown Prince to the forefront as the temporary Regent King.

He has no military power, no political allies, and no independent will.

Precisely because of this, he is the most perfect puppet.

Yet the real power quickly slipped into the “Dragon Throne Meeting.”

An assembly formed by representatives of major families and high officials of the Imperial Capital, initially meant for the Emperor to manipulate the great nobility, now transformed to let the great nobility manipulate the Emperor.

Thus the Empire temporarily maintained superficial order.

Decrees continued to be issued, the court continued its banquets, citizens within the city continued to believe “His Majesty is severely ill, temporarily regented by the Crown Prince.”

However, all aristocrats know: this is merely a thin veil; the waves beneath the sea are frantically surging.

Every family, every royal offspring is waiting for that ultimate answer:

Will the Emperor return, or disappear completely?

And in this subtle intermission, any slightest movement could ignite the spark leading to a decade of turmoil.