Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 503: Chapter 310: Death of Duke Edmund (Part 2)

At least under Louis’ rule, those people lived a life they could never have before.

Perhaps the Northern Territory in Louis’ hands will see a rebirth.

Thinking of this, Duke Edmund couldn’t help but sigh softly.

“Emily…” he murmured.

She was his smartest, most stubborn child, and the one most like her mother.

Edmond had originally planned not to disturb her until his death, not to disturb the one nurturing new life.

In this destined-to-end drama, not letting her see his aging, collapsing state.

But now, he suddenly wanted to see her, and this thought had been recurring these past few days.

Between Red Tide and Frost Halberd, there lay the mud and ruins of post-war reconstruction, and more so the relentless cold currents of the Northern Territory day and night.

It was too selfish to let her risk it.

But he still… wanted to see her.

After a long silence, Edmond suddenly laughed.

The laughter was like rusty armor, making a soft, creaking noise in the quiet night.

“Forget it. Let me be selfish one last time.”

He reached out, opened the bookshelf by his side, and only after a while did he pull out a hidden compartment.

Inside lay quietly a letter that had been sealed long ago.

The light red sealing wax was imprinted with the Frost Halberd emblem, the edges of the letter paper slightly yellowed.

This letter, he had written more than once, revised more than once.

……

Only seven days after the letter was sent, Red Tide’s carriage arrived at the gates of the inner residence of Frost Halberd, and the first to jump down from the carriage was that stubborn yet gentle girl from his memory.

“Father.” Emily called out with a smile, but her eyes were slightly red, “I’m back.”

Edmond squinted at her, said nothing, just nodded slightly, then extended his aged and withered hand.

Emily gently took it, just like when she was a child.

In the following days, the inner residence of Frost Halberd finally had long-lost laughter.

Emily brought specialty pastries from Red Tide, Alina personally brewed tea, and young Isaac ran around chasing the cat.

Edmond sat on a chair by the window, like a quiet observer, watching this scene as if it were a dream.

At night, Emily played chess with him, deliberately losing, but her father saw through it.

“Don’t let me win,” Edmond coughed twice, but showed a rare smile, “I don’t need you to fake it.”

She just nodded and smiled but quietly clenched her fist in her sleeve.

Actually, Louis also came.

But this time, he intentionally stayed “invisible,” did not disturb, and did not seek presence.

The matters needing discussion had already been settled during the night of the Bone-Burying Canyon months ago and through secret correspondences over the past half year.

Power, promises, future plans have all been arranged.

Therefore, he did not inappropriately insert himself into this warm family atmosphere.

He chose to stand outside the house, quietly guarding, guarding the man who was once the Shield of the North, welcoming the final peaceful moments of his life.

Until the morning of the seventh day, before dawn.

Emily came to her father’s room, found the door half-open, the hearth still warm.

Edmond wore a casual robe, sitting on a high-backed chair by the window, gently holding Isaac in his arms.

The child was still small, sleeping peacefully in his embrace.

His withered hand gently supported the child’s head, like he was protecting an ember.

Emily quietly approached, finding her father with his eyes closed, a peaceful smile at the corner of his mouth.

He felt no pain, offered no struggle.

Just silently, like an old eagle, he sank into the earth overnight.

……

On the morning of the third day after the Duke’s passing.

Outside Frost Halberd City, the southwest side of the old district—the “Guardians’ Cemetery.”

This was a silent white stone slope, surrounded by forests on three sides, facing the snowfield to the north, burying the bloodlines of the Edmund Clan throughout generations.

At this moment, the entire cemetery was shrouded in snow mist, as if heaven and earth had lowered their voices, fearing to disturb the peace of the sleeping one.

No public mourning, no caravan of nobles from afar, no overwhelming obituaries or dirges.

Just as he wished during his life.

Everything was kept simple, arranged only by the inner residence of Frost Halberd. Just family, representatives of the three major knight orders, old subordinates and officials from Frost Halberd, and a few Northern Lords still stationed locally, merely a few dozen people.

Everyone stood silently in front of the tombstone, no one spoke; even coughs seemed to be frozen in their throats.

The coffin was carved from a whole piece of Northern black pine.

Simple, silent, covered with coarse grey cloth, as if it grew naturally from the snowfield and returned to the earth.

Presiding over the funeral before the wooden coffin was the priest lord of Frost Halberd City.

A nonagenarian elder, draped in an ancient ceremonial robe of dusky blue and silver grey, his staff was carved with ancient inscriptions, the tip hung with a pale silver ribbon, lightly dancing in the wind with his trembling gestures.

He did not proclaim loudly, but opened his hoarse voice, softly in the silent snow:

“At the coldest border, he raised his sword above his head; on the quietest battlefield, he held out as the last person. He was not perfect, but he accomplished everything a loyal minister could.”

The priest lord paused slightly, the staff pointed, landing in the snow before the coffin: “Today, he shall bear no more burdens.”

Coincidentally, at that moment, the wind seemed to suddenly stop.

Emily stood in front of the coffin, standing tall, her belly held firm, as if using all her strength to resist the cold wind and sorrow.

Her face was expressionless, for she was the daughter of a Northern Lord, the daughter of Edmond.

Louis stood by her side, saying nothing, just gently held her hand.

His hand was warm and firm, just like the one who now slumbered, who had countless times been her support.

Lady Alina held little Isaac, standing to one side.

She was cloaked in deep black, her expression vacant, eyes wandering, her mind still lingering on the image of her husband laughing days before, not yet accepting that this man now lay at rest.

And little Isaac looked up at the sky, reaching out his hand trying to catch a falling snowflake, but he missed.

When the priest lord finished the last vow, the commander of the Cold Iron Knight Order, Felan, stepped forward onto the snow, knelt on one knee, and loudly declared the vow:

“Duke Edmund has returned to the silent snow, and we swear not to dishonor his will!”

One after another, knights removed their helmets, knelt on one knee in the snow.

Finally, several personal guards of the Duke slowly lifted the coffin, placing it into the pre-dug stone crypt.

No dirges, no drumming, only the dull sound of the wooden coffin slowly contacting the ice and snow.

The ceremony ended, everyone quietly withdrew, the knights bid farewell one by one, returning to their posts, the old subordinates and officials supporting each other, leaving with grief-laden faces.

Alina, holding Isaac, left, her gaze still vacant, glancing back at the cemetery several times.

But Emily continued to stand there, watching every person leave.

Her expression was calm, able even to exchange words with, comfort her stepmother.

Until she returned to the inner residence, pushed open the familiar study door.

The room still preserved the look from when the Duke was alive.

The old high-backed chair still leaned against the fireplace, a thick blanket draped over its back, on the small table beside the chair lay a half-drunk medicinal wine, and beside it was an unfolded newspaper, its corner slightly curled up.

The hearth had gone out, but everything still carried the lingering presence of her father.

Her shoulder trembled.

Then, as if some invisible string snapped suddenly, Emily flung herself before the chair, burying her face deep into her arms.

It was only then that the long-restrained sobs broke free from her throat, raw and tearing.

She cried almost voicelessly, as if to tear out all the emotions weighed against her chest these past six months.

It was at this moment that a warm hand gently settled on her shoulder.

Louis had appeared at her side sometime.

Without saying a word, he just slowly sat down, opening his arms, gently embracing his wife.

Emily did not struggle, not even lifting her head, allowing the tears to flow.

And that emotion hardened into armor finally, in the familiar presence, quietly dissolved.

The hearth quietly reignited, little by little, lighting up the cold night.