Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 505: Chapter 311: Aftermath and Conspiracy (Part 2)

Of course, Louis was never officially appointed by the Imperial Capital as “Governor of the North,” nor did he hold any swearing-in ceremony.

He relied on the actual power documents handed over by the old Duke on his deathbed, fueled by three consecutive months of Red Tide Territory’s supply of grain and salt mines, and controlled the leading voice in the Northern Territory’s reconstruction meetings.

Without wearing a crown, Louis has already achieved approximately seventy percent political support in the Northern Territory.

And Louis’s sharpest tool is naturally the data collected by the Daily Intelligence System, converging into an almost cold political map.

Those who can be wooed are marked “usable,” with strategies and needs attached.

Those with weak wills and dirty tails are marked as “to be watched.”

As for the observers, the “scheme to be decided after the situation evolves” column is left blank.

Yet Louis was in no hurry to clean up or curry favor.

Because he knows, under the seventy percent support, the remaining thirty percent are left with only the choice of “silence.”

Of course, the beginning of all this was not the road paved by Louis himself.

But he never denies that what truly made it possible for him to sit on this chair was the deceased old Duke.

It was he who, before dying, sent letters to intimidate the family branches coveting power.

It was he who handed over real power in advance, allowing the Northern Territory’s power vacuum to be silently filled.

It was he who, through his posthumous reputation, shielded Louis from countless questioning glances.

Louis realizes this is not a simple legacy, but a favor heavy enough to break one’s spine.

He is grateful.

……

On the third day after the Duke’s death, the frost in Frost Halberd City remained unthawed.

Louis convened a very brief closed-door meeting within Frost Halberd’s inner city.

No audience, no civil servants were present—only three attendees: the three Knight Order leaders: Blunt Edge, Cold Iron, Silver Fang.

The venue was an old stone hall, with a long table spanning across, the fire pit barely aglow.

Sitting closest to Louis was Captain Blunt Edge, Remor.

He smiled faintly as if having awaited this moment for long, nodding first: “We are at your command. The old Duke said as much during his life, and we are already familiar with your rhythm.”

This legion had been personally handed over to Louis by Duke Edmund half a year ago.

After half a year’s effort of wooing by Louis, it has now become one of Red Tide’s most stable military supports.

Louis did not repeat his gratitude, just nodded slightly, as a form of promise.

Sitting in the middle was Captain Cold Iron, Felan, clad in immaculate iron armor, with a postured like a mountain.

His tone was steady: “The old Duke made us guardians; we’ll keep guard till he can stand independently by the saddle.”

This is the most “disciplined” legion, executing Edmund’s orders with an almost obsessive adherence, and this time is no different.

Louis pointed to the map on the table, his tone calming: “Then I’ll have you escort Lady Emily and Young Master Isaac back south to Red Tide.”

Felan had no objections, only pounded his chest lightly as a salute: “I faithfully follow the Duke’s last orders.”

Sitting farthest is Captain Silver Fang, Oser.

He was silent for a long time, eventually speaking slowly: “We wish to obey orders… but, if possible, still hope to remain in Frost Halberd.”

He did not lie nor say everything.

Yet Louis, through the Daily Intelligence System, had already grasped everything clearly:

This Knight Order maintains independent will and possesses its own political inclinations, their captain privately harboring much hesitation towards Louis’s policies.

Moreover, realistically speaking, they number many, alongside numerous families, and Louis indeed doesn’t intend to take the entire legion to Red Tide.

Housing, supply distribution, and morale stability are all issues.

He smiled gently, his tone amicable yet hitting the nail on the head: “Then Silver Fang shall guard Frost Halberd.”

Oser subsequently rose and bowed, silently accepting.

He gained face while retaining the independence of his division.

And Louis skillfully left this “potential variable” on the strategic sidelines.

The meeting concluded without discord, without shouting.

Only a gradual restructuring of order and the consolidation of power for a temporary guardian agent.

Thus, the temporary command authority of the three Knight Orders, Blunt Edge, Cold Iron, and Silver Fang, formally returned to Louis.

Until Isaac Edmund comes of age, Louis can accomplish much through these knights, which is probably still a good dozen years away.

……

Clan leader Duke Simmons of the Eight Great Clans of the Empire has recently been in high spirits, quite unlike an old fox.

Robes of deep purple with golden patterns draped him, holding an ivory scepter, his smile as if honey-coated; even a few white hairs seemed to revert, growing anew.

Half a year has passed.

Emperor Ernst August, his First Legion, Dragon Blood Legion, and Imperial Guard, have all vanished without a trace in this half-year.

During these months, the Imperial Capital has been turbulent, while beneath the surface of the Dragon Throne meetings, power centers have quietly shifted several times.

Originally, he was the one among the Eight Great Clans suffering the most from the Emperor’s suppression, now finally able to catch his breath.

“How’s the arrangement on the Eighth Prince’s side?” he asked casually.

“Already secretly met with three marquises, their attitude is positive,” Oder responded with lowered head.

“Very well, continue drawing people in, gradually letting them adapt to the Empire without Ernst.”

At that moment, a young attendant knocked on the door, holding a sealed letter: “Your Grace, the latest intelligence from the Northern Territory, Frost Halberd Duke, Edmund, has passed away.”

The air seemingly froze for a moment.

Simmons glanced back at the letter, took it over, ripped it open, and quickly scanned through, slightly raising his brows.

“Finally gone, that tough old bone,” he said quietly, though he had long known of Edmund’s serious illness.

His impressions of Edmund are complex.

For over thirty years, protecting the entire Northern border almost single-handedly, defending against the Barbarian Race, insect disasters, rebel armies, and even palace purges.

He admires his loyalty but also finds him foolish.

“Fought for the Empire all his life, and in the end, Edmund’s family is now left with just a few marginal figures,” Simmons chuckled and shook his head.

“So, who’s the new Duke of the North?” he asked lightly.

“It’s Lord Isaac, a one-and-a-half-year-old young child.” Oder paused, his voice lowering when delivering the intelligence.

“A baby? Hah.” Simmons set down the letter, glanced at it, as if watching a farce, “And who’s wielding real power?”

“According to intelligence from the Northern Territory, it is… Louis Calvin, currently substantially in control of military and political power.”

“Calvin? Which Calvin family branch?” Simmons furrowed his brow.

“He’s Duke Calvin’s eighth son, previously dispatched to the Northern Territory for its expansion. Wedded Duke Edmund’s daughter,” Oder answered cautiously.

Simmons dropped back in his seat, lightly tapping the chairback with his knuckles; “Meaning… the Calvin Clan now simultaneously controls the Southeast and the Northern Territory?”

“In theory, the Northern Territory is still under Edmund’s name, but the actual power has fully been entrusted to Viscount Louis.”

An unusual silence seemed to seep into the air.

The Calvin Family, one of the Eight Great Clans of the Empire, already paramount in influence, now further grasping the vastness of the Northern Territory through marriage.

If the Emperor were still around, if the Imperial Capital was stable, such a thing would never happen; Duke Calvin indeed has a good method.

He recalled the Northern Territory Expansion Order from a few years prior.

Back then, he too had sent a few family juniors for experiences in the Northern Territory, two nephews, one biological third son.

Regrettably, all perished inexplicably in that “Insect Tide” incident; truly, comparing oneself to others is equally infuriating.

Simmons stood facing the map for a long time, slowly moving his finger from the Southeast to the words Frost Halberd, gently tapping it, as if confirming a certain reality.

“Calvin’s eighth son…” he chuckled, partly sarcastically, partly in surprise, “Who’d have thought… that lecher, dedicated to having children, actually produced a talent.”

Moments later, the smile slowly faded.

“But… Louis Calvin is not yet Governor of the North, right?”

“Yes.” Oder instantly nodded, “Currently, externally referred to only as ’Guardian Agent’ to Lord Isaac. While many Northern Lords support him, he hasn’t received formal recognition from the Imperial Capital.”

Simmons chuckled: “Well, then there’s still fun to be had.

No Imperial Capital appointment means everything is temporary, not legitimate, and I remember there’s a Prince residing in the Northern Territory too, isn’t there?”