Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Just as Eleanor was calmly assessing her victory, a usually silent representative quietly rose.

"Given the sudden death of Duke Edmund, and the Northern Territory's instability with its defense lines as fragile as thin ice, I propose that His Royal Highness, the Sixth Prince Asta August, succeed as Governor of the Northern Territory to oversee the aftermath and re-establish order."

Everyone looked over, it was Duke Simmons' representative.

The old man rose from the side wing of the long table, his tone seemingly concerned for the Empire's safety, but in reality, sharp as a blade.

This proposal was like a stone thrown into a still pond, stirring up ripples.

Immediately, another noble rose to second the motion, followed by a third, and a fourth—

These individuals were mostly from the Central Noble faction, with a few figures from the Imperial Capital's military system, and even some from the old guard of the Censorate.

Their expressions varied, but their tones were uniformly in agreement:

"This proposal is very sound."

"The Sixth Prince has pure bloodline, and already possesses nominal territory in the Northern Territory—"

"The position of Governor is vacant, and the people are without allegiance—"

"His Royal Highness, the Sixth Prince, is of imperial blood, symbolizing stability—"

It wasn't an impromptu idea; it seemed like a pre-planned encirclement.

Eleanor's gaze lightly swept over the patterns on the clothes and the badges of the speakers, instantly drawing a conclusion.

They came from different factions, yet responded to Simmons with surprising tacit agreement, clearly a well-communicated joint attack prepared in advance.

Even more alarming was the silence of those who should have been the first to refute.

Mace, the Chief of the Censorate, gently pushed his wire-rimmed glasses, his expression as cool and restrained as ever.

General Yoda, who usually had many objections regarding Northern Territory affairs, now seemed deaf, toying with a bronze seal in his hand, as if calculating pros and cons.

And the Empire's Chief Financial Officer, the gray-haired fat man known for his stinginess and caution, had completely fallen silent.

Eleanor's brow subtly twitched, but a silent, cold smile played on her lips.

She had underestimated them.

The Simmons Family and these individuals did not genuinely intend for the Sixth Prince, who had long been exiled to the Northern Territory, to truly govern the Northern Territory.

On the contrary, this blow, like striking a snake at its vital point, precisely targeted the Calvin Family and Louis.

Having a prince as a nominal Governor, seemingly honorable but actually empty, was enough to, in name, block Louis' legitimacy to rule the Northern Territory and his path to advancement.

This way, even if most of the Northern Territory nobles supported Louis, he wouldn't be able to truly rule the Northern Territory.

More importantly, this step could disrupt Calvin's attempt to expand his power through the Northern Territory.

And Eleanor knew where she had erred.

It had been too smooth, so smooth that she forgot this was beneath the Dragon Throne.

From the beginning, the situation had been smooth sailing; Louis's ennoblement was unopposed, the Northern Territory's air rights were solidified, and there were no obstacles when she rallied supporters.

Eleanor even thought the meeting would end according to her methodical pace.

But now she realized: other families weren't without ideas for the Northern Territory; they had already set up their pieces, just waiting for this moment of her complacency to strike.

"—Damn it," she cursed softly in her heart.

Duke Calvin's letter seemed to appear before her eyes: "The Northern Territory's interests can be contended for, but they are not worth too great a price in exchange."

Indeed, she had saved on the cost of exchanging interests, but consequently, she had fallen into a disadvantage.

But Eleanor was not the kind of person who would be trapped on a chessboard and simply give up.

She had served as an envoy in the Imperial Capital for over a decade, representing the Calvin Family in negotiations with various parties, laying groundwork for her brother, and securing benefits for her family.

She had witnessed countless high-ranking officials fall, powerful ministers die, and how many nobles gloriously emerged from beneath the Dragon Throne only to quietly withdraw.

These years of experience immediately led Eleanor to a solution to avoid the worst-case scenario.

She did not intend to directly refute the proposal to make the Sixth Prince Governor.

That would be too foolish, as if the Calvin Family was eager to jump out and criticize the imperial family, grasping for power and profit.

She planned to approach it from the angle of human sentiment, etiquette, and tradition, an angle everyone could accept.

Of course, this time Eleanor had not prepared a backup spokesperson, nor had she arranged for noble allies to assist her in secret.

So she had to step forward herself.

Eleanor slowly rose, her movements as steady as if she had prepared them in advance, surveying her surroundings, pausing, then lowering her eyes in a sorrowful manner, her voice slightly strained:

"Duke Edmund defended the Northern Territory for over ten years, until his final battle, and his bones are not yet cold.

His young son has just inherited the title, and should also inherit the position of Governor of the Northern Territory, as the position of Governor of the Northern Territory has historically been held by the Edmund patriarchs.

It's not that His Royal Highness, the Sixth Prince, is unsuitable, but the Imperial Capital doesn't even know the attitude of the nobles in the Northern Territory.

To hastily appoint a prince who has only been in the Northern Territory for a little over a year with the title of Governor is too rash. The old Northern Territory nobles might become alienated, and in such turbulent times, greater caution is needed."

As her words fell, the Yuchen Hall became silent.

Someone gently put down a teacup, their expression solemn; someone exchanged glances with their neighbor in a low voice, but no one easily seconded Simmons' proposal again.

Eleanor did not say the Sixth Prince was incompetent, did not mention the Calvin Family, and did not contend for power.

But with the phrase "those old Northern Territory nobles might become alienated," she turned the entire Northern Territory into a minefield that the imperial faction could not easily touch.

The most brilliant part was that she also used "bones not yet cold" to subtly activate the feeling of shared sorrow among the nobles present.

If today, based on a single word from the imperial family, a deceased Duke's family could be stripped of centuries of merit, then tomorrow, any family's territory and honor could be taken away.

Thus, whether they were intertwined with the Calvin Family's interests, nobles who had received Edmund's patronage, or other noble representatives worried about "shared sorrow."

After weighing their options, they chose silence or nodded in agreement.

Most of them were not necessarily supporting Eleanor herself; they were merely supporting the self-preservation behind her words.

Just as the tide had turned, the Simmons Family representative, whose eyes usually held a smile, now looked displeased.

His eye twitched, and he quietly glanced at the scroll of notes on the table, seemingly deliberating whether to forcefully push through the original plan.

But before he could decide, Eleanor slowly delivered her sharpest blow.

"If His Royal Highness, the Regent, intends to stabilize the Northern Territory, why not bestow upon the Sixth Prince the title of 'Royal Reconstruction Envoy of the Northern Territory,' temporarily handling some administrative powers, and then decide on the Governor's successor once the situation becomes clear?"

She said it lightly, as if truly out of compassion for the Prince, without any hint of offense or defense.

But this was a classic example of a blade hidden within etiquette and decorum.

Bestowing the seemingly impressive title of "Royal Reconstruction Envoy" actually meant:

Giving the Sixth Prince an "honorable position" but no actual governing power.

Temporarily keeping the Governor's position vacant, leaving a line open for future contention.

If the Sixth Prince's influence needed to be removed in the future, it wouldn't become a major case of dismissing a Governor.

This move, a step back, blocked three chess moves, and resolved the entire situation with one step.

A glint of light flashed in the Simmons representative's eyes.

He, of course, understood what Eleanor's move implied.

It wasn't that they had lost, but that Eleanor had timely mended the gap, no longer leaving a vulnerable spot for a decisive strike.

If he were to forcefully refute now, it would seem like a coup or a disruption of the meeting's order.

If he retreated casually, it would be tantamount to confirming the charge of reckless advancement.

He was stuck.

And within the Yuchen Hall, many nobles nodded slightly, and even General Yoda from the military side quietly and slowly put away the bronze seal in his hand.

The Regent said nothing, only turning to look at Lin Ze, the old Chief Steward beside him.

Lin Ze bowed slightly, whispering a few words into the Regent's ear.

A moment later, the frail Regent spoke, his voice hoarse but undeniable:

"The position of Governor of the Northern Territory shall remain temporarily undecided. The Sixth Prince is hereby appointed 'Royal Reconstruction Envoy of the Northern Territory,' to assist in all matters, under the joint supervision of the Censorate."

Everyone in the Yuchen Hall rose and bowed.

Eleanor also bowed slightly, her face unperturbed, but in her heart, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She had won, though not a complete victory, it was enough.

It was just that from now on, it would likely be up to Louis himself.

The Royal Reconstruction Envoy, though light in name, was in reality the eyes and hands of the imperial factions embedded in the Northern Territory.

How to deal with the future intrigues, checks, and compromises with him would depend on Louis's own cunning.

What the Calvin Family could do for him ended here.

To contend further, the cost would be too great, just as her brother said in his letter: "No need to try too hard."

But she was not worried; Louis, who had risen from a pioneer in a corner of the Empire's Southeast to the actual ruler of the Northern Territory in just four short years, would surely possess outstanding political acumen.

The meeting had not yet adjourned. The subsequent proposals, though numerous, could no longer evoke the fierce contention seen earlier.

Most topics concerned the reconstruction of the Northern Territory.

This included how to repair the defense facilities of Frost Halberd City, whether to restart financial allocations for the Northern Territory's granaries, and whether small and medium nobles who had distinguished themselves in the war should be rewarded.

These issues, which might have required careful consideration during the Emperor's lifetime, were now hastily glossed over.

Some neutral nobles proposed detailed funding for rebuilding the Northern Territory's defense lines, and some council members suggested increasing the proportion of troops stationed in the Northern Territory on the grounds that remnants of the barbarians still existed.

But in the end, it was merely recorded and passed over with a note to be reviewed by the treasury.

Only those families allowed to submit petitions for meritorious deeds showed a hint of smugness on their faces.

Although everyone knew that these so-called military achievements were mostly elaborately embellished figures.

But the real problems were just beginning to emerge.

As the Northern Territory's reconstruction moved into practical implementation, the meeting inevitably brought up the issue of material aid arrangements.

The atmosphere instantly became subtle, and the nobles' expressions showed a hint of indifferent disregard.

The real problem was not a lack of resources, but the Emperor's absence.

If the Emperor had still been alive, even with inner dissatisfaction, the nobles would have reluctantly complied out of fear of imperial authority.

But now, these important figures sitting at the long table, who among them wasn't calculating and secretly probing?

"From where should grain and fodder be allocated from storage?" A marquis furrowed his brow slightly.

"Transported to the Northern Territory? Even if ten parts are allocated, if three parts arrive, it would be a blessing from the heavens." On the other side, a duke's representative smiled and shook his head, the arrogance in his whisper almost undisguised.

If the Emperor were present, perhaps these people would still obey, but an Imperial Capital without an Emperor would not truly "tilt north."

The slogan "Support the Northern Territory" still hung solemnly, but the actual requisition of resources was far less command-driven than when the Emperor was alive.

After all, the Regent was not the true ruler; even if he now sat on the imperial throne, languidly directing the Empire's vast machinery, he could not dictate as the previous Emperor had.

And there was an extremely ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) awkward possibility.

Various parts of the Empire did respond to the call, sending grain, fodder, and equipment, but these resources were layers of deductions and exploitation during transit.

Some were local officials taking advantage of the chaos, others were the customary practice of legions "subsidizing military supplies."

Even more, some simply departed as ordered but turned back halfway, making the accounts look good while not moving a single bit.

Furthermore, the Northern Territory was still leaderless at the moment, and no one had the authority to hold anyone accountable for these losses.

These people, naturally, became even more reckless in withholding resources.

"How much of the supplies will actually reach the Northern Territory?"

Eleanor watched these nobles discuss ways to rescue the North with smiles on their lips.

In her heart, however, she already saw carts of empty boxes and rotten grain, piled before broken docks and scorched fortresses, turning into dust in the wind.

"Anyway, the barbarians are mostly crippled; I heard the snowy plains have been quiet for months after the war—"

"And well, even if they do attack, the Imperial Legions are watching. Our Southwest's support is just symbolic."

"The Empire is so vast, it won't truly let the Northern Territory fall, will it?"

Whispers from some noble representatives drifted over, carrying a half-joking tone.

This was the most authentic political atmosphere of the Empire at the moment; in reality, everyone was weighing their own gains and losses.

Outside the window, from a nearby tower, came the low commands of soldiers changing shifts, like echoes from a dream.

On the bed, Louis slowly opened his eyes.

This was not his familiar domed bedchamber in Red Tide City, but the high tower chamber of Frost Halberd City, cold and hard; even with thick woven carpets, the chill could not be hidden.

Today was the twelfth day after Duke Edmund's death, and they should be preparing to return to Red Tide.

Emily lay quietly on Louis's left arm, her skin as pale as snow making her lips seem even lighter.

The once proud and aloof Governor's daughter was merely a tired, sleeping girl beside him.

Her brow was no longer furrowed, her breathing even, as if she had temporarily withdrawn from the intense pain of losing her father and the political strife.

Louis gazed at her for a long time, his fingertips gently stroking her fallen hair.

"—She's already strong enough," he murmured in his heart.

She was Duke Edmund's daughter, the legitimate bloodline of the Shield of the Northern Territory, and had long been prepared for her father's departure.

It was just that in the quiet of the night, occasionally she would still tightly grasp his hand, as if seeking the last remaining support on some collapsing edge.

Louis gently reached out and brushed away a strand of hair from her forehead.

Emily's brow subtly moved, but she did not wake; she was too tired.

Only then did Louis slowly raise his other hand and gently swipe it through the air.

A translucent light screen quietly appeared before his eyes, unfolding silently.

The light blue interface glowed with subtle brilliance; a few wisps of dark blue flashed, bringing with them a faint hum.

The familiar interface had finished loading.

【Daily Intelligence Update Complete】