Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Duke Calvin sat alone in his study, a neatly cut letter in his hand. The sender was his eighth son, Louis Calvin.

This letter arrived almost punctually every three months, traveling a thousand miles from Red Tide City in the North to the Calvin Family manor in the Southeast.

"Hmph—this child, he really knows his manners," Duke Calvin said with a hint of sarcasm.

He unhurriedly unfolded the letter, his gaze sweeping over the familiar opening lines:

"Grateful for the family's protection and provision, Red Tide Territory is governed stably, operating well this quarter, with calm public sentiment and ample preparations for winter—"

The latter half of the letter was where the "gold" came in.

"Recently, due to the construction of a new port, there are plans to expand the shipyard. There is a shortage of skilled shipwrights and technicians, and assistance with deployment from the family is requested—

Once the port is completed, goods between the South and North will be able to travel directly by sea, eliminating long transit times.

It is estimated that transport time can be reduced by more than three times, enhancing Red Tide's external trade capabilities, and simultaneously creating a linkage benefit for the Calvin Family's Southeast branch of the merchant guild."

Duke Calvin nodded in unconscious agreement.

This was not a matter of a few horses or bags of grain; the transportation capacity, routes, and even bargaining power from the North to other provinces, especially the Southeast Province, would all be affected.

But this son was truly greedy. Skilled shipwrights were not laborers one could simply pick up off the street.

The family had already sent two batches of people over; was he still saying it wasn't enough?

"You certainly dare to ask," the Duke snorted, but a playful glint appeared °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° in his eyes.

Yet, Duke Calvin genuinely had to consider that if Louis could indeed build that port, greatly reducing the time for North-South trade in the future, it would be of great benefit to the family. Moreover, Red Tide Territory and the family's merchant guild would be completely bound together, becoming a community of shared destiny with intertwined interests, which would not be a bad thing.

After weighing the pros and cons, Duke Calvin would still send people over.

Manpower would be provided, and equipment could be approved, but additional conditions would also be indispensable.

Expanding your port is fine, but a few shares of the main shipping rights, customs ports, and outpost control must remain with the family.

Duke Calvin continued reading: "Has been officially enfeoffed as Earl of the North—my youngest son was born this month, mother and child are safe, grateful for the family's blessings—"

Having finished the entire letter, the Duke's lips twitched, and he placed the letter back on the table.

The letter was written in a lukewarm tone, neither intimate nor distant, like a routine report.

Even for something like "the birth of a child," he only used a dry "grateful for the family's blessings," as if merely completing a formality.

"Enfeoffed as an Earl, has a son—while constantly thanking the family, he runs further and further away. He's quite shrewd."

Unfortunately, this shrewd son clearly had no intention of truly drawing close to the family.

Initially, sending him to the North was merely to comply with the Emperor's decree for expansion, finding a scrap to make up the numbers.

Who would have thought that this scrap would now truly take root in the North, becoming a local strongman?

Now even knights, nobles, and merchant guild forces were beginning to rally around him. The informants he himself sent were either absorbed or ostracized.

"Still considers himself a Calvin?" Duke Calvin sneered, sitting upright.

To have achieved this much showed that this child indeed had ability, but it also meant he had slipped out of control.

The true intelligence he received came from the family's merchant guild, and every achievement Louis made astonished him.

Red Tide Territory now controlled most of the North's mines and salt lakes, and over a third of the North's population. Even the old nobles of the North had been won over and were completely compliant.

Louis had turned that wasteland into his own kingdom.

Duke Calvin leaned back in his high-backed chair, tapping the desk, and began to re-evaluate the question he had been pondering recently.

Who should be the heir to the patriarch?

Originally, this didn't need consideration.

His eldest son, Gaius Calvin, was the universally acclaimed future patriarch, whether in terms of knightly rank, military talent, or administrative handling.

But what about now? Gaius had disappeared with the Emperor, his fate uncertain, making it virtually impossible for him to inherit the Calvin Family.

Then there was his third son, Eduardo.

For specific reasons, he had personally sent him to the Golden Feather Flower Church when he was young.

But precisely because of this, this child was destined from the start not to become the family head's heir.

As for the remaining few.

Seldon was indeed shrewd, good at business, and ruthless when necessary.

But his vision was too narrow, his scope too small. He always felt that everyone else was a bunch of brainless fools.

Even with the significant rise of Louis, he thought it was just good luck, catching a favorable trend.

"He has petty cleverness, but no grand vision," he shook his head.

As for his other sons.

Duke Calvin sighed, rubbing his temples, his gaze falling on the family tree by the table.

How many sons had he actually fathered?

A dozen? Twelve? Fifteen?

He couldn't quite recall.

But truly capable ones could be counted on one's fingers.

"Instead, it's the one least favored," he murmured, "who has now become the family's only reliable pillar."

Louis, the Earl of the North, Lord of Red Tide.

His mother was a low-born maid, and now, through his own strength, he had started from the most remote fief and painstakingly forged a wasteland into the core of the North.

"The most suitable child now." This was the conclusion he was reluctant to voice.

Unfortunately, though the name "Calvin" was etched in his bloodline, he always seemed to be trying to draw a clear line, maintaining that elusive distance, and even growing closer to the Edmund Family.

The "pawns" sent to Red Tide in recent years were almost completely wiped out.

Some were absorbed, becoming Louis's confidants; some became distant, unable to gather any core intelligence; some lost contact, not even sending reports—their fates unknown.

The entire Red Tide was like an airtight iron barrel, into which even his feelers could not penetrate.

"Are you too clever?" he murmured, staring down at the letter, his expression complex.

He folded the letter and slowly dropped it into the fireplace.

Flames licked the paper, turning word by word into ash.

Staring at the burning script, Duke Calvin's lips curled into a faint, cold sneer: "You want to break free from the family? Don't forget who paved the way for you."

His tone carried a hint of mockery, yet it couldn't hide a certain subtle joy.

This son, the one he had once treated as a scrap and sent to the North, was now a respectable Earl, the most powerful military leader in the North.

Truly surprising.

"Your Grace," a servant's whisper came from outside the door, "The family meeting is about to begin. The lords have taken their seats."

"I know."

Duke Calvin slowly rose, adjusted his sleeves, and his expression returned to its usual composure. The council hall was located in a secret chamber deep within the manor, with thick stone walls.

Only the most core family members were allowed to participate; no scribes, no advisors.

The ostensible agenda was to analyze the situation in the Imperial Capital after the Emperor's disappearance and assess the Regent's governing ability. But the true theme was a single question: which prince should the Calvin Family back?

Betting correctly would maintain the Eight Great Families' stable status.

Betting incorrectly might mean not even being able to hold onto their territory in the Southeast Province.

Duke Calvin pushed the door open and calmly took his seat at the head of the table. Along both sides of the long table sat several of his brothers, a few high-ranking family elders, and some of his sons who were pillars of the next generation.

Candlelight illuminated each face: ambitious, shrewd, silent—

But in Duke Calvin's eyes, their thoughts were almost all written on their faces.

Especially his son, Seldon Calvin.

This young upstart, who had built his fortune on the family's trade routes, now controlled nearly 30% of the family's merchant guild revenue.

Every movement exuded confidence. Sitting there, it was as if the head seat was destined to be his.

But he didn't know that the real game had already taken a different turn, and he hadn't even figured out who was the player and who was the pawn.

Duke Calvin's gaze swept over everyone, and he spoke lightly, "The Imperial Capital is in turmoil. It seems the Regent won't last much longer. Tonight, let's discuss which prince we should place our chips on."

Silence fell over the hall. Seldon Calvin sat upright at the right end of the long table, his eyes slowly scanning the others.

These people, in the end, would all become supporting characters on his future throne.

He was the third son of the family, controlling 30% of the family's trade system and four of the most crucial inter-province trade routes.

In terms of actual power, besides his father, few could truly outrank him.

His eldest brother, Gaius? Unconscious, fate unknown; even the Emperor was missing. Louis? Hmm, Seldon admitted that guy was trouble.

From a northern wasteland that should have been a dead-end, he had managed to build something out of nothing.

Now, not only was he an Earl, but he also controlled several knight orders and half of the Northern noble class. He even leveraged some of the family merchant guild's old routes.

To rise from a scrap to his current state, it would be a lie to say he had no ability.

But he had already taken root in the North.

So let him stay in the North, the further from the Southeast Province, the better.

Even with some influence, he was merely a distant threat.

As for the other brothers?

Just a bunch of rotten fish and shrimp bearing the family name.

Everything was ready, just waiting for an opportunity to perform.

And now was his chance to rise, Seldon knew full well.

"Father," Seldon spoke at the opportune moment, his tone sharp: "I believe we must clarify our stance. Supporting which prince is the most critical issue right now."

All eyes converged on him. He continued, "The Fourth Prince is on good terms with the Censorate, and his civil official system is stable, capable of protecting within the Imperial Capital. The Second Prince has military power, capable of stabilizing beyond the borders.

The Crown Prince is weak and incompetent, like an empty puppet. The Fifth Prince is even less trustworthy; intelligence suggests he is secretly flirting with foreign powers. If we bet on the wrong one, the family's centuries-old foundation will be destroyed in an instant."

He paused deliberately, scanning the room: "Therefore, I advocate choosing the strongest among the princes to support."

"We are not philanthropists; we must support the side that can seize power."

These words were decisive, logically clear, and sounded very sensible.

Along both sides of the long table, many elders nodded frequently, and some even whispered praise, "Well said."

Seldon's heart swelled with joy.

But Duke Calvin, at the head of the table, remained impassive.

He merely lowered his head, picked up his wine glass, and took a small sip. In his heart, he had already formed an evaluation: he spoke too safely. This Seldon boy was always good at guessing intentions but precisely because of this, he never truly rose to the occasion.

What was the difference between saying these words and saying nothing? It seemed like every sentence analyzed the situation, but in reality, there was hardly any useful information; he only ever used petty cleverness.

Duke Calvin put down his wine glass, his tone even: "I've noted your thoughts. Let's hear others' opinions first."

Seldon maintained his composure, but his fingertips involuntarily tightened on his knees as he silently sat back down. He understood that his father was displeased but unwilling to contradict him publicly. "Brother," Earl Aubert spoke first. This younger brother of the Duke had always been steady and mature.

"While the Second Prince indeed holds military power, he has also offended many. The Censorate, the Ministry of Finance, and the civil official faction are all at odds with him—if these three parties unite to retaliate, the outcome might be unpredictable."

"I think the Fourth Prince is also worth considering," the ninth son, Bran, interjected softly from his seat.

"Ha," someone sneered, "The Fourth Prince? That bookworm who hides in his study all day writing 'Imperial Governance Proposals'? The Empire values military achievements and practical work, not pretty prose."

The atmosphere grew somewhat tense.

Until Elder Isaac slowly spoke, "Actually—there are also some voices discussing the Fifth Prince."

The long table fell silent for a moment.

This was the prince who had "disappeared for many years and returned to the Imperial Capital recently," rumored to have secret dealings with the Golden Feather Flower Church, though there was no evidence.

"That path is too dangerous," the Duke finally spoke, but no one could discern his attitude.

No one knew that at this moment, the content of a secret letter flashed through his mind.

That letter had been personally sent by his sister, Eleanor, to a certain manor on the outskirts of the Imperial Capital.

That was the secret stronghold he had arranged for contact with the Fifth Prince's faction.

And more importantly, Eduardo had long since converted to the Golden Feather Flower and become a core member of the Church, having some acquaintance with the Fifth Prince.

And of all this, no one present was aware.

As everyone expressed their opinions, the Duke cast his gaze towards an old man at the end of the long table.

Carter Calvin, one of the oldest elders in the family, never spoke much but held significant influence.

Carter slowly nodded, his tone unhurried: "If we must choose one, this old man believes the Second Prince is worth a gamble. He has people in the military, and his name is still well-known. The Imperial Capital still recognizes him."

Duke Calvin did not respond immediately.

He merely nodded slightly, his expression calm, showing no emotion.

But this single gesture, in the eyes of those present, was like a seal, gently placed on the Second Prince's column.

Some people's eyes lit up, while others pondered in secret.

No one knew that Duke Calvin's true inner thoughts did not genuinely agree with that statement.

This was false information, a fishing expedition.

The phrase "The Calvin Family favors the Second Prince" was the bait he had personally cast.

If within a few days, rumors suddenly appeared in the Imperial Capital like "I heard the Calvin Family plans to support His Royal Highness the Second Prince," then he could follow the clues and find out which corner the wolf in this meeting was hiding in.

Before this storm, which was sweeping across the Empire, arrived, he had to first clean his own ship.