Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The thick stone walls kept out the cold wind and the clamor of the outside world, leaving only the almost inaudible flicker of burning lamp oil.

Regent Arrens leaned back in his chair, draped in white beast fur, but his face was paler than the fur. Shallow blue marks beneath his eyes, like frost, sagged downwards.

His chest rose and fell with a rhythm that was sometimes slow, sometimes short and quick.

Yet there were no poison spots, no swelling, nor any fatal symptoms that any physician could identify.

If one didn't look closely, one might even mistake him for a sleeping person, rather than a Regent battling death daily.

Moreover, a new Dragon Throne Council was about to convene in two days.

This grand council, concerning the future of the empire, should have been personally presided over by Arrens.

The only reason he was still barely conscious now was because he was clinging on with sheer willpower; otherwise, he would have collapsed months ago.

Today, more renowned doctors arrived than usual: Imperial Physicians, Archmages, Dragon Ancestor Priests, Wind-Stopping Medical Officers... They gathered around Arrens, taking turns to examine him, pressing hands to his forehead, checking his pulse, peering with magic, probing with prayers... In the end, without exception, they lowered their hands, their expressions grave.

"His Highness shows no abnormalities."

"It doesn't seem like poisoning."

"It's more like... life being drained away, leaving no trace."

When these words fell, the bedchamber was so quiet that even the flickering of the firelight seemed jarring.

In the shadows, a young guard stood rigidly.

He had been transferred here three months ago, serving as a close attendant, a seemingly insignificant role meant only for serving, reporting, and changing water.

He had witnessed the Regent's decline firsthand, from being able to stand for half an hour during morning court to now appearing as if he could be blown away by the wind even while sitting.

Today, His Highness couldn't even lift his eyelids at one point, lying stiffly on the bed, motionless.

The golden-patterned small box on the table was half-open.

Inside, an ochre leaf spirit nectar fruit lay quietly, its deep red and withered ochre colors intertwined like fire-roasted flesh, its skin tightened to the point of cracking, shaped like a shriveled heart.

This was no ordinary fruit; it was said that only one could be nurtured in the southern dense forests every hundred years.

In the past century, only two had ever been found in the entire empire, making its existence more of a legend than a natural product.

Its efficacy was extremely potent, capable of forcibly activating spiritual power and stimulating the soul, allowing a dying person to briefly return to a state of clarity, like wrapping a dying flame in a scorching shell.

However, what it could provide was only a spiritual resurgence; it was utterly powerless against the body's decay and the loss of life.

The air still carried the faint sweetness and tartness of the fruit after its pulp had been bitten, a not-unpleasant scent, like a high-grade alchemical potion, stinging the nostrils and reminding one that its essence was a forced illusion of consciousness.

Arrens took that small bite.

The moment he bit down, the young guard personally witnessed the Regent's gaze being forcibly pulled back from complete dissipation, like a drowning man dragged from the ice at the last moment.

Arrens raised his head, his voice soft but capable of issuing commands: "...Brighten the lamps." 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

This moment of lucidity was almost a miracle to the young guard.

"Yes, sir," he quickly stepped forward to adjust the lamp wick.

The flame brightened with his movement, illuminating half of Arrens's face.

It was a face of extreme weakness, yet without any signs of illness.

Pale but clean, empty but without the contortion of pain.

It was as if someone was silently drawing the fire from his body, while the skin retained its original shape.

The young guard's heart thumped heavily.

If this wasn't an illness... then did the lucidity brought by the fruit mean that His Highness was truly recovering?

He couldn't quite pinpoint what was wrong, but he pieced these fragments into an answer he wanted to believe: His Highness was getting better.

This was also the message he had to deliver.

After all, his other identity meant he couldn't miss any clue regarding the Regent's life or death.

Late at night, he quietly retreated to the corridor outside the bedchamber.

Snowy wind streamed in through the window cracks, stirring up fine dust on the stone tiles.

The young guard made sure no one was watching before drawing the thin metal plate from his boot.

His fingertips trembled slightly from tension, yet he tried his best to keep them steady:

"After the First Prince consumed the ochre leaf spirit nectar fruit, his mental state showed significant recovery. All renowned doctors declared no poison or illness. Regent His Highness is out of danger."

After carving the secret message with battle qi, he took a deep breath, slipped the metal piece into the dispatch box, and pressed the hidden pattern.

A soft click sounded within the mechanism, and an inconspicuous grey-feathered pigeon hopped out from a hidden compartment beneath the corridor, shaking its wings.

The next moment, it flapped its wings and soared, sweeping over the palace walls, silently disappearing into the heavy night wind.

The young guard watched the distant shadow, his chest relaxing halfway... At the other end of the imperial capital, the night wind swept over the high walls of Fifth Prince Lampad's residence, and candlelight flickered faintly golden behind thick windows.

The grey-feathered pigeon landed on a wooden post in the dark alley, the dispatch box gently knocking, making a soft sound.

The guard recognized it as a secret pigeon, his expression subtly changed, and he immediately took the dispatch box, sending it to the inner courtyard.

Before long, the secret message was presented to Lampad.

He was sitting on a long bench behind his desk, and upon hearing it was a secret pigeon from the palace, he raised his eyelids: "Put it here."

The attendant handed over the metal plate.

Lampad was initially nonchalant, but as he read the content, his brows slowly furrowed.

The Regent's mental state recovered? No poison, no illness? Conscious thanks to the fruit?

Lampad's fingers paused at the edge of the message, his voice as cold as if steeped in well water: "Prepare the horses."

The attendant was startled: "Your Highness, now?"

"Now." He put down the metal plate, stood up, and donned his outer robe with swift, decisive movements.

Lampad walked through the side courtyard, over a wooden bridge, and into the depths of the residence.

At the end of the stairs was only a wooden door sealed with an iron lock.

Lampad raised his hand, and the guard at the door immediately opened the hidden lock.

As the wooden door was pushed open, damp cold air rushed out, the depths of the basement dark and quiet, like a secret waiting to be revealed.

Lampad stepped into the shadows and said in a low voice: "Light the lamps."

As the firelight came on, he walked deeper alone, his expression unchanged.

The further down he went, the colder the air became. The corridor at the end of the stairs was narrow, its walls on both sides carved with ancient floral crown patterns, though here the patterns were inverted, petals pointing downwards, resembling a subverted prayer.

Only when light shone on the ground did the truly unsettling sight reveal itself.

The entire ground was covered with the Golden Feather Flower Church's "Reverse Floral Crown Demonic Markings."

Every line seemed etched into the stone with a knife, unnaturally deep, and a faint dark golden light shimmered between the patterns, subtly pulsating like a living thing.

The walls were covered with ancient scripture carvings, the writing blurred by time, yet still bearing a fervent brushstroke, as if the carver was at the intersection of extreme piety and madness at the time.

Pale blue flames burned on the candelabra; it was not a normal fire color, but a symbol of some alien race (foreign race) power.

The light clung coldly to the stone walls, making the entire underground space feel submerged in a deep sea.

The air carried a faint metallic scent, like the lingering trace of blood after it had dispersed for too long.

At the end of the corridor, a circular stone platform stood silently.

The platform was carved from a single piece of rock, its patterns intertwined like golden fissures spreading along the surface, faintly glowing, as if something breathing was suppressed within.

This was a place where an ordinary person would suffer a splitting headache just by approaching.

Lampad's gaze was calm; he did not stop.

And in the center of the stone platform, a man sat cross-legged.

He sat barefoot, his physique as robust as a giant rock polished by mountain winds.

His skin was not merely bronze-colored; it was subtly permeated by a thin, misty black aura, slowly emanating from his collarbones, arm sides, and spinal crevices, like a bound curse breathing beneath his flesh.

A deep red sacrificial robe was draped over his shoulders, its edges where touched by the black aura slightly curled, as if scorched and losing their original color.

Most striking were the golden bone needles on his back, their gold already dulled, with fine wisps of black aura continuously seeping from their roots.

The man's eyes remained closed, his eyelashes motionless.

Yet around him, the air showed a slight distortion, as if an invisible hand was trying to break free from within his body.

Lampad stopped before the stone platform, took a breath, his voice respectful but even lower: "Lord Divine Envoy, I am here to report on the Regent's condition."

He slightly raised his eyes, looking at the motionless figure on the stone platform, and spoke directly, without beating around the bush:

"The Regent is taking the spirit nectar fruit. His current condition... is not deteriorating as rapidly as two years ago. The spirit nectar fruit is keeping him in a... barely conscious state. His weakness seems to be propped up by it."

His voice grew softer towards the end; he knew very well that this shouldn't be happening.

According to the initial trajectory of the curse, the Regent's condition had visibly declined every month starting two years ago, from standing at morning court to only being able to sit for short discussions, and now almost unable to leave his bedchamber.

All of this stemmed from the divine grace curse personally bestowed by Divine Envoy Salomon: 【Traceless Life Severance】.

Divine grace was a supernatural °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° ability unique to the Golden Feather Flower Theocracy, much like the empire's bloodline talents, but divine graces were always bestowed by bishops.

The one Divine Envoy Salomon activated was: 【Traceless Life Severance】.

This was a curse, invisible, odorless, undetectable, not recognized by neutralization spells, and beyond the reach of magical potions, blessings, or sacrificial arts. It merely caused the target to slowly weaken without immediate death.

It could silently kill a Regent in the heart of the palace, under the layered protection of knights, without leaving any wounds.

Its only two drawbacks were its slow speed and the requirement for the caster to expend an equivalent amount of life energy.

Lampad knew this.

At this moment, he saw Divine Envoy Salomon's skin, exposed through the seams of his sacrificial robe, a shade darker than a few days prior, with veins subtly protruding, as if ink slowly flowed along his blood vessels.

That was no feigned miracle, but a real price; for every bit the Regent weakened, Salomon also descended a bit with him.

However, he knew that this curse was the best way for him to take down the Regent.

Poison?

He had tried it before; two years ago, he had laid a very subtle poison through circulating platters, changing utensils, and rotating maids.

The result was merely to alert a few guards, while the Regent remained unharmed after dozens of tests, silver needles, and layers of prayers, without even a trace of discomfort.

The imperial family possessed the empire's best complete detoxification system, from meals to maids, from silver needles to reagents; every step was meticulously controlled.

Frankly, unless the entire palace could be paralyzed, poisoning was simply a joke.

Suicidal assassination?

The Second Prince's incident had already proven its cost-effectiveness; sacrificing one high-level transcendent warrior only cost the Second Prince an arm. Although it shook the foundations, the price was too high, and the First Prince did not have the frivolous personality of the Second Prince.

Warrior assault?

The imperial capital's guards and defensive formations were not just for show; even ten squads might not penetrate the heart of the palace, and it would only make everyone vigilant.

Only this curse was traceless, untraceable, and inevitably fatal.

This was one of the Golden Feather Flower Church's aids to him.

Lampad continued: "I am concerned the curse is being interfered with by the spirit nectar fruit. Divine Envoy, will this affect... the outcome we seek?"

Divine Envoy Salomon did not open his eyes, nor did the depth of his breathing change; he only responded with an almost imperceptible whisper: "No, it will only prolong the time a little."

Lampad's brow furrowed slightly: "How long will it be prolonged?"

"No more than two years." Divine Envoy Salomon's voice was devoid of emotion, "The blade of the curse is in his heart; it will fall sooner or later."

Then his lips seemed to move ever so slightly, with a faint, almost invisible hint of mockery: "What? Is Your Highness impatient?"

Lampad did not immediately respond. He thought of his plans, the Church's arrangements, the future promised by the Golden Feather Flower Theocracy, and the opportune moment when the throne would become vacant.

In his mind, clues reconnected one by one. It was not a simple usurpation, but his true conspiracy, years in the making:

What Lampad wanted was never to inherit the empire, but to divide it.

To plunge the imperial capital into disorder, every step he pushed was precise and covert:

To cripple the Regent with a curse, allowing the imperial capital to lose its central authority, but not letting him die immediately, giving himself ample time;

To incite conflict among the imperial princes, throwing the line of succession into chaos;

To use dark-funded pirates and rebel armies to continuously worsen imperial public order;

The Ministry of Military Affairs had to be fractured, which is why the Second Prince was assassinated. Military power would be leaderless, with factions fending for themselves; some legion commanders had even already approached him.

The economic chain had to be disconnected. Duke Calvin was willing to support the division; if he sided with Lampad, the imperial treasury would instantly collapse by half.

Duke Calvin would support the division because he believed the imperial capital's power was waning, and his second son, Eduardo, was a core figure in the Golden Feather Flower Church.

Lampad had even begun to contact other eastern provinces, and even the Northern Territory... After all, Louis Calvin was also a "Calvin."

Ultimately, what he wanted to establish was not an empire, but an Eastern Empire.

A vassal state supported by the Golden Feather Flower Church, with a unified government and religion.

Because he had never possessed the foundation to swallow the entire empire—no military power, no noble alliances, no fiscal base, not even enough factional support in the imperial capital.

Lampad's only solid backing was the Golden Feather Flower Church.

He could not, and never intended to, rule the entire empire; he wanted a narrower, yet more secure throne.

Not an emperor, but the "Lord of the Eastern Lands" recognized by the Church.

The more Lampad reflected, the more he felt the path beneath his feet becoming steadily firmer.

So Lampad softly said: "Then I leave it to Lord Divine Envoy."