Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The morning light fell from above, illuminating Kalian’s pale face.

He sat on a stone chair, his upper body bare, the lines of his shoulders and chest still sharp, yet covered in a layer of dead ash.

The bandage on his left side had been removed, and the re-stitched wound stretched along the broken shoulder line.

His battle aura circulated intermittently within him, like a broken bellows, leaving only fragmented echoes, unable to muster strength.

The physician knelt beside him, fingertips on his pulse, as carefully as if protecting an unstable ember.

“Your Highness,” he tried to keep his voice steady, “the recovery is going very well... at least, much better than we initially feared.”

But this reassurance only made Kalian’s brows furrow tighter.

For an ordinary person, it was indeed very good, enough to continue living and not hinder labor.

But for a knight whose life revolved around the sword and battle aura, not recovering to Peak Knight status was like losing half his life.

Kalian didn’t respond, nor did his expression change, but his eyes were full of coldness.

After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse: “...What is the situation with the First Prince now?”

The physician visibly hesitated for a moment before finally replying: “The Regent has taken the ochre leaf spirit nectar fruit and is much better. He can at least... endure tomorrow’s meeting.”

Kalian nodded, his movements heavy, as if barely suppressing some deeper emotion.

But there was no trace of relaxation in his eyes, only a constantly spreading shadow.

“Withdraw,” Kalian said in a low voice.

The physician hurriedly bowed and left, the door closing behind him.

The silence behind the door lasted less than three breaths before Kalian’s breathing audibly changed.

First it was rapid, then heavy, like suppressed beastliness thrashing in his chest, about to tear through his skin at any moment.

Suddenly, Kalian lifted his foot and fiercely kicked over the nearby chair.

The wooden chair tumbled across the stone floor, crashing against the wall, the sound of splintering wood exploding in the room.

Kalian acted as if he hadn’t heard it, then punched the wall with even greater force.

His right fist hammered heavily into the stone wall, sending debris flying, but he still didn’t stop.

It wasn't until a sharp pain shot through his left shoulder, the muscles around the severed arm’s joint feeling like they were being scraped by a knife, the intense pain climbing up his nerves to his neck.

Kalian gritted his teeth, a low sound escaping his throat, like a wild beast’s suppressed roar after being wounded.

What he feared most for others to see was exactly this: his powerlessness and inability to control himself.

But he was alone in the room, so his rage had nowhere to hide.

Kalian’s gaze turned to the black wooden box on the table.

Only a little dry, reddish-brown residue remained inside; it was what he himself used to maintain the image of a Peak Prince.

Originally, he had two spirit nectar fruits: one given to the Regent.

Not out of kindness, but to allow the Regent to last until the Dragon Throne Council, to last these few years, and to fend off the ambitions of Fourth Prince Rhein’s civil official faction.

The other he kept for himself, relying on it to barely maintain the illusion of a Half-Step Peak Knight in front of outsiders.

But in reality, he... could barely stabilize even a beginner Extraordinary Knight.

That disparity made his chest feel heavy, as if his dignity had been twisted and broken.

“Damn it...” he bit out two words in a low voice. Then another: “Damn it...”

That day was supposed to be just a relaxed outing and hunt, a long-overdue break, with no Ministry of Military Affairs escort, no political implications whatsoever.

Kalian had even, for once, relaxed a little, and it was precisely because of this that he became careless.

That day, the Imperial Family’s private cavalry assembled at the forest’s edge, warhorses snorting white mist, iron hooves steady.

The route was kept extremely secret, known only to a select few within the Imperial Family, and even his own trusted confidants didn’t know his whereabouts at that moment.

Kalian rode at the front, his battle aura at Half-Step Peak, his internal power surging, capable of tearing through the air at any moment.

He believed becoming a Peak Knight was only a matter of time; back then, he never thought he would have a day when he would be hunted, at least not during an unannounced outing.

The team ventured deeper into the dense forest along the planned route.

It wasn’t a sense of oppression, nor killing intent, but merely an almost imperceptible anomaly.

If it had been any other day, he would have immediately gone on guard, but that day he relaxed for a moment... and that single moment prevented him from dodging.

A fine metallic glint slid out from the grass.

It was an assassin’s lunge, weaker than him in strength, but carrying a ruthless determination as if staking their life on the blade.

The moment Kalian sensed danger, he had already begun to turn his head, but it was still half a breath too late.

That blade slashed diagonally down from his shoulder root.

Even with such a large movement, it was silent, like some kind of bloodline talent, the angle precise, not aiming to break through defenses, but only to take a life.

“Whoosh!”

The sound of metal and bone being severed exploded in his ears, his left arm, armor and all, flew off, blood splattering on his mount’s mane.

The pain made his vision go white, and he fell heavily from the horseback, his spine hitting a tree root.

His battle aura meridians were disrupted, the residual force surging backward, nearly suffocating him.

The assassin stepped forward again, their speed not fast in his eyes, but so ruthless it felt like they wanted to sever his entire lifeline; this seemed to be some kind of bloodline talent.

He wasn't there to fight, but to end the target.

Kalian raised his sword to block, but his right arm trembled from the intense pain, unable to hold it steady; had it been half a breath later, he would have died by that blade.

There was no hatred in the assassin’s eyes, no anger, only the cold, hard execution of orders.

Just as the second strike was about to fall, the Imperial Family guards finally reacted.

“Protect His Highness!!”

Three Extraordinary Knights lunged forward, one of them knocking the assassin away and pinning him against a tree trunk.

The moment the assassin was captured, a strange choking sound came from his throat, like some kind of pre-arranged activation.

The next instant! His entire body went limp as if life had been drained from him, dying silently.

No struggle, no last words, not even an expression of pain.

He died as cleanly as a shadow erased without a trace.

Kalian leaned against the tree, blood dripping continuously, his hand trembling too much to hold his sword, yet his mind was exceptionally clear.

An assassin, weaker than him, could lie in wait on a necessary path, could gravely injure him with one strike, and could instantly commit suicide after being captured.

This was absolutely no coincidence.

There was only one explanation: someone had told the assassin his location in advance.

At that moment, fear, for the first time, turned into suspicion.

In the days following that assassination, the entire Imperial Capital appeared normal on the surface, but in Kalian’s eyes, every corner exuded an unusual coldness.

It wasn't that no one investigated.

On the contrary, his own men, the Ministry of Military Affairs, the Censorate, and even spies secretly dispatched by several noble families, investigated for a full half-month.

The woodland was thoroughly searched, battle aura traces were compared, and every trace of the assassin’s breath before death was recorded.

But nothing could be found.

No origin, no identity, no organizational mark.

It was as if the assassin was born for that one strike and died for that one strike.

But for Kalian, the inability to find anything was itself the biggest flaw.

Because there weren’t many people who could control an assassin of this level, and even fewer who could order such an assassin to kill him.

The Censorate sent people, but found no effective clues.

Within the Ministry of Military Affairs, some people were secretly stirring things up, saying most often:

“His Highness’s injury is on his battle aura meridians; I fear he won’t return to his peak.”

“The Empire needs a successor who can fight.”

“Kalian is no longer suitable to inherit.”

Every sentence was like a nail, driven into his chest.

What made Kalian even more unsettled was the performance of Fourth Prince Rhein’s faction: shock, grief, condolences, actively avoiding suspicion—everything was done flawlessly.

Too perfect, too much like they were hiding something.

Kalian sat in the room, looking at his bandaged, severed shoulder, feeling the stinging pain climb up his meridians to the back of his neck.

All the fragments gradually connected in his mind: his itinerary was precisely leaked, the assassin was of low strength yet trained to the precision of taking the life of a high-level Extraordinary Knight with one strike.

Assassins of this caliber are not easily found, and the investigation dragged on without a single lead, while rumors targeting him appeared within the Ministry of Military Affairs, and the Fourth Prince’s faction behaved too correctly.

No evidence, but he didn’t need evidence.

Kalian’s heart had already reached a conclusion: it was Fourth Prince Rhein who did it.

Suspicion tightened in his chest, like a hand squeezing his windpipe.

He had never been so certain: if he didn’t control the Ministry of Military Affairs, if he didn’t hold power, if he didn’t take the initiative in the future Dragon Throne Council.

The Empire would surely fall into the hands of the Fourth Prince and the civil official faction.

And that would be the end of the Empire.

Suspicion was like a cold needle pricking {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} his chest, but what truly made Kalian realize he had been pushed to the edge of the abyss was not the suspicion itself, but the cracks beginning to appear within the Ministry of Military Affairs.

Kalian had never imagined that the legion commanders who had survived countless close calls with him on the front lines would abandon him.

During an annihilation battle on the Empire's southwestern border, the torrential rain poured mud into his armor, and he led his knights to stubbornly hold the breach made by the Federation mercenaries.

The frontline nearly broke several times, but he personally carried the wounded standard-bearer and charged to the front, replanting the flag in the mud to stabilize their position.

When the Alliance of Southern Minor States provoked the border, he led his cavalry on a rapid march through the mud, launched a night raid on the enemy camp, and utterly routed that elite army, known as the 'Bronze Wall Legion.'

That night, the officers following him personally witnessed him continuing to command, dragging a broken blade through a water puddle.

The year the Eastern Border had friction with the Golden Feather Flower Theocracy, the Holy Flame Army attempted to infiltrate the border, taking advantage of the Empire's internal chaos.

He and these officers fought day and night for five consecutive days by the Holy River, pushing the enemy's vanguard regiment back across the water.

All these officers survived those battles.

They had seen him at his strongest, and they had seen how he used himself as the final shield.

That is why they stood behind Kalian; nearly seventy percent of the Imperial Legions stood behind him.

Yet, the legion commanders standing behind him now... numbered less than thirty percent, and most were veteran commanders.

The rest—the newly appointed generals and noble forces—were discussing in private, but he understood their message perfectly clearly:

"The Empire can no longer be dragged down by the internal strife between the princes."

"His Highness's injury... I fear he will never be able to lead the army again."

Their tone was tactful, but they were all pushing him in one direction: away from the position of heir.

The Ministry of Military Affairs was no longer a monolith.

It was becoming loose, fractured, and scattered before his eyes, like a giant beast that had lost its reins, held down only by him.

He stared at his broken left shoulder, his chest feeling as if a piece of ice had been forcibly stuffed inside.

Pain, humiliation, anger... all emotions were twisted into a single rope, choking him until he could barely breathe.

But none of this compared to the fear deeply hidden within his heart.

If I fall, the Empire will collapse.

Yet, long ago, Kalian never thought this way; he should not have reached this point.

Kalian had never been enthusiastic about power, nor did he regard succession as a mission.

He always believed that his Imperial Father was as steady as a rock, that the Empire had its own order, and he only needed to be a prince who could fight, defend, and hold one flank for the Empire on the battlefield.

There was only one person he truly respected, was wholeheartedly convinced by, and who should inherit the throne.

That was the Third Prince.

That younger brother, who gained fame in his youth, possessed the strength of a Peak Knight, commanded with composure on the battlefield, and was called "the person most like the Emperor" both inside and outside the Imperial Capital.

He stabilized military morale, understood the populace, and dared to take responsibility; he was the true heir acknowledged by both nobles and commoners.

Kalian never envied him.

As long as that genius was alive, he was willing to forever be the one standing on the front lines, shedding blood for the Empire.

Until the Third Prince was assassinated in an extremely humiliating manner.

That was the first time in his life he realized that power was not so simple.

What followed was the disappearance of his Imperial Father, and the Imperial authority scattered everywhere.

Kalian suddenly discovered that the responsibility he thought would never fall to him was being forcibly pressed onto his shoulders.

Responsibility turned into obsession, and obsession turned into irreversible fanaticism.

The more Kalian thought, the more certain he became: The Crown Prince was too weak to live much longer, the Fourth Prince only knew schemes and tricks and lacked military spirit, and the rest were simply unqualified.

Only he could stabilize the front lines, only he could restrain the nobles, and only he could make the Ministry of Military Affairs unified again.

If he did not hold power, the Empire would surely perish.

This thought burned in his chest like fire, keeping him clear-headed amidst the pain, and forcing him to delve deeper and deeper.

Kalian took a deep breath, but it felt like inhaling a handful of ice shards, tightening his chest.

He knew exactly what to do next; there was no need to make a list or repeatedly weigh his options.

His heart had already walked the path to its end for him, leaving only one single direction:

During tomorrow's Dragon Throne Council, he must suppress Rhine.

He must make the Ministry of Military Affairs believe he is still the "Prince who can fight."

Even if he has to rely on the spirit nectar fruit to sustain himself, holding on for the crucial moment is enough.

He must regain absolute command of the Ministry of Military Affairs, or military morale will be split by the other heirs at any moment.

The Regent must hold on for a few years; if he falls, the Fourth Prince will be able to legitimately take over everything in the power vacuum.

He must find the person behind the assassin, even if the answer already casts a shadow in his heart.

Most importantly, he must make everyone believe that only I can save the Empire!

This is not ambition, but a resolution forced out by fear.

And this resolution is firmer than any ambition... As the light from the mansion fell through the carved window frame, Fourth Prince Rhein sat behind his desk, reviewing heavy dossiers.

He broke down every matter into controllable shapes and then dealt with them one by one.

The room was silent, only the faint scratching of his quill on the paper could be heard.

The footsteps outside the door ceased very softly.

"Your Highness." It was his tutor, Karen, his voice hushed as if afraid of disturbing something.

Rhine looked up: "Enter."

Karen entered, carrying a box of secret reports, and placed a sealed gold tablet on the desk: "Confirmed report from the Regent's palace... the ochre leaf spirit nectar fruit was personally delivered by the Second Prince's personal guard."

Rhine's pen stopped in his fingers.

He glanced at the secret report, then chuckled softly, his tone carrying mockery and a hint of playfulness: "Brotherly love, truly touching."

Karen nodded slightly, his expression steady.

He could tell that the laugh contained no warmth, only calm calculation and thinly veiled sarcasm.

Rhine placed the secret report on the table, leaned back in his chair, and spoke as if discussing something irrelevant: "It's better that the Regent holds on for another day or two than collapsing tonight."

Karen pondered for a moment and said in a deep voice: "Your judgment is that his holding on actually benefits the situation more?"

Rhine shook his head: "The greatest fear in chaos is that it comes too quickly."

He knew very well that if the Regent died suddenly tonight, the Ministry of Military Affairs would immediately force a change of power.

The Fifth Prince and several local factions would immediately act amidst the chaos.

The civil service system would be pushed to the forefront, and the Imperial Capital would likely split.

That was not the chaos he wanted; he wanted controllable chaos.

The temporary clarity brought by the spirit nectar fruit would be just enough to keep the situation stable for a day without changing the ultimate trajectory.

Rhine gently tapped his knuckles on the table, his voice calm: "The Second Prince sent the spirit nectar fruit to delay the Regent's decline.

He believes that for every day the Imperial authority is stable, he gains another day to win over people in the Ministry of Military Affairs."

Karen slowly asked: "This step... in your view, will it become an obstacle, or a buffer?"

Rhine, instead, smiled faintly: "Quite the opposite."

Because the Regent will not die in the short term, the Imperial Capital will not immediately lose control; but the Regent will certainly die in the long term, and Imperial authority cannot be solidified.

The nobles and legion commanders have more time to be gradually brought under his control, and the Second Prince will also be unable to seize military power exclusively.

"A Regent who can hold on, but is powerless to interfere in politics... this is the optimal state for us." He closed his eyes. "Tomorrow is the opportunity."

The Regent seems able to hold on, but he definitely cannot stand firm, and the Ministry of Military Affairs will be unable to obtain legal authorization during the council.

Karen continued to ask, as if helping Rhine sort out his thoughts: "Judging by the trend, you have the upper hand, but the situation has not yet reached a point of guaranteed victory, is that correct?"

Rhine replied faintly: "High, but no more than fifty percent."

The nobles are observing, the Ministry of Military Affairs does not listen to him, and the local lords are unwilling to bet rashly; any unexpected event could cause the situation to backfire on him.

Of course, Rhine cannot gamble on how long the Regent can live; he must prepare a contingency.

"Tomorrow, as long as the council fails to reach a conclusion, we win."

Tomorrow, Censorate Director Mace's proposal to restore the Elector system, although it will be a neutral option that all factions cannot immediately accept, will also make people realize that they need to choose a side.

Rhine's gaze fell outside the window, his tone slightly lowered: "A shattered Empire is never what I wanted."

Karen gently raised an eyebrow, not interrupting, just listening quietly.

"But the current situation," Rhine said slowly, "can no longer be stabilized by force; it can only rely on time... In just two more years, Imperial authority will naturally fall into my hands."

"And it will be done peacefully. No bloodshed, no fighting, no need for the Empire to endure another tearing apart."

Karen looked at him and nodded slightly.

Rhine spoke very calmly, yet with a deeply hidden determination.

Slowing the Empire down, stopping its rapid collapse, and allowing all factions to exhaust their impulses during the buffer period.

Allowing Imperial authority, above the chaos, to return to his hands in the quietest way possible.