Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

Seven days after the death of the Regent, the dark clouds over the Imperial Capital had yet to dissipate.

The days of rain seemed intent on washing away some hidden truth within the royal city, yet they only pressed the oppressive gloom in the air lower.

Before Yuchen Hall, a large crowd of nobles and civil officials stood in line, their cloaks whipped up by the wind and rain, yet they still forced themselves to maintain their composure.

Today was the day to see off Regent Arrens; by right, it should have been a solemn and glorious imperial ceremony.

But everyone could see that there was an eerie rift between the scale of this funeral and the rank it should have commanded.

The rhythm of the priest's prayers was hurried, the master of ceremonies' pace was thirty percent faster than usual, and the coffin was rushed toward the Underground Palace under the escort of several ceremonial guards.

The nobles exchanged secretive glances; some frowned, while others whispered—

The Regent had been dead for only seven days, and the body was being buried in such haste; this was against protocol.

It was too fast, so fast it seemed like they were trying to cover something up.

Moreover—no one had actually seen the state of the corpse.

It was said that the Regent's condition had worsened before his death, his face becoming ulcerated, and to avoid disturbing the masses, the coffin was not to be opened.

But this explanation only made most people feel even more uneasy.

Fourth Prince Rhein stood below the altar, clad in a black robe, his expression heavy with sorrow.

Beside him, Kalen whispered a report on the guest list, confirming that no absent family would cause trouble.

Rhein merely gave a slight nod, as if he had everything under control.

At least on the surface.

In fact, during these seven days, he had hardly slept a full night.

He was busy appeasing the Eight Great Families, convincing them that the Empire was still within controllable limits.

He purged the opposition, replacing or placing under house arrest a group of key officials under various pretexts.

He took control of city defenses, guard rotations, detentions, and transfers, seizing all the power left by the Regent with lightning speed.

More importantly, the Second Prince and the Fifth Prince had completely disappeared; the pursuers Rhein sent out only found the Second Prince's army, which had managed to break through the encirclement.

And what frustrated him even more was the Regent himself—

He was indeed dead, but his body was missing.

Rhein could only pick out a prisoner of similar build from the dungeon, one who was skin and bones, and use an alchemical potion to corrode his face, making everyone believe it was the Regent who had died of a disfiguring illness.

He knew it was a gamble, but without a body, the funeral could not proceed, and without a funeral, he could not initiate the next step of his plan: electing a new Regent.

And he had to be that Regent.

Now that the prayers had ended, the coffin was slowly pushed into the depths of the Underground Palace. The master of ceremonies announced the completion of the funeral, and the princes and nobles turned toward Yuchen Hall.

Rhein stepped forward, with Kalen following closely behind, whispering, "Your Highness, the Eight Great Families are all seated and are waiting for you to preside over the regency ceremony."

Rhein nodded. "Very well. The longer they wait, the more it proves that I am the only choice to stabilize the Empire."

Kalen quietly suppressed his excited breathing.

Over these seven days, he was the one who most clearly understood the pressure Rhein faced and the clash of powers.

The dissenters were quietly replaced, the hesitant were appeased, and the opportunists were now eager to swear their loyalty in Yuchen Hall.

Rhein walked up the white jade steps of Yuchen Hall, rain falling from the eaves and splashing at his feet.

He said softly, "After today, the Empire will welcome a true order."

Kalen looked up at him, his voice trembling, "Your Highness—you have already won."

Rhein did not smile, but simply spoke flatly, "No, there is still one last step."

Having just returned from the Royal Cemetery, Rhein didn't even have time to return to his manor.

In a side hall of the palace, attendants pulled off his rain-soaked black mourning clothes and dressed him piece by piece in the ceremonial attire symbolizing the supreme ruler of the Empire.

The slight tremor in his fingertips was not from sadness, but from the adrenaline surging through his body.

As he let the attendant fasten the last button, he urged in a low voice, "Hurry up. Has Simmons arrived?

What about the people from the Censorate?"

The attendant nodded fearfully and draped the shoulder tassels over him. Rhein stepped toward Yuchen Hall.

When he pushed open the doors of Yuchen Hall, the sound of rain and wind seemed instantly shut out.

This temple-like hall was vast and solemn, the deep blue flames hanging from the ceiling illuminating the marble floor but offering no warmth to anyone.

Twelve giant relics stood along the walls: the Broken Dragon Shield of Dragon Breath City, the Crescent Moon Spear of Whispering Wind Ridge,

The fractured helmet of the Iron Citadel Knights—

They were like silent giants, looking down from above at this small and ambitious usurper.

Above the highest steps, the throne carved from a single piece of obsidian was hidden in the shadows.

Rhein looked up at it; it was the seat he had craved for half his life.

Within the hall, the Eight Great Families and the civil and military officials were gathered, all eyes falling upon Rhein.

The Regent was dead; the Empire needed a new helmsman.

And everyone knew that the young prince entering Yuchen Hall, even though the Emperor had not yet returned and the Imperial Throne was nominally vacant, already saw himself as the sword that would sooner or later be firmly planted into the Dragon Throne.

But below in Yuchen Hall, the eight core seats of the Crescent Moon Long Table appeared exceptionally desolate.

Those were the eight chairs symbolizing the highest noble power of the Empire, which should have been fully occupied during major decisions, but now only five people were seated.

Duke Simmons sat at the very front, his face glowing with health.

He repeatedly rose from his seat to converse in low tones with the surrounding civil officials, as if tonight were a celebration he had personally prepared.

He was Rhein's die-hard supporter; he had placed his bets most thoroughly and was now the most triumphant.

Duke Diaz wore the deep-patterned robes of the Censorate, his expression dark and sinister.

His ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) family's hereditary rights were still in the hands of the Imperial Family; he had to keep a close eye on any shift in the wind.

The representative of the Holden Family was as haggard as a half-withered piece of wood.

Their patriarch owed a large old debt to the Ministry of Finance; if he didn't come, it would be a dead end, so he could only bite the bullet and sit at this table symbolizing the power of the Empire.

The representative of the Beres Family kept stroking his cuffs, his face full of hesitation.

They were the most typical fence-sitters; whichever way the wind blew, their knees would buckle in that direction.

He appeared here now only because the tide seemed to have turned in favor of the Fourth Prince.

As for the representative of the Kaladi Family—a family that had been personally purged by the late Emperor and stripped of its permanent seat in the Noble Council—they were now temporarily restored to the roster because the Fourth Prince needed to make up the eight seats.

Seated in the last position, he appeared respectful, or at least grateful on the surface.

And the three empty chairs served as tombstones, reminding everyone:

Duke Calvin had made no move, and even Eleanor, the representative stationed in the Imperial Capital, had withdrawn in advance.

Duke Remont, the mainstay of the Second Prince's faction, had not arrived.

The Edmund Family in the North existed only in name, and Louis—had not sent any envoy.

The empty seats themselves were a provocation.

Mace, the Director of the Censorate, stood in the center of the long table, wearing silver-emblemed robes. Since the Minister of Internal Affairs was missing and had not returned, he had been temporarily appointed to preside over the grand ceremony; though his authority was only acting, it made his presence feel particularly heavy.

His voice sounded cold and hollow within the acoustic array: "Given the unfortunate passing of the Regent, the country cannot be without a leader for even a day. It is hereby proposed to restore the Elector system, with His Highness Fourth Prince Rhein serving as the first Guardian of Imperial Power."

"

The hall fell into an awkward silence.

According to ancestral law, such a major matter required a unanimous vote from the Eight Great Families, but now only five were present.

No one spoke. No one was willing to take the responsibility of being the first to open their mouth.

Rhein stood on the steps, lifting his chin, his voice terrifyingly cold: "Silence is consent." He slowly scanned the room below. "Absence is an abstention."

Then he turned to look at the most obedient one: "Duke Simmons, what is the current vote count?"

Simmons, who had long been impatient, held up the scepter symbolizing the noble vote and said in a loud voice, "Five votes in favor! More than half, passed!"

The attendant unfurled a parchment scroll; the gold patterns of the "New Imperial Charter" shimmered in the firelight. This was the set of rules Rhein had personally rewritten.

Duke Simmons was the first to sign; as the nib of the pen moved across the paper, his hand was almost shaking—a tremor of uncontrollable excitement.

Following him were Diaz, Holden, Beres, and Kaladi.

With every name signed, Rhein's smile grew a bit wider.

When the fifth name was firmly pressed onto the parchment scroll, he finally let out a breath.

He raised a cup of black tea, giving a slight toast to the void of the storm outside the window.

The movement seemed composed, but it was more like his own coronation ceremony.

Father—if you were here, you would surely mock me. He whispered in his heart, even with a trace of imperceptible disdain.

But you never understood that politics should be elegant, not a flower watered with blood.

In those years, he had watched his father purge dozens of families with brutal and direct methods, forcing the entire Empire to submit in fear.

That was not rule; it was merely a butcher's knife hanging over everyone's head.

But I will not be like that. True power should make subjects kneel of their own accord, not because they are driven into a corner.

He did not say these words aloud, but carved them deeper into his heart than any oath: No need for butcher knives, no need for bloodshed, no need to purge dozens of families.

Only rules, only legal legitimacy on paper, and just a few signatures—then he could make the Empire hand over its power to him of its own volition.

Tonight was the first step.

Although the throne was not vacant, what of the true Emperor? He had been missing until now and would likely never return.

Even if he could return, it would only be to hold the coronation ceremony for me.

He put down the cup and turned to the civil officials in the room with a gentle and composed smile: "Gentlemen, a toast to the new order."

Everyone responded in unison, their voices echoing under the dome: "A toast to His Majesty Rhein!"

Torrential rain poured down into the valley, the sound of water like countless iron arrows striking at once.

Second Prince Kalian arrived here with his remaining eight hundred loyal personal guards.

They had just broken through from the Western Suburbs; their armor was covered in shattered blade marks, and many still bore unbandaged wounds, yet they gritted their teeth and endured, not a single one groaning.

—

As they passed through the final sentry post and reached the depths of the valley, the sight before them made even Kalian's breath tighten.

An army of over ten thousand—including the Grayrock Iron Cavalry under Remont and the 10th and 31st Border Legions—stood solemnly in the curtain of rain.

Rain flowed down their helmets, washing the mud from their faces, but they remained motionless, like rows of iron monuments standing in the storm.

Kalian rode past these knights.

The eyes of these men were not filled with confusion or expectation; it was a fierce light born of being driven into a corner.

Months of food shortages had forced them to eat grass roots, boil leather, and even kill their own warhorses to survive.

This extreme pressure had not destroyed them; instead, it had pushed them one step closer from being human to being beasts.

They didn't need drug control or oaths to bind them; resentment itself was the purest intent to fight.

The corners of Kalian's mouth slowly curled up.

“This is not an army,” he whispered, his tone carrying a satisfied coldness. “This is a pack of wolves.”

He scanned the distance. “Rhein, that bookworm, has starved the Empire's gatekeepers into madness—now, let him personally taste the sensation of being torn to pieces.”

Just as he finished speaking, Duke Remont rode over from the other side of the rain curtain, his cloak fluttering in the wind and rain.

He offered no pleasantries, only a wave of his hand.

Then, hundreds of supply wagons covered in tarpaulins were pulled open by the knights in unison.

The moment the tarpaulins hit the ground, a frantic light flashed in the eyes of the knights in the rain.

Inside the supply wagons, there was no magical radiance or ceremonial decoration, only the things that could most directly ignite the morale of an army:

Chests of Imperial gold coins, shimmering with a brilliant gold light under the reflection of the torches.

Remont, like a generous controller, tilted his chin up slightly, his tone composed and even somewhat contemptuous: “Your Highness, Rhein thought that by seizing the national treasury, he could force you to submit.” He pointed toward the supply wagons. “But he forgot that the three hundred years of accumulation by the Remont Family cannot be blocked by those little palace tricks.”

He raised his hand against the rain. “These—are enough for this army to overturn every single paving stone in the Imperial Capital.”

Kalian remained silent for a moment, then slowly stepped onto the high platform washed by the rain, his armor gleaming under the lightning.

He drew the sword symbolizing imperial power, its blade cutting a cold light through the rain.

The sound of the rain seemed to be hushed at this instant.

Kalian's voice was loud and powerful, carrying the arrogance unique to the imperial bloodline: “Knights!”

His sword pointed toward the direction outside Grayrock Valley: “I know you are hungry! And I know you have been wronged!”

The crimson light in the knights' eyes flickered under the lightning.

Kalian's voice suddenly dropped very low, yet it was more chilling than a roar: “Rhein! That coward hiding in Yuchen Hall, who only knows how to toy with ink!

He poisoned the Regent! He cut off your supplies! He treated the heroes who guard the Empire like beggars!”

Thunder rumbled, as if adding a touch of coldness to his words.

He raised his longsword high, its tip piercing the night sky.

“I don't want you to follow the rules; I only want you to do one thing.” He spoke one word at a time, his voice like iron blades clashing. “Enter the city and take back the wealth that belongs to you! Take back the glory that belongs to you!”

The gale whipped the rain into their faces.

In the next instant, lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating Kalian's profile as cold and sharp as cast iron.

He roared: “In two days, I will drink Rhein's blood in Yuchen Hall! And you shall drink fine wine on the Avenue of Triumph!!”

He suddenly struck down with the Sword of Punishment onto the rock.

“All troops—march!!”

What answered him was not a chaotic cheer, but the metallic friction of ten thousand weapons being unsheathed at once.

That sound was heavy and cold, like a giant beast waking in the storm and baring its fangs.

Kalian slightly lifted his chin, his chest heaving with a fierce satisfaction.

The hunter had officially set out on the night road into the city.