Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

The governor's mansion in the capital of Southeast Province was temporarily converted into the command center for the new empire.

Heavy religious incense filled the hall. The sacred emblem of the Golden Feather Flower Church covered almost an entire wall, appearing as glaringly bright as the various gilded tableware stacked on the table.

The hall doors were suddenly pushed open.

The Fifth Prince, Lampard—who now called himself the first emperor of the Holy Eastern Empire—

—entered the hall with a hurried pace. It wasn't an unseemly skip, but an irrepressible joy that leaked out through his footsteps.

"Duke! Duke Calvin!" His voice echoed under the gilded dome, his pitch slightly elevated. "A miracle... this is simply a sign from the Father God!"

The teacup Duke Calvin had just raised trembled slightly, and in the next instant, his arm was gripped by Lampard.

It was a forceful movement born of uncontrollable excitement, carrying an urgency to share his exhilaration.

The tea spilled onto his sleeve caused the old Duke to daze for a moment, yet he still maintained the noble smile he had cultivated over many years.

Lampard's voice was somewhat hurried: "You are truly a pillar of the empire... without you, today's situation would be impossible to even speak of! Duke, this is the general trend; Heaven's will is on our side!"

The old Duke's smile wavered, for he had absolutely no idea what the Fifth Prince was talking about.

He had been distracted and upset these past few days; there was simply too much chaos.

Southeast Province had originally followed the Dragon Ancestor, but now the Golden Feather Flower Church was forcibly imposing its doctrine. The provincial nobility had been sidelined, and his family's assets were being picked away bit by bit.

But what could he do?

Those old fellows in the Imperial Capital had all been sent to the gallows by the Second Prince. Had he sided with the Fourth Prince, he would likely have been buried in an anonymous pit long ago.

Now, he could only hope that his third son would climb fast enough within the Church to become the Pope sooner, so as to leave a path of survival for the Calvin Family.

Thinking of this, he forced his smile to become a bit steadier: "Your Majesty, please calm yourself... may I ask, what exactly has happened?"

Lampard laughed almost to the point of madness and shoved a battle report into his arms: "Louis Calvin has led the northern army south and launched a blitzkrieg on Grey Rock Province!"

Duke Calvin's fingers twitched, and his teacup nearly fell to the floor.

Lampard continued to pace excitedly in the hall: "Remont's nest has been pierced! Hahaha! That old wolf is still trapped in the Imperial Capital putting on airs, while his backyard is already on fire!"

The nearby Archbishop fingered the sacred emblem, his tone both heavy and meaningful: "Without the Duke's authorization, how could he be bold enough to attack the territory of the Imperial Grand Marshal?

This is not only a declaration of war against Remont but also the strongest certificate of loyalty the Calvin Family has submitted to the Eastern Empire."

The Duke sat upright like a well-trained statue, but his back was already drenched in cold sweat.

Everyone believed this was his command.

But he knew that the wax seal on the letter he had written to Louis likely hadn't even been broken.

That rebellious son hadn't come south to save him, much less to pledge loyalty to the Eastern Empire.

He had smelled blood, smelled opportunity, and simply bitten down.

Whether it was Remont's territory or the foundations of the Calvin Family, in Louis's eyes, they were all merely prey.

Since the last failed attempt to trap the Red Tide into the family system using trade routes, Louis had acted as if he had been completely erased from the Calvin genealogy.

The merchant caravans no longer passed through the Calvin Merchant Guild, and the trade network that originally belonged to the Calvin Family had been personally severed by him, now fully aligned with the North.

He no longer responded to family orders, nor did he seek protection, as if he had thrown the name 'Calvin' into the trash heap forever.

The current him... was more like an heir of the Edmund Family.

He was like a beast raised in the icy plains of the North, his gaze fixed only on broader lands.

But if he denied it now and told Lampard, 'I can't control my son either'—

The Calvin Family's status in the Eastern Empire would collapse instantly.

He would be seen as incompetent, a liar, and worthless to the new empire.

Duke Calvin slowly stood up, leaned on his scepter, and walked to the Southeast war map, his finger pointing steadily at the location of Grey Rock Province.

His voice was calm, as if he had everything planned: "Yes, Your Majesty, this was my instruction. With Remont's main force absent, if we do not strike now, then when?"

A fanatical light flashed in Lampard's eyes: "I knew it! The Duke is indeed far-sighted!"

Since the misunderstanding had already occurred and brought immediate benefits, the old fox knew he had to continue wearing this guise.

"Your Majesty overpraises me." Duke Calvin's voice was steady and slow, showing no emotional fluctuation. "Though that boy Louis is stubborn, he has the Calvin blood flowing in him. In the face of the big picture, he knows who to sink his teeth into."

His tone lacked even a hint of guilt: "This is but... one link in my arrangement."

As the words fell, Duke Calvin was already rapidly calculating the next step in his mind.

"Since my son is shedding blood on the front lines, the rear supply cannot fail. Your Majesty, please immediately release the refined steel and magic crystals in Vero Port that were seized by the Church. I want them transported to the North to support the war effort."

Lampard and the Archbishop exchanged a glance.

Although they did not like being led by the nose by the Calvin Family, under the premise that the 'Northern Wolf King' was following the Duke's orders, they had no choice but to agree.

The moment the two of them nodded, the Duke clearly realized he had won a round.

But this did not put him at ease.

Later that day, he returned to his study and closed the heavy door.

The candlelight flickered as he stared at the half-written letter on the desk, which was originally intended to use interests to exchange for him disrupting the North. He hadn't expected Louis could achieve this much on his own.

But after a moment of silence, he held the letter to the candle flame.

The parchment slowly curled, and the smell of scorching made the room feel even more stifling.

After the fire went out, he spread out a new sheet of paper.

The first line of text from his pen: "Well done. Keep fighting, but do not forget your roots are in the Southeast."

This was a peace offering, a probe, and a belated gesture of goodwill... Outside the window, the rain lashed like a whip, clattering against the tower glass.

Inside the side tower of Grey Rock Fortress, Kyle Remont, clad in black half-plate armor, was processing ledgers of supplies to be sent to the Imperial Capital by the flickering candlelight.

He was always calm and steady, the commander left in charge of the Remont Family territory, and his father had high hopes for him.

He had just written a line: "The third batch of grain carts will depart tomorrow..."

*Thud.*

A dull and abrupt impact broke the silence of the tower.

Kyle looked up sharply.

A Gale Bird was slumped against the outside of the windowsill, its feathers matted against its skin by the rain, its wings trembling as if it had been struck from the sky by some immense force.

Bound to its leg was a red message tube symbolizing the highest emergency intelligence, and in its chest was a broken crossbow bolt—made of refined steel with a barb, it was certainly not a weapon an ordinary person could afford.

Kyle's heart tightened as he threw open the window.

The cold wind and rain poured into the room, nearly extinguishing the candle.

He reached out to catch the dying bird and untied the message tube.

The parchment was unrolled layer by layer; it was stained with rain and blood, the handwriting blurred into illegible shadows.

Yet he could still clearly see the handwriting written in haste and fear, with fingers that must have been trembling... "Enemy attack! Unknown army! Weapons... can collapse walls... immense noise..."

The signature was crooked, as if the writer had collapsed while writing: Count Doron.

Kyle froze for a moment, his throat tightening as if constricted by a rope.

The Doron Territory was only half a day's ride from Grey Rock Fortress, and Count Doron was one of his father's most loyal and toughest vassals.

The towns under his rule had a population of over a hundred thousand; he considered his defense impregnable and had always been known for his brutality—he was a claw of Duke Remont that no one dared provoke.

Now, he had sent such a desperate plea for help.

"Impossible..." Kyle muttered to himself. "Who could take the Doron Territory in a single night? Who would dare? Who has such... weapons capable of shattering city walls?"

The candlelight cast deep shadows on his face.

"Someone, come!" Kyle's voice suddenly rose, carrying an irrepressible panic.

The door was pushed open, and the messenger officer entered hurriedly: "Young Master?"

"Release the Gale Birds!" Kyle spoke extremely fast. "Send messages to Black Iron Town, the Fertile Plains, and all three baronies on the northern line! Immediately! Ask for their situation, the enemy flags they see, their numbers, and the types of weapons—I want it all!"

"Yes!"

The messenger officer took the attendants and ran down the tower. Birdcages were opened one by one, and the Gale Birds beat their wings as they charged into the wind and rain... The next five hours were the longest darkness Kyle had ever experienced.

Only the sound of the storm, the flickering candle, and his own heavy breathing remained in the tower room. Twelve Gale Birds flew out of sight, disappearing into the distant storm.

Kyle stood by the window, his gaze fixed on that pitch-black rift in the sky, as if being focused enough could make a bird fly back.

However.

Five hours passed, and not a single bird returned to the nest.

It was as if those birds had flown into an invisible maw, swallowed along with the very air.

Kyle's hand gripping the windowsill gradually grew cold. He finally realized what this meant.

All surrounding territories had fallen... The lords hadn't failed to receive the messages; they were simply no longer able to reply.

"Who... are they exactly..." His voice was so low it was almost inaudible, as if torn apart by the wind and rain.

The rain lashed against the tower's outer wall like war drums from afar... Kyle had already sent out several knights in the middle of the night to investigate the surrounding territories, but even for an Elite Knight at top speed, the round trip would take at least six days; it was impossible to have news back immediately.

Yet on the third day, urgent and chaotic hoofbeats sounded outside the castle gates, like a pack of hunted beasts crashing into their final sanctuary.

The guards nervously pulled open the gates, and a group of remnants fleeing from the north stumbled into the courtyard.

Kyle hurried down the spiral stone stairs, his black half-plate armor casting a heavy shadow in the firelight from the wall.

When he stepped into the hall, he saw a knight captain from Greyrock Fortress huddled by the fireplace, soaked to the bone.

His armor was a muddy mix of black and grey, looking as if he had crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.

Kyle stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted him off the ground. "What happened?"

The knight captain's pupils were cloudy and vacant, as if his soul had been swallowed by something in the night.

His lips trembled, and hearing Kyle's voice, he suddenly snapped back to reality, wailing aloud: "Gone... it's all gone..."

Kyle gritted his teeth: "What is gone?"

"Greyrock Fortress!" The knight captain's voice was as broken as a snapped bowstring. "That fortress we were supposed to hold for three months... it was gone in two hours!"

Kyle froze, almost unable to comprehend all the implications of those words.

Greyrock Fortress was no ordinary defensive fortification.

It stood astride the vital passage between the imperial North and Grey Rock Province, like a massive, indestructible gate, splitting the entire North into northern and southern sides.

It was revered within the empire as the Divine Shield; as long as it stood, Grey Rock Province would never be stepped into by a Northern knight.

Yet now, this knight was telling him—two hours? "That's Greyrock Fortress! Three layers of walls! You're telling me... two hours?"

The knight captain clutched his head, as if resisting the afterimages of a nightmare: "Thunder was everywhere... wave after wave... they had no siege ladders, no rams... they were kilometers away, pushing some kind of steel monsters belching black smoke... and then the walls... the walls just shattered..."

His voice gradually became fragmented, as if his sanity had been torn open.

Kyle took a deep breath to steady himself: "Their flags. Tell me, what flags were they flying?"

The knight captain shuddered, as if struck by that image again: "Red... a Red Sun Emblem... the whole sky was dyed red... pressing down like a blood tide..."

The air froze.

Kyle's hand loosened, and the knight captain slumped to the ground.

But Kyle stood there as if struck by lightning, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

The Northern Red Tide, Louis Calvin.

All the clues converged at this moment into a sharp blade, stabbing fiercely into Kyle's chest.

The loss of contact in the north, the thunderous weapons, the silent advance... it all formed a clear and desperate truth.

"It's him..." Kyle squeezed the words out of his throat, sounding like grinding gravel. "That wolf of the North."

He had always thought Louis was just a local lord who had risen through marriage and luck, a character that could be utilized.

Now, this 'utilizable character' was wielding war machines that even knights couldn't comprehend, crushing everything from the ends of the earth and knocking on the Remont Family's door.

Kyle's voice was nearly broken: "Why must it be at this time? Father... the main force has all been redeployed to the Imperial Capital..."

He almost stumbled to the giant military map on the wall, his finger tracing the route from the North to Grey Rock Province.

"Three thousand kilometers... a full three thousand kilometers." His voice reflected back in the empty hall, mixed with absurdity and fear.

"Separated by natural barriers, by fortresses, by countless watchposts and checkpoints.

It's impossible for a Northern army to suddenly appear here... impossible to crush three legions in three days... impossible to bypass all surveillance..."

These words were incoherent, squeezed out of his mouth, yet it seemed he was saying them to himself.

The more Kyle repeated them, the more he realized he simply could not understand what was happening before his eyes.

All common sense of military affairs collapsed at this moment.

Such a massive, well-equipped army had suddenly stepped into the heart of Grayrock without beacons, without urgent reports, without any rumors... as if they had materialized out of thin air.

"Impossible..." Kyle's chest heaved violently. "The North shouldn't have this kind of speed... and it's impossible to hide from everyone's eyes... why now?"

He could no longer even describe what it was he feared.

Kyle looked up, his eyes bloodshot: "Quick! Send an urgent report to the Imperial Capital! Tell my father that our home is about to be lost!"