Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 160 Joseph's End
The ninth underground level of the Imperial Capital's dungeon, a deep prison where light can never reach.

The air here doesn't smell of dust, but rather a pungent odor of dampness, rust, and decay.

The walls were covered with mottled moss, and bloodstains had long since seeped into the cracks in the stone, congealing into dark patterns, like some kind of eerie emblem.

Joseph Carradine was once a spirited nobleman who had made his way in the North.

Now all that remains is a lump of flesh and blood stripped of its dignity, skin, and human form.

He was huddled in the iron interrogation chair, his hands hanging limply, his ankles tightly bound by rusty chains, his wounds festering and festering, looking like a creature that even crows wouldn't give a second glance.

His head was bowed, his hair matted into strands of black rope, indistinguishable from mud, blood, or tears.

"Speak, Your Excellency Joseph,"

The interrogator on the right approached with a smile, his lips twitching to reveal his teeth, which were dislocated due to burns. "This is your fourteenth confession. We want to hear the fifteenth."

Joseph did not answer.

He simply lifted his swollen eyelid and looked at the scarred face.

Another interrogator lazily stepped forward, extended his prosthetic arm, and with a snap, tore off a small piece of flesh from Joseph's body that had not yet scabbed over.

"Ah...ah ah—"

His screams seemed unable to fully echo even in the dungeon, because the sound was so familiar that even the stone walls were numb to it.

The pain only made him repeat the words he had said countless times before.

At first, even amidst his screams, he would still try to think:
Who betrayed me?

What role did Louis play?
But now, Joseph had stopped thinking and was only focused on one thing: "Kill me... let me die... please..."

He can no longer remember when he started praying for death.

"Do you want to die?" the interrogator with the burned face murmured softly, his tone almost flirtatious. "Sorry, His Majesty hasn't granted you permission to die yet."

"And we also want to see just how many times a proud dog can bark."

They laughed, as if they had told an extremely funny joke.

One drew out a long voice, while the other let out a cold laugh.

Joseph began to vomit upon hearing the laughter, but nothing came out.

He was once an invincible strategist in the North, full of vigor and commanding a prefecture with ease, but now he can't even utter a single word.

He even began to envy his roommates who died cleanly under the knife.

"That's almost it."

After writing down Joseph's words again, the interrogator, who had a metal prosthetic arm, flexed his wrist.

He seemed tired too, and stretched against the damp stone wall: "He said everything he could, and repeated it several times."

As the one-eyed interrogator rolled up the blood-stained parchment, he muttered under his breath, "The intelligence overlaps by more than 90%, with an error of less than two sentences."

“Well, we probably won’t find anything new.” The metal prosthetic arm nodded. “Submit this confession, copies of the letters, the accounts, and that correspondence… send them directly to His Majesty.”

"His Majesty would probably laugh if he saw this."

"At least the corner of his mouth will twitch."

The two ignored Joseph, who was trembling on the ground, and slowly packed up their tools, as casually as a butcher washing a chopping board.

Before they left, they whispered to each other things like "they should be publicly beheaded."

Finally, the iron gate clicked shut, the torches went out, and the dungeon fell silent once more.

In the darkness, only a person's broken, blood-splattered whispers remained: "Please... let me... die..."

Joseph's wish was eventually fulfilled.

Three days later, in the capital city—Longyang Square.

This is the intersection of the empire's oldest and most prosperous main thoroughfares. The street is partially blocked off, and patrolling troops stand guard with swords drawn, their positions like a forest.

Three layers of iron chain fences were erected around the square, ostensibly to "prohibit unauthorized personnel from approaching," but outside the fences, a dense crowd of ordinary people came to watch the spectacle.

This is a typical scene at Longyang Square.

Since the current emperor ascended the throne, this place has become one of the most famous "execution grounds" in the capital.

Every two or three days, someone would be beheaded, on all sorts of bizarre charges, but those most frequently executed were not ordinary people, but former powerful figures.

No nobleman, merchant, military officer, or scholar who fell from grace could escape a peaceful end if they angered "the one above."

In the last two years, this "cleansing" has become more and more frequent.

There's a folk joke: "If someone is summoned to the Imperial Household Department for tea, their family should go to the carpenter's shop to order a coffin."

Ironically, despite the bloodshed, the people were not afraid.

"here we go again."

Who is it? Do you know them?

"I don't recognize them. They're probably some noble family that's committed a crime."

"I heard it's that family that sells arms? Anyway, I've killed so many over the years that I can't even remember who's who."

Among the crowd were vendors selling melon seeds and roasted chestnuts, children riding on their fathers' shoulders to watch the excitement, and old men squatting in the front row to reserve seats.

It all felt more like a marketplace than an execution ground.

They couldn't see the crimes on the platform, nor did they care who the people on the platform were.

All they knew was that another "powerful person" was going to die today.

In the center of the square, the high platform, made of cold iron and covered with black cloth, stood solemnly.

Notices were hung on all four sides, reading: [Treason, aiding the enemy, plotting rebellion in the north, deceiving the kingdom]

Outlined with gold powder, secured with silver nails, it gleams coldly.

But to the onlookers, it was just a "routine" decoration.

Do you think he begged for mercy?

"Nobles usually put on a tough act... but when they're about to be beheaded, they make a lot of noise."

"I bet he'll pass out."

Whispering, the bells rang.

The iron cage vehicle carrying prisoners slowly drove in.

The caged cart carrying the prisoner creaked to a stop, the iron gate opened, and several fully armed guards stepped forward and dragged the "person" out.

It was a bloodstained, twisted humanoid skeleton.

Joseph Carradine, once a nobleman who sat high at banquets and spoke eloquently, now finds himself almost forgetting who he is in this shadow.

He was dragged by two soldiers like a sack of broken scarecrows.

Just last night, the interrogator surprisingly invited a military medical officer.

"Make him at least look like a 'person'."

"A beheading should be done in a dignified manner, otherwise it will frighten the children."

So his face was cleaned, his broken nose was forcibly straightened, the scabs on his face were scraped off, and the fracture was bandaged, so that it looked "complete" on the outside.

They even dressed him in the original custom-made noble black robe, but it was stained with blood, washed until it was gray, and had two tears in the cuffs, like an old garment dug out of a coffin.

Joseph didn't know how he got up there; maybe he was pushed, or maybe he was suspended.

The executioner opened the execution list and read it aloud:

"Joseph Carradi, having violated the Imperial Code: colluding with enemy states, selling secrets, conspiring with merchants, and inciting separatism, is found guilty of all three crimes and sentenced to death—beheading and public display."

He was forced onto the cold iron pedestal, his neck wedged into the icy execution rack.

The cold wind from Longyang Square blew into my clothes, chilling me to the bone.

He suddenly heard people laughing and cheering.

He opened his swollen eyelids and saw the sea of ​​people, scrambling to look around, comment, and place bets. They didn't know who he was, nor did they want to know. He was just today's "show."

"Where did I go wrong?" Joseph asked himself, but no one answered.

In the front row of the stands, several newly rich people knelt behind a curtain, heads bowed and silent.

Some old nobles also arrived, their expressions indifferent and their clothes impeccable, as if this were some kind of morning ritual that they had to complete for social interaction.

"It really is the son of the Karadi family... The Karadi family is doomed."

"Tsk, three crimes combined, even the nobles' privilege of execution is gone."

"His Majesty the Emperor has never shown any mercy in the past few years."

These whispers did not travel more than a foot.

Everyone knows that red-clad inspectors are secretly recording every word spoken around the square.

The executioner looked back at the clock tower; the time was just right.

The raised decapitation sword gleamed silver in the sunlight, as if even the air itself trembled.

"implement."

The blade fell, and a head rolled several feet off the ground, blood gushing out like a fountain, splattering the steps.

The moment the head hit the ground, the entire square seemed to freeze for several seconds.

Then, someone shouted, "Well done!"

Then, a second and a third shout rang out, each one louder than the last.

"You deserve it!"

"Cut one more!"

"That was a swift and decisive cut!"

Laughter and cheers mingled with children's screams and vendors' shouts.

Some people waved handkerchiefs, some threw coins, and a few young people leaned on the fence, as excited as if they had just watched a thrilling gladiatorial match.

They didn't know who the person who fell was, nor did they care.

For them, it was nothing more than a "show" in the capital city in the early morning.

There's blood, there's guilt, there's a verdict, there's beheading—that's it.

As for the so-called "Caladis family" and "military secrets"...

They don't understand, and they don't care.

These days, as long as you don't lose your head, life is good.

At the edge of the square, the blood on the execution platform had not yet dried when crows landed and began pecking at the broken remains.

Not far away, the clock tower began to play the imperial-style chime again.

…………

Joseph wasn't the only one who suffered because of this.

The head of the Karadi family, Elman, sat at his desk, his eyes bloodshot, his face devoid of its usual iron will and majesty, only showing an indescribable weariness and apprehension.

His right hand trembled incessantly, leaving a blurry trail of ink on the memorial.

"In the name of Karadi, I sever ties with the traitors... I request divine judgment with three border fortresses and thirty percent of the military power..."

He gritted his teeth, signed his name on the last line, and pressed the ring down hard, as if he could crush the sin on the paper.

That was the only thing he could do.

He severed ties with his children as a father, and cut off his own arm to survive as the head of the family.

Then, he finally slumped back in his chair, as if all his bones and strength had been drained, and he looked ten years older all of a sudden.

“You bastard…you damned piece of trash…” he cursed under his breath, his throat rough and bloody.

"Colluding with foreign businessmen, betraying military intelligence, and engaging in shady tricks and deceptions... What kind of political intrigue drama does he think he's playing?!"

He slammed his fist on the table so hard that the wine cups jumped.

"He ruined himself, and dragged the foundation I built over decades, along with the blood and sweat of generations of people in Karadi, into the quagmire!"

The anger burned to its peak, but in the end, only a very soft, almost inaudible sigh remained.

He didn't want to cry, but his eyes were red.

Elman Karady fought countless battles throughout his life, dodged three political traps, and pulled the Karady family out of the mire and into the center.

But he never imagined that the one who would deliver the fatal blow to him would not be his enemy, but his family.

It was that baby he once held in his arms, who now traded his entire family for a death sentence.

“You damned thing…” he repeated it again, this time muttering to himself, as if trying to completely erase that name from his memory.

All he can do now is hope that the emperor will show mercy this time.

He thought he would receive a reply, even just a simple "You're not guilty enough to deserve this," which would give him some breathing room.

But nothing.

Three days passed, five days passed, and not a breath of wind blew.

On the morning of the seventh day, a fast horseman sent by the Constitutional Ministry arrived at the Carradine residence, bringing with him an imperial edict.

When the heavy letters were delivered, he was still in his study reviewing military newspapers.

The sealing wax was still wet, and the golden emblem bearing the imperial charter indicated that it came from the highest authority—the Emperor's Privy Council.

His hands trembled as he opened the book, one page, two pages, three pages…

The first government order was to revoke the military contracting rights for the Southwest Defense Zone.

The three old legions stationed on the border will be taken over by the Royal Dragonfire Knights within the next ten days.

The Karady family's military flag will be lowered from the fortress and replaced by a golden dragon banner.

The second decree stripped the nobility of three powers: permanent seats in the noble council, the right to recommend candidates for military academies, and royal hunting permits.

This is a blatant act of stripping a family of their title, almost equivalent to expelling the entire family from the aristocratic circle of the capital.

The third decree ordered an investigation into assets in the capital, freezing of bank accounts belonging to nobles, and sealing off two residences for investigation.

……

Every word and phrase left no room for negotiation.

Elman stood in the center of the hall, holding three sealed edicts that had just been delivered by the royal messenger.

The edges of the letter were still warm, and the gold-lacquered imperial crest was dazzling and sharp, as if it were sneering at him.

He read it word by word, expressionless, yet each word seemed to drive a nail into his heart.

"...revoke...deprive...freeze..."

When the last sentence was written, "Effective immediately, the special envoy will be stationed in the territory of Karadi to implement transitional control,"

He seemed to have his bones removed, and in an instant, he collapsed onto the throne that he had sat in countless times, the one that symbolized power.

The heavy chair back slammed against my back with a hollow sound, like the last gasp of the old house before it collapsed.

The retainers, stewards, guards, and several cousins ​​beside him all remained silent, not daring to utter a sound.

Elman slowly lowered his head, his hand holding the edict trembling.

But it wasn't because of anger or shame, but because he was exhausted.

Even though he was mentally prepared for those words, he only realized the true weight of the word "deprivation" when he actually read them aloud.

That wasn't just taking away a little power from him; it was pulling out his tendons, scraping his bones, tearing the entire Karadi family off the golden spine of the empire.

He uttered a soft, echoing whisper: "It's over..."

(End of this chapter)