Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 241 The Meeting in the Capital (Part 1)
Imperial Capital, Yuchen Hall.

A dome made of massive stones hangs high in the sky.

At the center of the dome, a huge chandelier forged from alchemy and eternal fire magic patterns slowly rotated, its blue flames burning fiercely, yet it emitted no heat whatsoever.

That was the eternal flame sealed by the imperial alchemist with starlight, which had burned for 372 years without ever going out, symbolizing the undying will of the empire.

The four walls are inlaid with twelve giant emblems, each representing one of the empire's original twelve ancient cities.

From the shattered dragon shield of Dragonbreath City to the crescent moon spear of Darkwind Ridge, each piece silently and solemnly gazes upon this sanctuary of power, like a petrified embodiment of millennia-old imperial authority.

The throne sits high on the highest step, like a god gazing down upon all.

Emperor Ernst August sat on the throne, his black and gold dragon-patterned robe cascading down the steps, resembling a coiled dragon.

The constant fire in the dome could not illuminate his face, and the shadow of his high position enveloped him like a curtain, so that one could only vaguely see a cold and stern outline, but never see his expression.

Beside him stood only one person, Lin Ze, the chief steward of internal affairs, wearing a black silk robe.

The long table below, like a crescent moon, forms a semi-circle around the imperial steps.

More than twenty dignitaries, dressed in official robes and wearing family crests, sat in order.

There were Grand Dukes, Princes, Privy Councilors, Commanders-in-Chief of the Legion, Directors of Finance and Taxation, representatives of the eight great families, representatives of the newly rich...

Seating arrangements were based on titles, military merits, lineage, and real power.

Each of them held a high position of power, yet they remained silent in fear at this moment.

They spoke in hushed tones, perused intelligence, some coughed, some feigned composure, but all eyes occasionally and unconsciously drifted toward the throne.

It was as if a sleeping dragon sat there, and with the opening of its eyes, it could decide the fate of each and every one of them.

This is the Imperial Supreme Council, the Dragon Throne Meeting.

It is also the true heart of this thousand-year-old empire, and every beat of it affects the joys and sorrows of hundreds of thousands of lives.

Eleanor wore a red family shawl with a crescent moon pattern, her face expressionless, but her heartbeat was far from as steady as it appeared.

Even though she had been the representative of the Calvin family in the capital for over a decade and was well-versed in the power struggles among the various families in the capital, her nerves would still tighten every time she stepped into the "Imperial Hall".

This is not just a meeting room; it is a manifestation of imperial will.

A faint scent permeated the air, a subtle "dragon's blood fragrance".

Those were spices used exclusively for sacrificial ceremonies, said to contain the essence of true dragon blood, reserved for the emperor's use. They were extremely faint, yet permeated to the bone, so intense that one couldn't help but clench their knuckles.

What's even more unsettling is the "sound".

Throughout the Imperial Hall, everything—from footsteps and words to the turning of papers—was suppressed into a strange low frequency by the installed echo array, as if one were in a deep well.

Even the faintest sound becomes jarring and impossible to ignore in this well.

As soon as the emperor moves his body slightly, the bottom of the obsidian throne will emit a rhythmic "hum".

It doesn't vibrate your eardrums, it vibrates your soul.

In that instant, Eleanor even felt her heart skip a beat and a slight chill run down her spine.

She quietly adjusted her breathing to suppress her tension; she had already read the Duke of Calvin's letter.

This time, she wants to secure for Louis "a recognized, de facto authority in the North by the Empire".

But we must be extremely careful and never let anyone know that this was an arrangement by the Calvin family.

This is the ultimate test of the social skills of the Imperial Supreme Council.

Eleanor had already met with several old friends beforehand, all of whom were representatives of families in the Empire that had allied with or had favors with the Calvin family. They briefly exchanged positions and terminology before the meeting.

Whether they will be able to voice their support for her proposal at the meeting remains to be seen.

Eleanor's fingertips tightened silently, and her hands, hidden under her shawl, clasped together even more tightly.

The pressure surrounded her like the sea.

This is not only about Louis's future, but also a pivotal moment in the family's fate, determining whether they can re-establish themselves in the North.

She raised her head slightly, looked at the throne that seemed to swallow all sound, and swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

The atmosphere inside the venue was as cold as ice.

Although the Imperial Palace Hall was filled with renowned and powerful figures.

Everyone sitting at the table was a figure capable of shaking an entire province or prefecture, yet none of them dared to speak rashly at this moment.

Everyone's breathing was suppressed to a minimum, and even coughs were deliberately suppressed, as if afraid of disturbing the deathly silence in front of the throne.

In fact, even before the meeting was formally convened, several members of parliament from aristocratic backgrounds had already voiced their protests.

Their sons, as members of the Imperial Dragonblood Legion, died in the North during the Battle of the Endbringer.

There are many people with outstanding talent and distinguished lineage.

They are all outstanding members of the family, and some are even considered "seeds" to become the next head of the family.

They fell on the front lines of the insect swarm at dusk, their bodies never to be found.

Some people were angry because of this, and some people resented it.

They attempted to bring this sentiment into the meeting, issuing "mild inquiries" to the throne.

Why was the deployment so hasty? Why is the front line so isolated? Why is the Empire's support so late?
However, those voices were coldly drowned out in the preparatory briefing before the meeting began by Chief Steward Lin Ze with the statement, "The Empire will do everything in its power to provide relief," and there was no response.

No one pressed further.

Those sitting at the table knew perfectly well what was going on.

The emperor may have already thought of some answers, just waiting for someone to say them.

Time is up.

The dome of the Imperial Hall hummed softly, and all sounds beneath the throne froze.

Lin Ze, the chief steward of internal affairs, slowly walked out of the shadow of the imperial steps.

After standing still, he unfurled a thin roll of mithril paper, his tone icy cold:
"Thirty-six days after the end of the Northern Campaign, preliminary intelligence has been filed and is now being formally submitted."

He raised his eyes, his gaze slowly sweeping over the nobles and ministers on both sides of the long table, before speaking coldly:
"According to the joint battlefield reconnaissance team of the Control Yuan and the Privy Council—"

The first item: population loss. Preliminary estimates indicate that the northern border has lost four-fifths of its population.

Someone in the hall stirred slightly, but no one made a sound.

"Second: Territorial disintegration, with most of the northern territories having fallen or fallen into an incurable state."

The explosion of the insect hive triggered crustal fractures, accompanied by drastic changes in the landform. Roads were destroyed, rivers overflowed, lakes dried up, and some areas became dead zones, uninhabitable.

The third item: military disintegration.

The original Red Iron Defense Line collapsed completely, and the First, Seventh, and Ninth Regiments of the Red Iron Army were annihilated along the Snow Peak and Frost Halberd line.

Currently, only scattered garrison units remain, and they have lost their organizational structure and orders.

"Conclusion." Lin Ze's tone remained unchanged, as if he were reading a verdict, "The Northern Border has become a 'vacuum zone' on the northern edge of the Empire." He paused, gently putting away the secret report in his hand, as if closing a coffin lid.

On the throne, Ernst August remained silent throughout.

His face was hidden in the shadow cast by the high-backed throne, his eyes were blurred, only his cold and stern features remained, like a giant dragon.

But no one dared to underestimate his silence at this moment.

Lin Ze took a half step back and calmly bowed his head in greeting: "Your Majesty, the above is a summary of post-war intelligence."

The emperor did not respond, but merely raised his finger slightly and gestured once.

The movement, though seemingly silent, struck the hearts of every participant.

The power struggle has officially begun.

After Lin Ze left, the Imperial Hall fell into a terrifying silence.

No one spoke immediately, as if even thinking had to be done with extreme caution in front of the emperor.

However, this silence did not last long.

"Your Majesty, please allow me to speak." A trembling voice, unable to suppress its indignation, rang out from the right side of the long table, originating from the seat of the Heran family of the Western Region.

The man was a nobleman representative, around fifty years old, with a sullen face. He rose to bow, his head lowered, but he could not hide the anger in his eyes.

“My eldest son of the Helan family, a super knight of the Dragonblood Legion, died in the North… his body was never found, not even fragments of his armor were recovered.”

He clutched the post-war roster in his hand, his voice almost choked with emotion: "The brutality of this war is evident to all. We never shirk our fate of sacrifice, but I dare to ask..."

Why was the garrison's deployment so slow? Why did the entire northern border collapse completely within a few days?

His tone grew increasingly urgent, his gaze sweeping towards the elderly nobles seated at the left end of the long table. His words were sharp as blades: "Did Governor Edmund 'recklessly engage in battle without authorization,' plunging the North into utter destruction? Investigate Duke Edmund thoroughly!"

The last sentence was shouted with such force that its echo reverberated throughout the hall.

The two nobles sitting beside him nodded, their tone subtle yet their stance clear:
"While war and natural disasters are irreversible, failing to make contingency plans or properly deploy troops is a dereliction of duty."

"Even a strong empire cannot be thrown into chaos by disasters; otherwise, what lessons will the governors of various regions learn?"

They would occasionally glance at the high throne, trying to glean his attitude from the emperor's silence.

However, there was no movement in that shadow.

Just as the atmosphere was about to freeze, another deep and cold voice rang out: "If we're talking about responsibility, who should guard the broken border?"

The speaker was General Yoda Brutus, commander of the Third Army Corps, who was wearing a military robe and a dragon-patterned hat and was one of the leaders of the hawk faction of the Imperial Military Intelligence Bureau.

He stood up, straightened his back, and his gaze was like a knife.

"To ensure the restoration of order in the North as soon as possible, I suggest that the Imperial Capital dispatch the Third, Sixth, and Twelfth Legions to be temporarily stationed in the North under the name of 'Joint Legion'."

He walked slowly forward, his fingertips hovering over the intelligence map, his tone resolute: "The garrison area will extend to the northern border. A Northern Border Military Region will be established, under the unified command of the Ministry of Military Affairs. It could even be used to launch a counterattack against the barbarians."

He glanced at the Helan representative and said sarcastically, "Blame an old man with white hair for failing to withstand the disaster? It would be better to leave the mess to a truly combat-ready legion."

The path to reconstruction cannot rely on remnants of private armies and surviving vassals, but must be maintained through a strong and disciplined military to uphold order.

After saying that, he cautiously glanced at the emperor.

Hoping to find even the slightest nod or agreement from the shadow of that obsidian throne.

But the emperor still did not make a move.

The next moment, a cool and restrained voice rang out from the other side: "The general's suggestion is indeed tough, but it's a bit too crude."

The speaker was Mays, the chief envoy of the Overwatch Council, a middle-aged official wearing thin-rimmed glasses and a dark blue tuxedo.

His voice was not loud, but clear and calm: "The problem in the North right now is not just that there are not enough troops. The bigger problem is that there is no unified command, no one dares to make decisions, and no one can take responsibility."

He glanced at the post-war intelligence report on the table and continued, "I propose the establishment of a new agency—'Imperial Direct Northern Military and Political Administration'."

It would be jointly overseen by the Ministry of Supervision, the Ministry of Finance, and the Ministry of Military Affairs. This agency would temporarily take over all resources, taxes, and defenses in the Northern Territory, coordinate all reconstruction efforts, report directly to the capital, and be free from the interference of local nobles.

He said this without the slightest hesitation, clearly having prepared beforehand.

Then, his gaze fell back to where General Yoda was, and his tone turned colder: "The 'United Legion' that the general mentioned is theoretically a good thing, but without checks and balances, it will only create another problem."

The army's long-term presence in the region and its overreaching interference in politics have ultimately made it a hot potato that no one can control. Do you intend to break free from His Majesty's control and establish yourself as king in the North?

General Yoda Brutus's brow twitched, and the color drained from his face instantly.

"I...I certainly didn't mean to..."

He hurriedly stood up, trying to explain, but his voice trembled slightly because the phrase "out of His Majesty's control" pierced the dragon's scales.

"I proposed sending troops to restore order to the empire! Absolutely not—"

Before Yoda could finish speaking, he found himself attracting several cold stares from the nobles' seats, the civil officials' seats, and even from his close military and political colleagues.

No one spoke up for him, no one even responded.

The entire Imperial Hall was eerily quiet.

Yoda's Adam's apple bobbed, and a bead of sweat appeared on his forehead. He could only force himself to remain calm, clenching his fists slightly as he pressed himself back into his seat.

Mays ignored him, then surveyed the room, her tone growing increasingly stern:
"The void left by the North cannot be filled with the old methods. What is needed now is a central architecture that is controllable, efficient, and has a chain of command."

Rebuilding the North is not a task for one person, nor should it be left to a select few. I suggest that each party present at this meeting should contribute to the garrison's strength and the allocation of supplies.

From this day forward, the responsibility for defending the North will fall to all of us.

A moment of silence fell over the hall.

The nobles exchanged glances; some frowned, while others looked towards the throne.

This proposal is so meticulously crafted that it seems more like a pre-written decree, rather than an impromptu speech, just waiting to be read aloud.

Some people even began to suspect: Was this a plan authorized by the emperor?
Having other nobles contribute money and effort to repair the northern border sounds too much like the actions of an emperor.

Mays, however, remained calm, as if she didn't care about the stares at all.

He simply bowed slightly and paid his respects to the imperial steps.

But the emperor remained silent on the stage.

His right hand rested lightly on the armrest of the dragon throne, seemingly unintentionally, yet it made everyone hold their breath.

The air in the hall seemed a few degrees colder.

Each representative secretly pondered whether to continue to raise their profile or to tone down their efforts and wait for the next opportunity to test the Emperor's intentions.

At that moment, a thin, middle-aged man sitting at the end of the east side finally slowly stood up.

　I can't finish writing this, so I'll post the second part of the Beijing Conference later.

　　I'll have some free time in a couple of days, and I should be able to get back to writing 8,000 words a day.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)