Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 246 A Letter from the Capital
Outside the window, the wind and snow raged, and the sky over Frosthalberd City was as gray as a pot of thick molten iron.

In the office of the Governor of the North, the fireplace glowed dimly, but the warmth could not quell the bone-chilling cold.

The Duke of Edmund, dressed in a black military cloak, stood before a wooden table, his brow furrowed as he stared at the unfolded map.

Frostspear, located in the center of the map, was once the pride of the North, but now it is like a festering sore nailed to the paper, unbearable to look at.

"Can't stay anymore."

His gaze slowly shifted to several other possible new city sites on the map, but none of them were a perfect match.

"Corpses, poisonous fog, magical remnants... Frostspear City will remain uninhabitable until the remnants of the Mother Nest are cleared away."

But a cold wave had arrived outside, and heavy snow had blocked the roads. Moving the city rashly would be tantamount to suicide, so they could only hold on here for the time being and barely get through the winter.

Edmund tapped his knuckles on the table, lost in thought for a long time, his brow never furrowing.

Just then, a knock broke the deathly silence: "Knock knock."

A deep but tense voice came from outside the door: "My lord, there is an urgent message from the capital."

Edmund paused slightly, then looked up.

"Bring it in," he said in a deep voice.

The butler entered respectfully and handed over a parchment letter with a golden dragon seal.

The wax seal was exceptionally conspicuous; it was not the emperor's personal emblem, but rather—the exclusive emblem of the "Dragon Throne Conference."

Edmund took the letter, frowned slightly, and a sense of unease arose within him.

He knew all along that this letter would eventually arrive, and he knew roughly the contents of that meeting that would determine his fate.

But his heart remained unsettled until he actually opened the envelope.

He silently cut open the wax seal, unfolded the parchment letter, and saw rows of neat and austere handwriting:

In view of the extreme catastrophic situation caused by the devastating insect plague in the North, the breaching of some defense lines and the severe damage to order in the defense zones, and the commendable efforts of the Governor-General's Office in coordinating disaster relief and the reconstruction of order, the Dragon Throne Council, with the imperial approval, hereby decrees the following:
The Duke of Edmund was recognized for his effective organization and coordination in the disaster, and was granted the title of "Governor of the North" and appointed as "Chief of the Disaster Reconstruction Administration" to oversee the reconstruction of the entire North region.

The three departments of the Imperial Capital Inspection will be stationed in the northern border, integrated into the three systems of finance, military affairs, and civil administration, and exercise auditing and supervision authority directly under the Empire.

The "Imperial Northern Expansion Plan" was launched immediately, selecting the direct descendants of the capital and various noble families to gradually relocate there to assist in reconstruction and simultaneously optimize and balance the power structure.

His Highness Asta Augustus, the sixth prince of the royal family, will personally travel to the North to establish the royal domain in the name of the Emperor, oversee the reconstruction on behalf of His Majesty, and concurrently assume the duties of the Northern Emperor.

The post-disaster reconstruction council has a total of thirteen seats, eight of which are "fully nominated and allocated" by the head of the reconstruction administration, and are used to assist in the restoration of the northern border government and the implementation of reconstruction plans.

The seal at the end of the letter was the joint ruling seal of the Dragon Throne Conference. Although it did not bear the emperor's signature, it was equivalent to an imperial edict.

Edmund finished reading, his fingertips clenching silently for a moment.

Then, he slowly exhaled.

"...It's saved."

His first reaction was a slight sense of relief—the capital had not been allowed to directly take over the northern border.

Instead, they chose to grant him a superficial honor and leadership by designating him as the "Upgrade and Reconstruction Agency".

This is already the best result.

Even though he knew that this "goodness" was essentially a compromise, a way to prolong life, and a way to maintain a semblance of dignity on the edge of a knife.

He put down the letter, his gaze falling heavily on the map, recalling the contents of the letter, his brows furrowing once more.

"...The Northern Expansion Plan, the Three Departments of Imperial Supervision, and the establishment of a leadership by the Sixth Prince." Edmund's eyes turned cold. "As expected, the Emperor is not going to let me off the hook, but rather to steadily replace me with new blood."

He quickly outlined the logic in his mind:

The establishment of the three supervisory departments meant that finance and military affairs would be under full surveillance, and he would no longer have the power of "independent command".

The Expansion Plan involved transferring the direct descendants of various noble families to the northern border under the guise of "joint reconstruction," but in reality, it was about seizing territory and reshaping the power structure.

The arrival of the Sixth Prince, a royal representative who was not merely a figurehead but the emperor's own son, effectively drove in the wedge of imperial intervention.

This was a slow but thorough annexation. The North nominally retained the "Governor's House," but in reality, it no longer belonged to the Edmund family.

"The knife is already at his throat, but it hasn't been slashed yet."

Edmund stared at the letter in his hand, bearing the seal of the Dragon Throne Council, lost in thought for a long time.

Although the Empire's blade was already at the throat of the North, he still left himself some room to maneuver.

He remained the head of the Northern Reconstruction Administration.

The reconstruction conference consisted of thirteen seats, with the northern and southern nobles holding a combined total. He had absolute authority to appoint eight of these seats.

This is at least something you can hold in your palm.

He lowered his head and gently tapped the map of the North on the table, his mind quickly scanning the various candidates, and the first name that popped into his head was without a doubt.

Louis Calvin.

Snow Peak County, the only intact territory to survive this catastrophe, not only preserved itself but also provided support to the Governor's Mansion when the northern border was in its most critical moment.

Louis had a full army at his disposal and a popular base of support.

More importantly, after this battle, he was already regarded by the commoners and even the remnants of the nobility in the North as a trustworthy strongman.

He possesses the ability to quickly integrate the new aristocracy with the remaining local forces, and he also has the qualifications to effectively mobilize public opinion.

More importantly, he was his son-in-law.

Edmund closed his eyes and a bitter smile appeared on his lips.

This is not simply a matter of family interests, but rather the only rational choice for the North at this moment.

Moreover, the Calvin family did indeed work hard to secure their position at the Imperial Conference.

I must repay this favor.

"Give him the first spot," Edmund thought to himself.

As for the other candidates, several noble families still survived in territories farther away from Frostspear City.

However, their strength has been greatly weakened. Family heirs have died in battle, private armies have been lost, and many aristocratic families have even lost their basic lordly bloodline.

After this battle, the North's resilience plummeted. Winter was not yet over, and no one knew how many people would survive the extreme cold.

Thinking of this, his temples began to throb, and the buzzing sound in his mind was like a bronze bell being struck by frost and snow, deep and hoarse.

His internal injuries never fully healed after the war.

The doctor had already hinted to him that perhaps... perhaps, he really didn't have many years left to live.

Perhaps I will never live to see the day when peace returns to the North.

Suddenly, there was a soft knock on the door.

The footsteps were familiar, light and quick, accompanied by slight panting.

Without waiting for an announcement, Edmund already knew who the visitor was.

The door was slowly pushed open, and Elena, with her high, protruding belly, held a bowl of steaming hot medicine in her hand. She said softly, "You're not listening to me again. The doctor said you can't overwork yourself."

Edmund's tired expression softened into a relaxed smile as he took the medicine cup. "Don't worry, everything will be fine."

The herbal decoction was slightly bitter, but it carried a hint of warmth.

He looked down at Elena's swollen belly, where his child was growing, perhaps his only hope for the future.

But the ruins of the North, the barbarians of the North, the Emperor's scheming—this reconstruction storm has only just begun…

He didn't know what era this child would be born in.

"How much longer can the North hold out?" he sighed inwardly.

(End of this chapter)