Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 248 Asta Auguste

Asta Auguste sat alone in his study, his knuckles clenched as he held the newly delivered edict in his hand.

The candlelight shone on the parchment, making the gold threads of the imperial emblem dazzling.

"Establish a territory in the north"—just a few words.

There were no instructions, no expectations, just a cold third-person pronoun and imperative sentences.

He gazed at the candlelight, a complex and indescribable emotion churning within him.

disturbed.

And... a hidden sense of opportunity.

"Finally remembered me?" he murmured, a self-deprecating tone tinged with sarcasm.

Over the years, he had become almost certain that he would grow old quietly and silently in this palace.

As a prince with no achievements, no real power, and no story.

He had long been sealed away in the blind spot of imperial power, as if his name on that page of the family tree was merely there to make up a number.

It wasn't that no one reminded him.

Many people kindly advised him, "You're not suited to competing."

He couldn't find the words to refute it, but he also couldn't say anything like "I'm willing to behave myself."

He always felt that something was weighing on his mind.

That wasn't ambition, it was a kind of resentment... a resentment at being categorized as "useless," a resentment at being deprived of even the chance to try.

But now his father suddenly reached out a hand and pushed him into this already fragmented northern border.

"What is this? A test? An exile? Or... a gamble?" Asta didn't believe it was out of appreciation or favor.

He knew his father well; he was a man who rarely spoke, never allowed anyone to act spoiled, and never gave anyone a chance to be affectionate.

He had never heard his father say "I have high hopes for you," nor had he received any attention beyond a written order.

The emperor of this empire was most adept at making people fight to the death, not only to his ministers but also to his own sons.

"Sending me to the North...is it a way to give me authority, or just to see how I die?"

He looked at the unfolded map; it was the northern border.

A scorched earth after an insect plague, a wasteland intertwined with disease and cold, a "land of death" where nobles have fled and mobs roam freely.

"But if... I can really survive, and really be able to establish a fiefdom, then perhaps I won't just be a transparent prince anymore."

He muttered to himself, his tone flat, yet it was like a sharp sword striking deep within his chest.

But when he recalled the way the imperial decree was issued, he couldn't help but feel a sense of humiliation.

His father neither saw him, nor summoned him, nor gave him any instructions, nor uttered a single explanation.

He simply summoned Lin Ze, the head of internal affairs, and calmly and efficiently informed him of the personnel, supplies, and departure time he was about to take.

He left after saying that, as if he were just reporting a routine matter.

"He wouldn't even look at me..."

At this moment, Asta couldn't help but feel lost, and couldn't help but feel that he might really just be a "discarded pawn" that was casually thrown out to test the waters.

He understood the current situation in the North and knew why none of his brothers were eager to go.

He understood that he was chosen because he was too "harmless" and too "insignificant".

The map of the empire was spread out in front of him, its edges crumpled from being pinched.

His finger hovered over the northern provinces on the imperial map, but his eyes were fixed on the extremely short imperial edict.

"The establishment of a garrison in the north is underway; arrangements have been made for their departure."

Simple and aloof, as if commanding a piece of furniture to be placed rather than pushing a prince into the eye of a storm.

He stared at the words for a long time, but ultimately failed to discern even a trace of his father's expectations.

He whispered to the guard, "Has Cipher not arrived yet?"

As soon as he finished speaking, the door was gently pushed open, and an elderly man with silver hair walked into the room, his body shrouded in snow. He was tall and straight, with sharp eyes, and despite his advanced age, his demeanor still carried the decisiveness and sternness characteristic of a soldier.

Asta stood up to greet him: "Teacher."

This old man was once the deputy commander of the Sixth Legion of the Empire, Cypher.

He was also the only elder who still addressed Asta as "Your Highness" when everyone else had long forgotten his name.

“I’ve heard about it.” Cipher took off his cloak and hung it by the fire. He glanced at the map and edict on the table, his expression complicated. “Finally, what was bound to happen has happened.”

"Does he want me to die?" Asta asked bluntly, his voice low.

“Perhaps,” Cypher didn’t shy away, “maybe he just threw you out to test the waters, whether you live or die is none of his concern.”

Asta lowered his eyes and remained silent for a moment: "Then what should I do?"

Cypher didn't answer. Instead, he sat down, took out a neatly folded old map from his pocket, and spread it on the table.

What do you think the North is like now?

“Ruins, the chaos that follows plague, cold, and insect infestation,” Asta said calmly, “a place no one wants to go.”

“Wrong,” Cipher pointed to the map, “that’s an opportunity.”

Asta raised his head.

“Many of the old nobles in the North died in the insect plague, some fled, and those who remained were either severely weakened or on the verge of collapse,” Cipher calmly analyzed. “You think the Emperor entrusted the North to you out of trust? No, it’s because there’s no one left there. He doesn’t expect you to perform any miracles; it’s just a casual move to clear the chessboard.”

Asta remained silent.

His pride once made him want to refute this statement, but he couldn't, because it might just be the truth.

“But if you can establish yourself in the North, then that is your territory.” Cipher’s tone shifted, becoming more composed.

"In the current situation of the empire, whoever can hold onto a territory has the power. Even if you are not seen, as long as you have real power, no one can ignore you anymore."

Asta's fingers, which were hanging by his knees, tightened slightly.

“It’s not that you lack ambition,” Cipher said slowly, looking at him. “You’re just too afraid of not being good enough, afraid of making mistakes, afraid of failing.”

That sentence struck him.

He looked up abruptly, a hurt and angry expression on his face: "I just had no one to teach me how to do it!"

“I’ll teach you now.” Cipher didn’t back down. “The North is in such a mess that it’s the perfect time for you to train your troops, your political skills, and your courage.”

"Would they respect me? A little prince with no one to back him up and no military achievements?" Asta sneered.

“They won’t look at you, but they will look at whether there is a fire behind you and whether you can distribute food.” Cipher tapped the table lightly with his cane. “If you can save the people, appease the refugees, and stop the chaos, when your flag is raised, people will come to your side.”

“…The flag.” Asta murmured softly, suddenly remembering his brothers’ magnificent heraldic flags.

But he never had a flag of his own.

“That’s right.” Cipher nodded. “You’ve been out of the limelight all these years, and nobody in the court takes you seriously. Sending you to the North at this time seems like throwing you into a mess to fend for yourself. But…”

He changed the subject abruptly, his gaze intense: "The North is now the Empire's most real and brutal chessboard, and you are the player with the most opportunities."

Asta frowned slightly.

“Duke Edmund is still alive, but he is old and wounded. Most of his Northern nobles are dead, and those who remain are either still recovering from serious injuries or have territories in ruins. And you, even if you only carry a royal decree and a small force, could become the key to breaking this deadlock.”

Seifer paused, then casually picked up a charcoal pencil and circled a name on the map.

"However, there is one person...you cannot ignore him."

Asta looked down and saw the words: Louis Calvin.

"The eighth son of the Calvin family had only recently been knighted, but in just over a year, he was promoted to viscount for his military achievements and happened to be one of the few heroes in this great calamity in the North. If he weren't named Calvin, he would already be an earl."

Moreover, he is Edmund's son-in-law, and has the Duke of Calvin backing him.

"And their strength?" Asta asked.

“Young, but not to be underestimated. You can cooperate with him and learn from him, but never take him lightly.” Cypher tossed his charcoal pencil aside, his tone carrying a complex warning. “He’s the kind of person who can carve a bloody path through the wasteland. You should befriend him, but also be wary of him.”

Asta remained silent for a long time before finally whispering, "I understand."

(End of this chapter)