Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 250 Arrival
A few days before the start of the first Northern Reconstruction Council meeting, Frostspear was greeted by a heavily laden procession.

The banners of the Red Tide Leader fluttered in the wind, snow, and frost within the ranks.

The thunderous hoofbeats of more than fifty knights shattered the silence, like a torrent forged in fire.

Their leader is none other than the current Viscount of the Red Tide, Louis Calvin.

The winter snow had just receded, but decay had not yet gone away.

The fields and defenses outside Frostspear City still bear the marks of the insect infestation.

The ruins of the mother nest, the gnawed bones, the overturned wooden sheds and the charred ravines... all of this was filled with a nauseating stench.

“It should have been cleaned once already, but it still…” One of the accompanying knights covered his mouth and nose, his face ashen.

“The snow has melted, and the smell will come up.” Louis rode forward, his expression calm.

He had spent time in Frostspear City before the insect plague that occurred before the cold winter, and the stench, corpses, and decaying air before him were no longer enough to sway him.

But Emily beside him was different; her eyes held undisguised shock and sorrow.

This is where she grew up, the home with beautiful scenery in her memories.

Now, those familiar roads are covered with countless insect corpses, and frozen bloodstains remain on the city walls. In just one year, they have become unrecognizable.

"...Why did it turn out like this?" she murmured, her voice trembling.

Louis glanced at her, said nothing, but rode closer and reached out to pull her cloak tighter.

Emily lowered her head, suppressing her emotions, and nodded gently before following Louis into the city.

The city's residents have been evacuated and resettled, and the streets are mostly filled with patrol soldiers and temporary repair teams.

Although deserted, it was a miracle compared to the city that had just experienced war and a harsh winter.

After settling their group into the city, they followed the officials directly to the Governor's Mansion.

That magnificent and solemn building is now covered in dust, and the cracks in its exterior walls remain unrepaired, but it is still the center of power in Frostspear and the North.

Knowing that his daughter and son-in-law were coming, the Duke of Edmund personally went out to greet them.

The moment he saw his daughter, his originally dignified and composed face softened noticeably, as if even the deep scar was no longer so cold and hard.

“Emily.” Edmund’s voice was not loud, but it carried the restraint of a long-awaited reunion.

“Father.” Emily rushed forward and threw herself into his arms.

Edmund sighed softly, gently brushing her hair, a rare hint of tenderness and weariness appearing in his eyes.

"Go, go see your mother and brother. They've been waiting for you."

Emily nodded in agreement, then bid farewell to Louis and hurried through the familiar corridor to the inner room of the side hall.

As soon as the door opened, a soft baby's cry wafted out.

She saw Elena sitting by the fireplace, holding a swaddled baby in her arms, with a peaceful smile on her face.

“Emily,” Elena said with a smile and a wave.

“Mother!” Emily rushed over, carefully sat down, and her eyes lit up when she saw the wrinkled little face.

"Is this my brother?"

“Yes, your little brother.” Elena gently handed the baby to her.

Emily took it carefully, her eyes so tender they seemed to melt.

"Hello, little one, it's our first time meeting. I'm your older sister." She gently coaxed the baby, her little hand holding her brother's soft fingers, her smile full of joy.

This scene was as heartwarming as a painting.

Elena looked at her, then smiled gently and said softly, "From now on, he'll need you to take good care of him."

Emily paused, then turned to look at Elena.

The latter's gaze was gentle, but his words carried a deeper meaning.

It was a veiled entrustment, and also a mother's hope.

Emily didn't say anything, just nodded gently and hugged her brother even tighter.

…………

While Emily was playing with the child, another conversation was taking place.

The crackling fire illuminated the figures of an old man and a young boy.

The Duke of Edmund leaned back in his high-backed chair, his cloak still on, and looked slightly tired.

His beard was unkempt, and his eyes and brows looked heavy.

The once-feared scar has lost its sharpness, leaving only an old, worn-out mark.

Louis looked at him, his heart sinking slightly; it seemed the Duke's injuries were serious.

This disaster made the Guardian of the North seem to have aged more than ten years.

"...The situation in the North is more fragile than ever now," Edmund said in a low voice, his gaze fixed on the window. "This winter... I haven't dared to send anyone to investigate the death toll, for fear of scaring myself."

Louis paused for a moment, then said softly, "You've done very well."

The old duke shook his head and sighed: "I'm only alive to give them some face."

His tone revealed a rare vulnerability and helplessness.

Louis smoothly steered the conversation toward himself: "I heard... the report on the achievements in this disaster relief has already been submitted to the capital?"

Edmund glanced at him and nodded: "I wrote it myself. I originally intended to petition for you to be made an earl, and your merits are indeed sufficient."

He paused, then sneered, "Unfortunately, the emperor himself rejected it. He didn't give any reasons."

“Because I come from one of the eight great families,” Louis said calmly, as if he had expected it.

“It seems you understand,” Edmund sighed. “You come from Calvin’s family and are my son-in-law; your position is too sensitive. It won’t be easy for you to advance further…”

He then changed the subject: "But don't worry, we won't forget your contributions. I'll give you whatever I can. If you can't get a promotion, I can make up for it with more land. I can make that decision."

Louis's heart skipped a beat.

I was thinking about how to steer the conversation toward "territory rewards," but Duke Edmund brought it up himself, saving me the trouble of going around in circles.

He didn't say much, but took out an open map from his bag and pushed it in front of Edmund: "Actually, I have already prepared some drafts."

The Duke raised an eyebrow, glanced at the map, and burst out laughing: "So you had this planned all along."

He picked up a pen and made a few strokes on the map: "These places are not bad... especially this southeast valley, the soil is good and suitable for growing grain."

“However, this area…” He pointed to a circled mineral zone on the map and frowned, “is too difficult to mine, and there isn’t much ore. A few years ago, those noble families poured in so many people that they didn’t even manage to dig up any bones.”

Louis thought to himself: You don't have a daily intelligence system, how would you know how many good things are hidden down there?

But he gave a faint smile and said, "I have some ideas of my own, and I will work on them slowly."

“I believe in your abilities.” Edmund nodded, but then suddenly smiled. “These plots on the map are all yours. In addition… I’ll give you three times more land on top of that.”

Louis was taken aback: "Three times?"

Edmund found his reaction somewhat amusing: "Do you think the North is the same as it used to be? None of those little brats from the South are any good. I'd rather give the land to you than to them."

These places are neglected anyway; too many nobles have died, most without heirs. The North has no shortage of these unattended lands; you can take them.”

He paused, his tone softening as he looked at Louis with seriousness: "But you must remember, don't let me down."

I'm willing to entrust these things to you, not only because you're my son-in-law, but also because I believe you can support the future of this wasteland and find a way for the North.

Right now, you should keep a low profile as much as possible. The Emperor is treating the entire Northern Territory like a chessboard, and you and I... survived not by stubbornly holding on, but by securing our positions beforehand.

Louis nodded, put away the map, his eyes calm.

…………

The snow in early spring was still surprisingly thick, as if winter was unwilling to leave.

Heavy gray clouds pressed down on the sky, blocking out the sunlight, and large swaths of snow covered both sides of the road, forming dirty white snow walls.

The horses' hooves clattered on the frozen ground, and several heavy supply trucks got stuck in the snow, only to be pushed out little by little by the soldiers on their shoulders.

In the distance, the royal guard of honor marched slowly, its banners fluttering in the cold wind, the golden royal emblem particularly dazzling.

Asta Auguste sat in the main carriage, gently lifting the curtain to look at the slowly moving procession outside.

Even though he was the most overlooked prince, at this moment, he was the face of the empire.

Six thousand knights marched in perfect unison, like an iron torrent.
The accompanying staff numbered over 20,000, including engineers, doctors, alchemists, craftsmen, civil servants, and more.

And then there were the supply wagons piled up so high they were about to crush the carriages, carrying grain, building materials, spare alchemy furnaces, and winter gear...

He even spotted the Silver Dragon Knights, an elite force directly under the capital, on par with the Dragonblood Legion, and one of the symbols of the royal family.

And his own hand-trained Imperial Guard, who were not yet experienced, but were loyal.

He leaned back in his seat and exhaled a long breath of white air.

"It seems... Father didn't simply send me to my death," Asta murmured, a hint of relief in his voice.

He had assumed that this trip to the North would be a convenient way to end his exile.

After all, having spent decades in the palace, he had long been accustomed to being treated as if he were invisible.

He was never flamboyant, never vied for favor, never took sides, and had no ability to do so. He was the kind of prince whose full name even the imperial nobles were too lazy to inquire about.

But the current setup is far too grand.

He knew this wasn't about valuing him, Asta, but about valuing the face of the royal family.

Even the most insignificant prince would not be allowed by His Majesty to arrive in the Northern Territory in a shabby manner.

However—even if it's just for appearances, he can still get things done.

Asta gently placed his hand on the Northern map that had been unfolded inside the car.

"If this is a terrible game... then I'll see if I can find a way out of this mess." A barely perceptible smile played on his lips, his eyes gleaming like the first sharp glint of snow, radiating confidence and triumph.

However, as the carriage rumbled forward, the sound of iron hooves pounding the snow gradually became heavy and slow.

The snow was no longer white, but stained with large patches of dry, dark brown and decaying gray-purple.

Asta lifted a corner of the curtain, and a blast of cold air immediately rushed into the carriage, making his eyelashes tremble.

He looked down at the road in the distance... no, it couldn't even be called a "road" anymore; it was a path paved with blood and corpses.

Amidst the ruins, some villages still retain a sense of human activity.

The old man huddled inside the house, his expression blank; the child's fingers, red from the cold, clutched food wrapped in coarse cloth tightly.

The look in their eyes when they looked at the convoy was neither excited nor joyful, but rather a blank stare mixed with instinctive awe and deep-seated numbness.

Further north, corpses began to appear.

They lay buried in heaps under the snow, only to be blown away by the cold wind, revealing a withered arm or an icy shoe.

Some of the corpses had been gnawed on by wild animals and were incomplete, while others remained in a fighting posture and had long since frozen into statues.

You can even see some strange grayish-white spores growing wildly along the broken armor, which are obviously remnants of the mother nest contamination.

A strange odor wafted from inside and outside the carriage, and one of the civil officials finally couldn't help but gag.

Another vehicle even overturned in panic, spilling unsealed medicine and fuel from its cargo box.

Asta heard the horns of the Royal Guard ahead sounding, ordering the road clear; it seemed to be the fifth time they had stopped today.

He didn't say anything, but gently lowered the curtain, his eyelids drooping and his fingertips slightly clenched.

The North was far more devastated than he had imagined; it was not a land that needed "governance," but a scorched wasteland after destruction.

Asta knew the Brood War would be fierce, but he never expected it to be this fierce.

This place doesn't seem like a living territory at all, but rather more like some kind of desolate wasteland abandoned by the gods.

A cold wind seeped into the carriage through the gaps, and he subconsciously pulled his cloak tighter, but his fingertips remained icy.

He noticed that his fingers were trembling slightly.

It wasn't the cold, it was... fear.

A sluggish, sticky panic was spreading through my body.

He considered himself to be someone who had weathered many storms, but the scene before him was far more terrifying than the open and covert attacks in the capital...

This is not a chess game waiting for him to play; this is the ruins of a war that has been completely destroyed.

He suddenly felt breathless, as if a frozen rock was pressing on his chest.

At that moment, he truly felt an urge to turn back.

"How about we find an excuse... to ask Father to reassess the situation? Or... say that supplies are insufficient and we need to return to the capital to prepare for the future?"

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Asta almost immediately clenched his teeth.

"No." He uttered the two words in a low, hoarse voice, as if to suppress his own weakness.

He knew that if he retreated, he would truly lose everything.

It was not only the empire's last bit of patience with him, but also his destiny, which had never been prominent throughout his life.

"If it's just about having me sit in charge... then I should at least be given a piece of land that can still be rebuilt."

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt. He swallowed hard, forcefully suppressing the turmoil churning in his chest.

The movement was small, but the momentary tension seemed to bring the whole person back to reality.

Asta did not lift the curtain again, but he knew that the horde of corpses was piled up like mountains.

The heavy stench of blood and decaying corpses in the air made it almost impossible to breathe.

A few days later, Frostspear City finally came into view of the group.

The once towering and majestic city walls are now riddled with cracks, and large sections of collapsed walls have been filled with timber and makeshift rocks.

The city gates were wide open, and the black crystalline shells left by the burning of the Mother Nest remained on the gateposts. A faint scent of corrosive magical energy could be smelled as soon as you got close.

Occasionally, there was a deliberate spray of plant fragrance within the city, but it couldn't mask the lingering stench of burnt food and the remnants of insect infestation, which only made the smell even stranger.

Asta arrived at his assigned lodging and, before he could even take off his coat, received a notification.

"The Governor-General requests that His Highness the Sixth Prince enter the Governor-General's residence immediately for a meeting."

Although he was covered in dust from his journey, he had no choice but to change into a royal ceremonial cape, tidy himself up, and then follow the guards to the governor's mansion's conference room.

Lord Edmund, Governor of the North, sat opposite the fireplace, his face aged yet still upright, his eyes as sharp as ever.

The scar across his left cheek appeared deeper in the firelight than in the portrait, but it lacked the fierceness of his youth, instead possessing a touch of awe.

He rose to greet him, took two steps closer, and spoke in a measured tone, with an air of aristocratic composure: "Sixth Prince, you must be tired from your journey."

Asta immediately bowed respectfully, saying, "My father is concerned about the North and has specially ordered me to come and participate in the reconstruction. Asta is unworthy, but I am willing to do my best to help you all through this difficult time."

Edmund nodded slightly, his gaze calm as a deep well: "His Majesty the Emperor is far-sighted, and the people of the North are eternally grateful. Your journey is the hope of the people of the North."

The two exchanged brief pleasantries, both speaking politely, but neither mentioned sensitive terms such as real power, command, or military power.

For example, the snow fell early this year, there are too many refugees on the road, and something has happened in the capital recently.

Edmund casually mentioned his past battles with the Emperor when he was young, and Asta smiled and responded by circling back with news from the capital. They were both very polite, but neither of them said a single crucial word.

Edmund appeared quite amiable and spoke at a measured pace, but in reality, he was extremely discreet, while Asta outwardly cooperated but inwardly grew increasingly wary.

Soon, Asta steered the conversation to the main point: "I have been ordered to be stationed in the north. If the royal domain can be located in the southwestern corner of the north, close to transportation hubs, it will be easier to coordinate affairs and organize rescue efforts quickly."

Edmund nodded in agreement almost without hesitation: "I have already considered this matter. The southwest region is relatively stable and has good transportation, making it a suitable choice."

He waved for a servant to bring the map, then circled a section of it, saying, "Here, I'll keep it for you."

Asta was slightly taken aback; it was too fast.

He had thought it would take several rounds of probing, negotiation, and maneuvering, but to his surprise, the other party simply designated the land plot without asking any further questions.

"Thank you for your consideration, Duke." He lowered his head, his voice gentle, yet he subtly concealed a hint of doubt.

Edmund then casually remarked, "Coincidentally, the first plenary meeting of the Northern Reconstruction Administration will be held tomorrow in Frostspear. All thirteen councilors and the Imperial Censor will be in attendance. I would be honored if Your Highness could also attend."

Asta was suddenly jolted.

He hadn't received any meeting notification.

In principle, for meetings of this level, invitations and backup agendas should be sent at least several days in advance, even if it is just symbolic preparation.

But now, he has only just entered Frostspear City and has already been "invited to the forefront" at the last minute.

“I…” He almost blurted out a refusal, but the words caught in his throat, and he swallowed them back. “I will follow your instructions.”

After the brief meeting, he returned to his carriage and did not speak again for the rest of the journey.

Back in the temporary camp in Frostspear City.

Asta paced slowly in the tent, his cloak trailing on the ground.

“They knew I was coming, but no one notified the meeting in advance,” he muttered to himself, his tone cold.

This wasn't just an abrupt arrangement; it seemed like it was intentionally designed to catch him off guard.

He stood up and paced slowly in the tent, his cloak trailing on the ground.

He wondered if these local bullies had been trying to sabotage him, which made him very anxious and uneasy.

Just then, the curtain was gently lifted, and an old man stepped into the tent; it was his mentor, Cipher.

Cipher cut to the chase: "Your Highness, this is an arrangement, not an oversight."

Asta frowned slightly: "Arrangements?"

Cypher nodded, picked up the briefing from the table, flipped through it, glanced at the map, and smiled slightly.

“The Duke of Edmund is not deliberately making things difficult for you. If he really wanted to trip you up, he could have delayed granting the land or left you waiting outside the city for two or three days, after which he would immediately know that you have no real power.”

"But he didn't. The moment you entered Frosthal, he met with you immediately, exchanging pleasantries, approving land grants, and inviting you to meetings—leaving no stone unturned."

Asta remained silent, his gaze deepening.

Cipher gently brushed the ashes off the table, as if parting a layer of mist, and said, "He's not opposed to cooperation, but he's not a benevolent person either. Edmund is an old fox, well-versed in the life-and-death power struggles between noble factions."

Of course, he wants to give you a welcoming gift. You've entered the fray unprepared, without any allies; he wants to see if you're a docile rabbit or a fox with teeth.

Asta lowered his eyelashes and listened quietly.

“A little deeper.” Cipher’s tone slowed down. “He is now surrounded by representatives from three departments: finance, oversight, and military. Each of them has its own agenda, and no one trusts him.”

"He needs you, this prince, this thorn in his side, to use you to keep them in check."

"If you act like a docile mascot, he will sideline you, but if you handle things properly, have good judgment and foresight, he will include you in the next phase of his northern plans."

Asta looked at the southwestern territory allocated to him on the map, his eyes filled with complex emotions: "So... I have to get on this stage."

Cipher nodded, his tone calm yet authoritative: "You already had nowhere to retreat, Your Highness. The structure of this meeting is clear: thirteen seats."

Eight seats were allocated to Northern nobles, all nominated by Edmund; the remaining five were jointly appointed by the Censorate, the Treasury, the Military Affairs Department, and the Imperial Capital Logistics Bureau… and the last seat was yours.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the map spread out in front of Asta, and added in a low voice, "Your status as a prince doesn't mean you have their trust. Don't think about using this meeting to fight for power, and don't rush to take sides."

Those guys from the capital aren't your allies; they only act on imperial orders and for their own benefit. Any one of them could betray you. As for the local tyrant, Edmund, he's a cunning old fox, but you can't touch him for now.

So what you need to do isn't to draw your sword, but to observe the situation. They're all waiting for you to take a stand. But your smartest approach is to remain silent, not take sides, not act impulsively, and not give them any leverage.

Let them know you're watching and you understand, but you won't jump in uninvited.

Asta frowned slightly, pondered for a long time, and finally responded in a low voice: "...I understand."

(End of this chapter)