Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 358 Conspiracy
Inside the inner fortress of Frostdragon Territory, the northern winds were kept out by heavy curtains.

Asta Auguste stood beside the map, a deliberate smile on his face: "I am grateful for your presence."

There weren't many guests; they were all former nobles from the North, including Holmes, Crane, Bolton, Harold, and Seaman.

The door closed, and the servants withdrew.

Asta raised his glass, adopting a more humble posture: "As the special envoy for the reconstruction of the Northern Royal Family, I would like to first raise a toast to all of you. This meeting would not have been possible without you."

Holmes spoke first: "We're here because the North can't be left to a young man to do as he pleases. He's done well in the Southeast, but he doesn't take us seriously."

Crane chimed in, “I heard he set up some kind of council, and even grain has to be purchased according to the books. The Red Tide provided subsidies, but not special privileges. Old nobles like us are being treated like new nobles.”

Bolton muttered, “And this year’s funding will have to be purchased, and my territory will need his vouchers to buy grain. It’s absurd!”

Asta quickly replied, "I understand everyone's thoughts. Although Lord Louis has made significant contributions to the reconstruction of the North, the North cannot rely solely on Calvin's opinions. That is why I have come to ask you all to work together to establish the rules."

He opened the small box he had brought with him, and several precious magic stones gleamed coldly under the lamp.

“This is just a greeting gift.” He softened his tone. “What really matters is what you deserve: priority allocation of resources for reconstruction, trade privileges… written down and signed by me for submission to the meeting in the capital.”

Harov looked down at the magic stone, not reaching out: "What we want are goods from the south, good salt, winter grain, and tax reductions."

Asta immediately nodded: "Everything is negotiable. I will send your requests back to the capital and report them one by one."

Heman looked up: "That young lord..."

Asta laughed, "As long as he needs the capital's recognition. Rest assured, everyone, as long as you are behind me, I will not let him suppress the old nobles of the North."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Crane put down his cup and lowered his voice: "If he were only king in the southeast, we could pretend we didn't see it. But now, he's preparing to extend his reach into our territory... He's not Duke Edmund."

At this moment, Cypher spoke from the shadows: "I understand your concerns. You are not in the Southeast, so you will not be restrained by his council. But once that young man's influence expands, you will even have to fill out forms for the wine you buy for banquets."

Several people showed unpleasant expressions.

Holmes snorted: "Then don't let him in."

Asta quickly chimed in, "That's precisely why I'm here. What we need is cooperation, not conquest. The reconstruction conference is not about dispossession, but about ensuring that the voices of the North, including yours, are heard."

He pushed the case file over: "I will propose three things: a resource priority sequence, a trade priority list, and oversight power to the reconstruction conference. You all have voting rights at the conference, and reconstruction will begin with you, with you as the priority."

Bolton looked at the wax seal: "Can you protect us?"

"I am royalty."

Haroff said slowly, “We don’t want bloodshed, but we don’t want to be enslaved by him either. We are the old home of the North.”

“I understand.” Asta smiled slightly. “I will guarantee your dignity.”

Crane closed the box of magic stones and pushed it back to Asta: "We need the ship tickets, checkpoints, winter ration stamps, and your pen from the capital."

Asta accepted it with both hands, his tone gentle: "I will have it all. I only ask for your support."

He put his hand back on the map, his fingertips landing on the red mark in the southeast corner: "He did a good job there, but the North is more than just the southeast, and you shouldn't be ignored."

Bolton said in a deep voice, "Then please, Your Excellency, speak up for us."

Asta laughed and said, "It's what I should do."

A gust of wind slipped in through the cracks, causing the lamplight to flicker. Cipher stepped forward and fastened the window shut, and the room fell silent once more.

Haroff raised his glass: "Out of respect."

Krain continued: "For autonomy."

Holmes raised his glass to Asta: "For the sake of the North, don't let it fall into one man's hands."

Asta clinked glasses with them, his smile gentle: "And for the future of the North."

The wine in the cups was poured out cleanly. The nobles exchanged glances, nodded, and each took a magic stone.

Before the meeting ended, Asta distributed five letters to them, detailing the seating arrangement, speaking order, timing of standing up, and even the knightly deployment for the meeting as a last resort...

The doors opened and closed one by one, letting in the snow vapor only to block it again, leaving only Asta and Cypher inside.

"They won't risk their lives for you," Cipher said.

“I know.” Asta looked at the map, his tone even softer. “I didn’t intend to pay for their lives. I just want them to nod under the lights. The rest is up to me.”

As for that young lord… it’s not too late to talk about becoming the lord of the North once he understands what imperial power is.”

Asta looked up and asked, pointing towards the wall not far away, "Has he set off yet?"

Cypher, who had been in the shadows of the room, stepped out a few paces and placed a scroll of letters on the table: "The Red Tide's banner is almost out of the southeast of the North, heading towards Frost Dragon Territory. The force... numbers seven hundred men."

"Seven hundred?" Asta raised an eyebrow, his tone tinged with disdain. "He certainly knows how to put on airs."

Cipher whispered, "It's not an honor guard, it's a real entourage. Three hundred Red Tide Knights, a whole set of government officials, and some nobles who came with him. They were greeted by their people along the way. It was a grand affair."

Asta picked up his glass, his voice tinged with undisguised envy: "He likes grand gestures."

Cipher continued: "Like a military celebration."

Asta smiled, a cold glint in his eyes: "What a vain man. The lifeline of the North will not be tied down by someone like him."

He glanced at the map on the table, his gaze sweeping across the snowfield between Frost Dragon Territory and Crimson Tide: "It doesn't matter how many knights he brings. Once the meeting starts, he'll have to sit in front of me and listen."

“You seem very confident,” Cipher said tentatively.

He nodded confidently, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. He wasn't exaggerating; he knew exactly what he was doing.

In that year, he was no longer the penniless prince he once was.

Several nobles in the south have already extended a helping hand to him, offering gold coins, metals, salt, supplies, and even a few knights.

Those people wanted to get a share of the profits from the mines and trade routes in the North, and also wanted to use him to suppress the young Louis of the Calvin family.

They were willing to pay money and provide goods, only asking that their families intervene in the Northern Territory. In any case, the expenses wouldn't be too great. With the Empire's situation so volatile, the Northern Territory was a last resort.

Besides, the imperial inspector was also on his side, and he had given him quite a bit of money.

That authority from the capital city made him, on paper, superior to all other lords.

Asta knew that as long as he raised the royal decree at the meeting, no one could directly oppose it.

Many of the old nobles in the North were already dissatisfied with the Red Tide regime. They preferred to submit to the Emperor, and paid a heavy price for it, ceding much power to these greedy old nobles. As for the barbarians, he had made proper arrangements: they wanted grain, he gave them legitimacy; they wanted land, he promised them a no-man's-land.

This gave him some control over these hidden barbarians, and now it was time to put that control to good use.

All these reasons combined form his confidence.

Those who are virtuous will receive much help, but that young lord was ultimately all alone.

Asta reached out and closed the window, shutting out the wind and plunging the room into silence once more.

…………

Several barbarian envoys were led into the side castle of the inner fortress.

It was a secluded stone hall, dimly lit by oil lamps. The door slammed shut behind them, and several knights stood on either side, watching them coldly.

The young prince stood before the fireplace, his cloak still on, his back straight.

As he turned, the firelight shone on the badge on his chest, making it look like a bright blade.

“Sit down,” he said, speaking clearly in the imperial language, his words like a command, which they instinctively obeyed.

Uru sat down, his gaze sweeping around. The knights' armor gleamed in the lamplight, their hands gripping their sword hilts, yet they remained motionless.

Asta walked to the table, unfolded the parchment map, and swept it over them with an unquestionable gaze.

He said calmly, "It's time to fulfill our promise."

His words were brief, yet carried a cold and hard tone, which made Uru feel a surge of displeasure, but he had no choice but to listen.

Asta slowly walked around the corner of the table, his tone lower than before: "I can give you more than just illusions. I have already given you a lot of benefits over the past two years. You should know in your hearts that it is time to repay them."

He had the knight bring several cloth bags and dump them on the table. The rough burlap sacks jingled with metallic clinking, and several silver badges and leather bags filled with grain gleamed in the lamplight.

“These are promises from Frost Dragon Territory,” he said. “If you do this well, your pastures and your valleys will be recorded in the Imperial Register, and Frost Dragon Territory will send a large amount of grain.”

Uru stared at the hand moving in the firelight and the badges on the table, his eye twitching slightly.

He understood the weight of those words; they were not a plea for help, but an order; not charity, but a temptation.

Asta continued, "I don't need you to die, just do your best. If you do a good job, the Empire will remember your names. The next batch of food and weapons won't have to wait until the snow melts."

Then he pulled out a wooden stick engraved with barbarian totems.

Uru stared at the short staff, remaining silent for a long time. This was the staff he had given to the prince in exchange for grain; it bore the barbarian oath, signifying that the barbarians owed him a favor.

He weighed the situation in his mind. The empire's promises were false, but the prince had indeed helped them a lot last winter—not with empty promises, but with real food and supplies.

If we can gain some more benefits by taking advantage of this prince's momentum, it wouldn't be a bad thing; at least more people will survive the winter.

Seeing that he did not refuse, Asta turned to look at the map and said in a low voice, "Listen, I want you to act within twenty days and go to the Red Tide's territory to disrupt them."

If circumstances permit, you may raid Red Tide City under cover of night. Destroy the city gates, burn the granaries, kill the guards, and bring back all visible spoils. I will take nothing; it will all be yours.

Uru remained silent for a long time, a complex light flashing in his eyes. Finally, he stood up, walked to Asta, lowered his head, and kissed the back of Asta's hand.

“We will do as you say, Your Highness,” he said, his voice hoarse with respect.

Asta withdrew his hand, his expression unchanged: "Very good. The Empire will not forget its followers."

Uru did not return to the main camp. He knew very well that time was too tight and that traveling back and forth would only cause him to miss the opportunity.

The swift bird carried the message non-stop into the depths of the snowfield.

A few hours later, the campfire was full of people.

The chieftain with his frost-covered beard, the warriors in wolf skins, and the scouts with their longbows gathered silently around the fire. These were all people of the tribe with names and surnames. There were no greetings, only stares at each other.

“Asta wants us to get moving,” Chief Renqi said succinctly, unfolding the sheepskin in his hand on the ground. “Disrupt the Red Tide, set fires, create momentum. He says this can be exchanged for food.”

Silence spread through the air.

An old man coughed softly and said, "Last winter, he delivered salt and grain, saving many of our lives."

“We can get through the next winter by putting on a show,” another elder chimed in. “No need for a real fight, just light a fire and shout a few times. It’s a good deal.”

“But we’ve suffered losses when we went head-to-head with the Red Tide.” Someone immediately sneered.

“We are not the Empire’s dogs.” The man, wearing an old-fashioned iron helmet, was clearly a seasoned warrior. “Even a play can be deadly. They sit in the castle drinking, and we’re charging the towers for them?”

“The Red Tide people are not to be trifled with. Do you really think you can escape unscathed by setting a fire?” another middle-aged soldier said coldly.

Before the words were finished, a sneer came from around the campfire.

A young voice interrupted, without respect or hesitation.

"Instead of following orders, let's just charge in."

Everyone turned to look, and Kalk stepped forward.

He was barely in his early twenties, his face still bearing fresh scars, his left arm wrapped in a sheepskin bandage, and his eyes shining like blades under the snow.

“Frost Dragon Territory,” he said, emphasizing each word. “The nobles are all there, the lords are all there. They’re having a meeting, discussing how to divide the rest of our land.”

He took a step toward the fire, his voice steady but not low: "We're not going to fight the Red Tide, we're going to cut off their roots."

One of the clan leaders frowned: "You want to fight Louis?"

“I’m going to hit everyone sitting at that table,” Kalk said coldly. “Whether they’re Calvin or August, it’s all the same.”

He pointed to a spot on the map, "Here, if everyone is killed overnight, then no one in the North will be able to send anyone to their death."

Someone started whispering.

"You want to start a full-scale war?" the old patriarch roared.

Kalk stared at him: "They've driven three generations of us, forced us to live in the wasteland, and now they're even assigning us places. You call this war?!"

The fire in his eyes burned brighter and brighter: "Tolerate another generation? I'm afraid there won't be a next generation!"

The night wind stirred the flames, reflecting the hesitation and longing on every face.

(End of this chapter)