Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 393 Raymond and Calvin

The torrential rain pressed down on the eaves, striking the bronze rain gutters with a dull thud.

There was only a fireplace burning in the room, the flames too weak to illuminate the beams.

The second prince, Karen, sat at his desk, his shoulders slightly hunched.

He had been staring at that list of military and political figures for a long time, and the stitches on his severed arm throbbed with a tingling sensation, as if a cold, damp air was seeping into his bones.

With a light stroke of his quill pen, the third name on the list was crossed out.

That was the commander of the 23rd Army Corps. He had sworn an oath of loyalty to the army, and they had fought together.

Today's intelligence reports that the main force stationed on the outer edge of the capital submitted a troop rotation application to the Ministry of Finance, which is controlled by the Fourth Prince, this morning.

Kalein stared at the name as the ink spread, feeling as if someone was choking him.

Compared to a significant reduction in strength, the feeling of being gradually abandoned is far more agonizing.

Like a tree hollowed out by termites, it is still standing, but it could fall at any moment.

A soft knock on the door broke the deathly silence.

"Your Highness," the personal attendant said in a low voice, unable to hide his panic, "Duke Raymond requests an audience."

The quill slipped from Kalein's fingers and rolled across the table.

He looked up abruptly, his face first blank, then incredulous.

Raymond? That tycoon who commands respect from nobles on both the northern and southern fronts of the empire?
At this moment, in theory, we should be in the Limestone Province, thousands of miles away.

How did it end up in the capital during a rainstorm?

The shock lasted only a moment, quickly replaced by an almost greedy ecstasy.

When everyone was preparing to leave him, the duke actually came to see him against the storm.

"Quick! Let him in!" Karen jumped to his feet, the chair scraping loudly on the stone floor. "Guard the door, don't let anyone near!"

Thunder rumbled across the palace rooftops, as if heralding the start of this secret meeting.

The moment Raymond stepped into the side hall, the air seemed to drop a notch.

He shook the rain off his shoulders, took off his soaking wet black cloak, and casually hung it on the iron hook by the door.

Inside was a dark leather armor without any family crest, simple yet exuding a dangerous aura.

Despite the chill of the downpour, he stood ramrod straight, like a piece of hardwood that wouldn't bend even in the storm.

Kalein rushed forward almost impatiently: "Duke, how could you... how dare you come to the capital at this time?"

Raymond did not answer; his gaze fell on the list of names crossed out on the table, lingering for half a second.

“Your Highness,” he said calmly, yet his words cut like a knife slicing open a wound, “the rotten flesh should be cut away.”

He looked up and added, "Keeping it will only drag your whole body down."

Kalein paused for a moment.

Raymond took a few steps forward, pulled out a chair, and sat down with the ease of someone in his own mansion.

“It’s a good thing those opportunists are gone,” he continued. “At least now you can finally see who you can still use and who has long since become someone else’s.”

Karen gritted his teeth, his voice strained: "The Legion... shouldn't have been like this. The Twenty-Third Army sided with the Fourth Prince because of the coercion and bribery of those civil officials..."

“It’s not just coercion and bribery,” Raymond cut off his complaint directly. “It’s seizing his lifeline.”

He reached out and pushed the list back in front of Karen.

"The Fourth Prince controls the Ministry of Finance and also the Audit Office. He uses provisions, military funds, and auditing to utterly crush the families of these old-school legion commanders."

“Without supplies, they won’t last two months. Without an audit exemption, their accounts won’t even last until next year. Without a record of their war merits, their sons and nephews won’t even pass the assessment for promotion.”

Raymond looked up at Carlene: "These old legion commanders are never loyal to anyone. They are loyal to their families. The Fourth Prince gave them something that could stabilize their families, something you can't give... so of course they turned to him."

A moment of silence fell between them.

Raymond leaned back in his chair and summarized succinctly: "The current Ministry of Military Affairs is an empty shell. You can't mobilize any complete army."

Thunder rumbled across the rooftops again.

Raymond seemed to have anticipated this move, taking another roll of sheepskin from the side of his chair and slapping it on the table.

It wasn't a list, but a dusty, worn map of the imperial border garrison.

"Your Highness, the fact that you can't mobilize the capital's army doesn't mean you don't have an army."

Karen stared at the old map, his brows slowly furrowing.

Raymond raised his hand and pointed to the mountainous area to the west that bordered the Emerald Federation: "The Thirty-First Legion."

He then pointed to the southern wilderness border: "Eleventh Legion."

"These two legions have been fighting alongside monsters and alien races on the border for years. They are troops forged in the crucible of war." Raymond's fingertip hovered over the map, his tone calm and certain. "Their combat strength is the toughest among all the empire's regular legions."

He paused, then added, "And also the most forgotten by the capital."

Kalein's breathing tightened slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

Raymond continued, "They're too far from the political center, and the Treasury treats them like a money-devouring pit."

Every year, military pay is delayed and cut back as much as possible. Do you know how dilapidated the equipment is? Ten-year-old knives are considered usable if they're pieced together.

Those guys had long harbored a deep hatred for the civil officials in the capital who only knew how to use audit reports to embezzle supplies, as well as for the Fourth Prince's hand.

He looked up at Kalein, his gaze like a sharp dagger: "They don't care whether the capital's orders are compliant or not, nor do they care who's sitting in the palace arguing about what. They only understand two things: whether or not to give them supplies, and whether or not to respect them."

“A general in the field may disobey the emperor’s orders.” Raymond repeated an ancient military maxim in a low voice. “These people are more independent than you think. As long as you feed them, they will help you bite through the northern defenses of the capital.”

Karen stared at the two legion encampments, a long-lost light returning to his eyes.

Seeing this shift, Raymond opportunely offered his bargaining chip: "My Raymond family's private treasury has enough high-quality weaponry to equip three legions, as well as two years' worth of food reserves. I'm willing to give it to the Thirty-First and Eleventh Legions."

“On the premise that they know who is feeding them.” Karen stared at the border map, his chest feeling as if it were being bulged open.

The pent-up anger that had been burning inside him due to the pain and humiliation from losing his arm finally found an outlet.

The rain pounded against the window frame, but his breathing became increasingly rapid.

“Duke…” Karen’s voice was hoarse, “You’re willing to take this risk for me… I…”

Before he could finish speaking, his eyes were already burning.

In this capital city, everyone is leaving him.

Only this man in front of me returned against the wind and rain during the most dangerous time, pushing all my savings onto him.

The soreness at the severed arm seemed to be somewhat lessened by this surge of emotion.

In order to secure the support of the only person still willing to help him, Kalen blurted out almost emotionally:

"Raymont! When I ascend the throne, you can choose one of the three fertile counties! No... all three counties are yours!"

Karen raised his head, his tone urgent yet resolute: "Furthermore, the Grand Marshalship will be hereditary! From now on, you will command the Empire's army!"

Raymond paused for a moment.

It wasn't because I was moved.

It was because the Second Prince's reaction was easier to push than he had imagined.

However, he still revealed just the right amount of expression, both shocked and subtly bloodthirsty.

“Your Highness…” he said in a low voice, “My Raymond family, from top to bottom, swears to follow you to the death.”

The tears in Kalein's eyes finally slid down his cheeks. He didn't wipe them away, but just nodded firmly.

Raymond rose, donned his soaking wet cloak again, and rose up like a black wall once more.

"I'll leave through the secret passage," he said simply, then pushed open the door and stepped out, his figure swallowed by the torrential rain.

After hiding behind the unmarked black carriage, Raymond suppressed all his emotions.

The passion and loyalty they had just displayed seemed to have never existed.

He raised his hand, took out a clean handkerchief, and carefully wiped his shoulder blades.

That's the spot where the Second Prince just took a picture.

His movements were unhurried, yet carried a chilling quality, as if he were wiping away some kind of unpleasantness that he loathed.

The torrential rain outside the window pounded against the roof of the carriage.

Raymond sat back in the shadows, his eyes as cold as those of a deep-sea predator.

…………

Deep within the Grand Duke Calvin's mansion.

The obsidian door closed behind me, its heavy echo dissipating in the narrow corridor, shutting out the sea breeze and lights outside.

The secret room was small and simply furnished.

Against the wall was a row of bookshelves locked with iron latches. In the center was a black walnut wooden table with two chairs. A silver hourglass sat on the corner of the table, with fine sand slowly falling down.

Grand Duke Calvin sat in a backlit spot, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table.

His clothing was understated, with only a slightly worn family crest pinned to his chest, a gift from his father.

The Fifth Prince and the envoy of the Golden Feather Flower Kingdom, Salomon's Divine Messenger, sat opposite each other.

He was dressed in a grey robe, his white gloves were so clean they seemed almost deliberate, and the silver holy emblem around his neck gleamed faintly in the firelight.

After a moment of silence, Salomon spoke first.

"Your Grace, His Highness and the Cardinals extend their blessings to you." His voice was neither fast nor slow, and his tone was gentle. "At a time when the Empire is in turmoil, to still be able to stabilize the southeast shipping route and deliver the spices needed by the Papacy on time, this reputation... is praised by everyone in the Holy City."

Calvin chuckled casually: "Praise from the Holy City usually comes at a high price."

Salomon didn't deny it, but instead went along with it: "No, I've brought a surprise this time."

As he spoke, he took out a smaller roll of parchment from his sleeve and gently laid it on the table.

The map only shows the present-day borders of the Southeast Province.

"The rift in the empire is a fact." Salomon held up a finger and pointed at the map. "There aren't many provinces left that can still maintain their complete military and political systems."

"What do you mean?" the Duke asked calmly.

“The Southeast Province is now the only relatively intact skeleton on the eastern side of the empire,” Salomon said, looking at him.

“But this framework is too fragmented. The coastal cities and the major inland families each govern themselves. If this drags on any longer, His Highness’s ambition to establish himself in the southeast will be thwarted by these minor lords.” Calvin did not deny this. In his years of unification efforts in the southeast, he had dealt extensively with these families scattered across the borders.

"So?" he asked again.

Salomon then mentioned the specific bargaining chip for the first time: "His Highness is willing to push for recognition from Parliament and the Cardinals in the capital."

The military and political power of the entire Southeast Province will be concentrated in your hands. All command authority formerly belonging to the Royal Family and the Provincial Assembly will be transferred to you in the form of a warrant.

The Duke raised an eyebrow: "It sounds more like you're dumping a mess on me to clean up."

"Clean up the mess is a necessary step before establishing a new order," Salomon said without hesitation. "As long as you give your approval, His Highness will push for the promulgation of the Southeast Reorganization Order within three months. From that moment on, the Southeast Province will have only one master."

The stakes in this move aren't enormous, but they are certainly pragmatic.

Calvin looked down at the small map and tapped the table lightly with his knuckles: "With Your Highness's current power, this order may not be able to be passed."

"You are quite right."

Salomon readily admitted it, then changed the subject: "So this is just an opening letter. The real invitation is yet to come."

After he finished speaking, he pulled out a second, larger map from his leather pouch.

This time, the sheepskin was unfolded and took up half of the table.

The red line starts from the southeast coast, heads north, encircles the Golden Mai Plain, then turns west to include the inland port of the Okhevin Province.

The lamplight on the table flickered on the sheepskin, as if the red line were truly expanding outwards.

Salomon pressed his finger lightly against the end of the line: "If the plan succeeds, Your Highness intends to support a guardian to prevent the Eastern Order from collapsing."

He spoke calmly, yet each word struck the Duke's heart: "This circled area will form a new political entity."

In name, it is the Holy Eastern Empire, a spiritual symbol acknowledging the royal bloodline. In practice—it requires a ruler with sufficient prestige and resources.

Calvin's gaze slowly shifted from the red line back to Salomon's face.

"Have you already decided on someone?"

“Besides you,” Salomon stated as if stating a fact, “there is no other name to write.”

He didn't use words like "emperor," but instead pushed the conversation forward little by little: "The spiritual authority is handed over to the Holy City and the Royal Family."

Secular powers in the southeastern provinces, such as legislation, minting coins, presiding over the noble council, and granting fiefs, will be concentrated in the hands of the governor.

"To put it another way, once the Holy Eastern Empire is established," he added, "on this designated land, aside from religious ceremonies, every single order must be issued from your hands."

The room fell silent.

Only the fine sand in the hourglass continued to fall, making a very faint friction sound.

Calvin stared at the red line, remaining silent for a long time.

This promise was far from the provincial integration he had envisioned, and he even suspected that the condition was just given haphazardly.

That was not just offering a larger fiefdom, but making a proposal.

They stripped the granaries and purses of the southeastern province of the empire, along with the title of ruler, and stuffed them into his palm.

“Your Highness is quite bold,” the Duke finally spoke, his voice very soft, “but there’s a problem.”

Salomon gestured for him to proceed.

“These lands,” Calvin pointed to the Golden Wheat Plains with his fingertip, “don’t belong to him yet. Is it a joke that he’s offering me something that’s not in his own pocket?”

Salomon's lips twitched almost imperceptibly: "So, the purpose of my visit today is not to make you believe the results immediately, but to help you see the direction clearly."

"direction?"

“The Empire is sinking.” Salomon looked at him. “His Highness and the Papacy do not want to be dragged down with it. We need someone to hold up a piece of ground on the east side so that it won’t immediately crumble.”

He paused, then lowered his voice: "If you are willing to stand on this ground, we can discuss the future profit sharing later. The red lines on the map are not immutable."

At this point, the real game has only just begun.

Salomon wasn't in a hurry to expand the red line; he simply took a letter from his pocket.

The envelope was unsigned, and contained a sealing wax stamped in pure gold, bearing an emblem of ocean waves and golden feathers.

The Duke of Calvin's heart skipped a beat as his fingertips touched the sealing wax.

He doesn't need to open it to know the contents.

Three days ago, he had received the same mark through the most secretive family channels.

That was a handwritten letter from his third son, Eduardo.

The secret letter, though only a few lines long, was enough to change the future of the entire continent.

Eduardo confirmed the Fifth Prince's actions with him, as well as the inclinations within the Cardinals, and finally wrote down a message that he himself had deliberated for a long time before putting pen to paper.

With the current pope terminally ill, the various factions within the Vatican have begun to purge their respective forces.

Eduardo Calvin, in that perilous duel, eliminated two of his strongest opponents with a miracle and a huge sum of family illicit funds.

He has now made it into the final three, and he says he has a 70% chance of winning.

When the Duke finished reading the letter, he showed no excitement; he simply closed his eyes and pondered for a long time.

Eduardo was the calmest and most honest of his children.

If he says 70%, then it's 70%.

Salomon seemed to have a complete grasp of the Duke's thoughts. He pushed the letter closer, his tone still calm: "Land, perhaps, can only be obtained with swords."

“But the power…” he looked up, “is already in your hands.”

Calvin's gaze darkened.

Salomon's envoy leaned forward slightly, his voice low as if he were plotting a momentous secret: "Your Excellency, imagine if the future Pope's surname was Calvin."

The flickering light from the brazier reflected in his eyes, like a thin line that one dared not look directly at.

"That means that no matter how many countries are born on the continent, no matter whether the empire continues to exist... the Calvin family will stand above imperial and divine authority. That is a height that even the founding emperor could not reach."

The air felt as if it were being pressed down by something.

Grand Duke Calvin did not immediately refute, nor did he reveal any greed.

He glanced down at the sealing wax stamp, his fingertips gently tracing its edge.

This is an era that is handing him the reins.

Seeing that the Duke's emotions had been pushed to the perfect point, Salomon slowly withdrew his hand: "Your Grace, at this point, I must make a necessary condition."

A soft popping sound came from the charcoal in the brazier.

“To ensure stability on the eastern front,” Salomon said gently, yet with an undercurrent of undeniable authority, “we need chaos in the north.”

Duke Calvin's finger stopped.

The divine messenger continued, “Lord Louis of the Red Tide Territory has a strong army and abundant resources. If he cuts off the supplies to the Empire and then restrains the Imperial Northern Army, the northern front will immediately be unbalanced. At that time, Your Highness will be able to easily advance the plan.”

The room was so quiet that you could almost hear the muffled sound of the tide crashing against the harbor.

The Duke of Calvin did not respond immediately.

Since his last failed attempt to use trade routes to bring Red Tide under his control, Louis has no longer been a cub that anyone can hold in their hands.

The child looks more like a member of the Edmund family than a member of the Calvin family.

He was like a wild beast that grew out of the snow and wind of the North, finding his own direction, expanding on his own, and establishing his own order.

Are we going to let this kind of person instigate a civil war in the North?
Ha, he might even use the letter to polish his boots.

The problem is that Salomon's messenger must never know this.

If the Papacy and the Fifth Prince realize that "you can't control the wolves of the North," then the entire negotiation will immediately lose its value.

The Duke then composed himself and, in a few seconds, changed "uncontrollable" to "expensive".

He frowned and sighed heavily, feigning seriousness: "Louis... that boy listens to me."

He paused, as if weighing his options: "But he's now a regional warlord, supporting tens of thousands of people. Asking him to risk being swallowed up by the empire to fight..."

The Duke looked up, his eyes flashing like knives: "This wasn't in the original price."

Salomon's holy emblem swayed slightly.

“If you want the wolves of the North to bite people,” the Duke said calmly, but with increasing pressure, “then you’ll have to add meat.”

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

Salomon finally nodded: "Okay."

He took out another sheepskin from his pocket and pushed it in front of the Duke: "His Highness and the Council of Cardinals are willing to add three years of military funding on top of the original terms to support the northern defense line of the Red Tide Territory."

He added, "In addition, the priesthood will provide the Red Tide Army with blessings, protection and pre-battle rituals free of charge."

Duke Calvin chuckled inwardly.

How could Louis possibly allow the priesthood to set foot in the Red Tide?

However, he could pocket the military expenses for the next three years and then slowly consider how to pass them on to the North, if the opportunity arose.

Anyway, they won't know where the money went. As for Louis, just write him a letter and see if he needs help. If he doesn't, there's nothing we can do.

After finalizing the matter, the two lowered their voices and finalized several key details one by one: the legion's contact methods, the routes for transporting supplies, and the overt and covert pieces that the Fifth Prince needed to place in the capital in advance.

The atmosphere was as heavy as the rain outside the secret chamber; each confirmed rule was like pushing another stone into the cracks of the empire.

Until the messenger left.

Grand Duke Calvin sat alone in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table, remaining motionless for a long time.

He was well aware, of course, that the Fifth Prince's ambitions were unrealistically grand. But the direction Salomon proposed... did indeed make some sense.

The Calvin family will be forced to choose sides sooner or later.

But to choose now would be to throw the fate of the family into a storm.

Once the situation becomes clearer, or if Eduardo really ascends to the papacy, he can simply take over the reins again. After all, no oaths were signed or fingerprints were left today.

If the Fifth Prince can truly hold the line, he will naturally step in at the opportune moment.

If he can't hold on? Then he never promised anything.

(End of this chapter)