Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 413 Duke Calvin's Divine Move

The governor's office in the southeastern province capital was temporarily transformed into the command center of the new empire.

The hall was filled with a strong religious incense, and the emblem of the Golden Feather Flower Vatican almost covered the entire wall, as glaring as the various gilded tableware piled on the table.

The hall door was suddenly pushed open.

The fifth prince, Lampard, now calls himself the first emperor of the Holy Eastern Empire.

He entered the hall with hurried steps. It wasn't a leap of disarray, but rather an irrepressible joy that spilled out with each step.

“The Duke! Duke Calvin!” His voice echoed beneath the gilded dome, slightly raised, “A miracle…this is practically a revelation from the Father!”

The Duke of Calvin's teacup, which he had just raised, trembled slightly, and Lampard grabbed his arm the next instant.

An excited, forceful movement, conveying an eagerness to share the exhilaration with others.

The spilled tea on his sleeve made the old duke slightly lose his composure, but he still maintained the noble smile he had cultivated over the years.

Lampard's voice was slightly hurried: "You are truly a pillar of the empire... Without you, this situation would not exist! Duke, this is the will of Heaven, it is destiny on our side!"

The Duke's smile trembled, for he had no idea what the Fifth Prince was talking about.

He was already in a state of turmoil these days; there was just too much chaos.

The Southeast Province originally worshipped the Dragon Ancestor, but now the Golden Feather Flower Church is forcibly promoting its doctrines, the province's nobles are being sidelined, and their family businesses are being gradually taken away.

But what could he do?
Those old guys in the capital have all been hanged by the Second Prince. He defected to the Fourth Prince, and he's probably already buried in an unknown pit.

Now he can only hope that his third son will climb the ranks in the Papacy quickly enough to become Pope as soon as possible, so that the Calvin family can have a way out.

Thinking of this, he forced a smile to remain composed: "Your Majesty, calm down... May I ask, what exactly happened?"

Lampard nearly laughed himself silly, shoving the battle report into his arms: "Louis Calvin led the Northern army south and blitzed the Grayrock Province!"

The Duke of Calvin's fingers trembled, and the teacup nearly fell to the ground.

Lampard continued pacing excitedly in the hall: "Raymont's lair has been breached! Hahaha! That old wolf is still stuck in the capital putting on airs, but his back is already on fire!"

The archbishop beside him, twirling the holy emblem, spoke in a tone that was both heavy and meaningful: "Without the duke's authorization, how could he have been so bold as to attack the territory of the Grand Marshal of the Empire?"
This is not only a declaration of war against Raymond, but also the Calvin family's strongest pledge of allegiance to the Eastern Empire.

The Duke sat upright, like a well-trained statue, but his back was already soaked with cold sweat.

Everyone assumed that he had given the order.

But he knew that the letter to Louis probably hadn't even been unsealed.

That rebellious son went south not to save him, nor to pledge allegiance to the Eastern Empire.

He smelled the blood, sensed an opportunity, and took the chance to bite down.

Whether it was Raymond's territory or the foundation of his Calvin family, in Louis's eyes they were nothing more than prey.

Since his last attempt to integrate the Red Tide into the family system through trade routes failed, Louis has been completely erased from Calvin's family tree.

The caravans no longer pass through the Calvin Merchant Guild, and the trade route that originally belonged to the Calvin family has been severed by him personally, now completely siding with the North.

He no longer responded to his family's orders, nor did he seek refuge, as if he had thrown the name "Calvin" into the trash heap forever.

Now he... is more like the heir to the Edmund family.

He was like a wild beast born from the icy plains of the North, his gaze fixed only on the wider land.

But if he denies it now, he could tell Lampard, "I can't control my son either."

The Calvin family's position in the Eastern Empire will collapse instantly.

He would be seen as incompetent, as a liar, and as worthless to the new empire.

Duke Calvin slowly stood up, leaning on his scepter, and walked to the Southeastern Battle Map, his finger steadily pointing to the location of the Gray Rock Province.

His voice was calm, as if he had already made up his mind: "Yes, Your Majesty, this is my order. With Raymond's main force absent, when is a better time to strike?"

A fanatical glint flashed in Lampard's eyes: "I knew it! The Duke is indeed far-sighted!"

Now that the misunderstanding had already occurred and brought immediate benefits, the old fox knew he had to continue wearing this disguise.

"Your Majesty flatters me." Duke Calvin's voice was calm and unhurried, revealing no emotional fluctuation. "Although Louis is stubborn, he has Calvin blood in his veins. When it comes to the big picture, he knows whose teeth to take."

His tone showed absolutely no guilt: "This is just... one part of my plan."

As soon as he finished speaking, Duke Calvin was already calculating his next move in his mind.

“Since my son is bleeding on the front lines, the supplies at the rear cannot be compromised. Your Majesty, please immediately unseal the steel and magic crystals that the Holy See has seized in Vero Port. I need to transport them to the North to support the war effort.”

Lampard and the archbishop exchanged a glance.

Although they didn't like being led by the nose by the Calvin family, they had no choice but to agree because "the Wolf King of the North is under the Duke's command."

The moment the two nodded, the Duke knew clearly that he had won.

But this did not make him feel at ease.

Later, he returned to his study and closed the heavy door.

The candlelight flickered as he stared at the half-finished letter on the table. He had originally intended to use benefits to manipulate Louis into destabilizing the North, but he hadn't expected Louis to be capable of such a feat on his own.

But he remained silent for a moment and held the letter up to the candlelight.

The parchment scroll slowly rolled up, and the smell of burning made the room even more stuffy.

After the fire went out, he spread out a new sheet of paper.

The first line of text that fell from the pen: "Well done, keep going, but don't forget your roots are in the Southeast."

This is a plea for peace, a test, and a belated gesture of goodwill.

…………

Outside the window, the torrential rain lashed against the tower's windows with a crackling sound.

Inside a side tower of Grayrock Fortress, Kyle Raymond, clad in black half-armor, was working by the flickering candlelight on the ledgers for the shipment of supplies to the capital.

He was always calm and composed, and was the commander-in-chief of the Raymond family's territory, on whom his father placed high hopes.

He had just written a line: "The third batch of grain wagons will depart tomorrow..."

"Boom."

A dull, abrupt impact shattered the tower's tranquility.

Kyle suddenly looked up.

A swiftbird lay sprawled outside the window, its feathers plastered to its skin by the rain, its wings trembling as if struck down from the sky by some immense force.

It had a red letter tube, symbolizing the most urgent intelligence, strapped to its leg, and a broken crossbow, made of fine steel and with barbs, stuck in its chest—a weapon that no ordinary person could afford.

Kyle's heart clenched, and he flung open the window.

The cold wind, carrying rain, poured into the house, almost extinguishing the candlelight.

He reached out and caught the dying bird, then untied the letter tube.

The parchment was unfolded layer by layer, covered with rainwater and bloodstains, the writing blurred into barely legible black shadows.

But it's still legible; it's handwriting, written hastily and with trembling fingers due to fear...

“Enemy attack! Unknown army! Weapons... capable of collapsing city walls... loud noise…” The signature was crooked, as if it had fallen over while writing: Earl of Doron.

Kyle froze for a moment, his throat tightening as if a rope were strangling him.

Doronhold is only half a day's ride from Greyrock Fortress, and he is one of my father's most loyal and most ardent vassals.

The towns under his rule had a population of hundreds of thousands, which he considered impregnable. He was also known for his brutality, and no one dared to provoke the Duke of Raymond's henchmen.

Now they're sending this desperate plea for help.

“Impossible…” Kyle muttered to himself, “Who could conquer Doron in one night? Who dares? Who has a weapon… strong enough to shatter city walls?”

The candlelight cast deep shadows on his face.

"Someone come here!" Kyle's voice suddenly rose, filled with barely suppressed panic.

The door was pushed open, and the messenger rushed in: "Young Master?"

"Release the Galebirds!" Kyle spoke rapidly. "Send messages to Black Iron Town, Fertile Plains, and the three baronies on the northern front! Immediately! Find out their situation, including all enemy flags, numbers, and types of weapons they see!"

"Yes!"

The messenger and his attendants ran down the tower, opening the birdcages one by one, and the swift birds flapped their wings and rushed into the wind and rain.

……

The next five hours were the longest period of darkness Kyle had ever experienced.

Inside the tower, only the sounds of torrential rain, flickering candlelight, and his own heavy breathing remained. The twelve swiftbirds flew out of sight, disappearing into the distant storm.

Kyle stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the crack in the dark sky, as if with enough focus he could make a bird fly back.

however.

Five hours passed, and not a single bird returned to its nest.

It was as if those birds had flown into an invisible giant mouth, swallowed up along with the air.

Kyle's hand, gripping the windowsill, grew cold. He finally realized what that meant.

All surrounding territories have fallen...

The lords did not fail to receive the letter, but rather were unable to reply.

"Who...who are they..." His voice was so low it was almost inaudible, as if torn apart by wind and rain.

The torrential rain pounded against the tower's exterior walls, sounding like distant war drums.

…………

Kyle had already dispatched several knights to the surrounding territories to investigate the situation in the middle of the night, but even if the elite knights were to travel at their fastest speed, it would take at least six days for them to return, and it would be impossible for them to send back news immediately.

On the third day, the sound of rapid and chaotic hoofbeats echoed outside the castle gates, like a herd of beasts driven to the brink of extinction crashing into their last refuge.

The guards nervously opened the gate, and a group of remnants of the army, who had fled back from the north, stumbled and rushed into the courtyard.

Kyle hurried down the spiral stone staircase, his black half-body armor casting a heavy shadow in the firelight.

As he stepped into the hall, he saw a captain of the Graystone Fortress huddled beside a fireplace, soaking wet.

The armor was covered in mud and black ash, as if it had crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of ​​blood.

Kyle stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted him off the ground. "What happened?"

The knight captain's pupils were cloudy and empty, as if his soul had been swallowed up by something in the night.

His lips trembled, and he only snapped back to reality upon hearing Kyle's voice, bursting into tears: "Gone... all gone..."

Kyle gritted his teeth: "What's gone?"

"Greystone Fortress!" The knight captain's voice cracked like a broken bowstring. "That fortress we were supposed to defend for three months... it's gone in two hours!"

Kyle froze, barely able to comprehend the full meaning of the sentence.

Greystone Fortress was no ordinary defensive fortification.

It lies across the vital passage between the northern border of the Empire and the Grayrock Province, like an indestructible, massive gate that tears the entire northern border into north and south.

Revered as a shield within the Empire, as long as it stands, the Grayrock Province will never be set foot in by the Knights of the North.

But now, this knight is telling him, two hours? That's Graystone Fortress! Three layers of walls! You're telling me... two hours?

The knight captain clutched his head, as if fighting off the lingering shadow of a nightmare: "Thunder was everywhere... wave after wave... They had no siege ladders, no battering rams... They were pushing some kind of steel monster spewing black smoke from kilometers away... and then the wall... the wall crumbled..."

His voice gradually became fragmented, as if a hole had been torn in his mind.

Kyle took a deep breath to calm himself: "Their flag. Tell me, what flag are they carrying?"

The knight captain shuddered, as if stabbed again by that image: "Red... the red sun emblem... the entire sky was dyed red... pressing down like a tide of blood..."

The air freezes.

Kyle released his grip, and the Knights captain collapsed to the ground.

He stood frozen in place as if struck by lightning, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Red Tide in the North, Louis Calvin.

All the clues converged into a sharp dagger at that moment, piercing Kyle's chest.

The severed ties with the North, the thunderous weaponry, the silent advance... all these elements weave together a clear yet despairing truth.

“It’s him…” Kyle squeezed out a sound from his throat, like grit grinding together, “that wolf from the North.”

He had always thought that Louis was just a local lord who rose to power through marriage and luck, someone who could be exploited.

Now, this usable character is wielding a war machine that even knights cannot comprehend, crushing down from the ends of the earth and knocking on the door of the Raymond family.

Kyle's voice was almost broken: "Why now of all times? Father... the main force has been transferred to the capital..."

He almost staggered to the giant military map on the wall, his finger tracing the route from the North to the Grayrock Province.

“Three thousand kilometers… a full three thousand kilometers.” His voice echoed back in the empty hall, a mixture of absurdity and fear.

"In between are natural barriers, fortresses, and countless sentry posts and checkpoints."

The Northern army couldn't have suddenly appeared here... couldn't have defeated three legions in three days... couldn't have bypassed all surveillance..."

These words were incoherent, squeezed out of his mouth, yet seemed to be spoken to himself.

The more Kyle repeated it, the more he realized that he simply couldn't understand what was happening in front of him.

All common sense about military practice crumbled at this moment.

Such a large and well-trained army suddenly entered the heart of the gray rock, without any signal fires, urgent reports, or any prior warning...

It's like it was born from the air.

“Impossible…” Kyle’s chest heaved violently. “The North shouldn’t have this kind of speed… It’s impossible to hide it from everyone… Why now of all times?”

He could no longer even describe what the object of his fear was.

Kyle looked up, his eyes bloodshot: "Quick! Send an urgent report to the capital! Tell Father our family is doomed!"

(End of this chapter)