Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 691 - 392: Raymond and Calvin

Heavy rain battered the eaves, drumming dully on the bronze gutters.

Within the room, just one fireplace burned, its faint glow failing to reach the beams above.

The Second Prince, Kaelin, hunched slightly over the desk.

He had gazed at the military and political roster for ages, his stitched stump throbbing now and then, as if icy dampness pierced his bones.

The quill in his grip softly crossed out the third name on that list.

This was the leader of the Twenty-Third Legion, who had vowed loyalty with his very words, and they had battled together before.

Yet today's reports showed the main troops outside the Royal Capital filing a shift request to the Fourth Prince's Ministry of Finance this morning.

Kaelin fixed his eyes on the ink-smeared name, throat tightening like a vise.

More than the heavy blow to his power, the slow sting of betrayal cut deeper.

Like a tree eaten hollow by termites, upright but poised to topple anytime.

A soft knock shattered the heavy quiet.

"Your Highness," the attendant whispered, panic slipping through despite his effort, "Duke Raymond seeks an audience."

The quill tumbled from Kaelin's hand, rolling over the desk.

He jerked his head up, first stunned, then disbelieving.

Raymond? The giant who bent nobles across the Empire's north and south?

He ought to be distant in Gray Rock Province right now.

How did he reach the palace through this tempest?

The surprise faded fast, overtaken by a hungry surge of delight.

As all others plotted to abandon him, this Duke defied the gale to meet him.

"Hurry! Bring him in!" Kaelin shot to his feet, chair scraping harshly on stone, "Seal the door, keep everyone away!"

Thunder boomed over the palace roofs, signaling the hidden talk's launch.

As Raymond entered the side hall, the atmosphere grew thicker.

He shrugged off shoulder rain, shed the drenched black cloak, and draped it casually on the door's iron hook.

Beneath lay plain dark leather armor sans crest, unadorned but radiating menace.

Though rain chilled his frame, he stood rigid, unyielding as storm-toughened oak.

Kaelin rushed forward eagerly: "Duke, why... How could you risk the Imperial Capital now?"

Raymond stayed silent; his eyes landed on the crossed-out names list, lingering briefly.

"Your Highness," he said evenly, words slicing like a blade into flesh, "Rotten meat must be cut off."

He raised his gaze to continue, "Clinging to it drags the entire body down."

Kaelin held his breath briefly.

Raymond advanced, drew a chair, and settled in, moving at ease like in his own home.

"Those wavering ones departing is beneficial," he went on, "Now you truly discern the reliable from those long bought by others."

Kaelin ground his teeth, voice strained, "The legions... weren't meant to falter like this. The Twenty-Third turned to the Fourth Prince under pressure and lures from officials..."

"Beyond mere pressure and lures," Raymond interrupted sharply, "It's seizing their vital lines."

He extended a hand, sliding the list back toward Kaelin.

"The Fourth Prince grips the Ministry of Finance and Audit Office. He squeezes these veteran commanders' clans dry via supplies, funds, inspections."

"No supplies, and they starve in two months. No inspection waivers, their ledgers crumble by year's end. No merit records, their heirs fail noble tests."

Raymond met Kaelin's eyes: "These commanders never swore true fealty to any. They guard their kin. The Fourth Prince secures their houses, which you cannot... Naturally, they switch sides."

A hush hung between them briefly.

Raymond reclined in the seat, concluding bluntly, "The Military Affairs Department now stands hollow. No full legion answers your call."

Thunder rumbled overhead again.

Raymond, anticipating it, drew a parchment roll from near the chair and smacked it on the desk.

Not a roster, but a dusty Empire border map, edges frayed.

"Your Highness, lacking Royal Capital forces doesn't leave you armyless."

Kaelin eyed the aged map, brows knitting gradually.

Raymond's finger tapped the western Jade Federation border: "The Thirty-First Legion."

Then the southern waste frontier: "The Eleventh Legion."

"These units have clashed endlessly with Magical Beasts and Alien Races at the borders for years. Battle-hardened soldiers." Raymond's finger rested on the map, voice steady and confident, "Top combat power among all Empire regular legions."

He added: "And most ignored by the Imperial Capital."

Kaelin's breathing quickened faintly, yet he held silent.

Raymond pressed on, "Too remote from power's heart, the Finance Ministry sees them as bottomless pits.

Military pay lags when possible, shrinks when feasible. Imagine their gear: decade-old swords, patched barely to work—that's premium.

These soldiers despise the Imperial Capital bureaucrats who hoard via audits, and the Fourth Prince's grip."

He pierced Kaelin with a dagger-like stare: "They ignore palace orders' validity or throne squabbles. Two matters alone matter: resources flow, respect given."

"An ancient soldier's proverb: 'Field generals heed no distant kings.'" Raymond murmured, "They stand freer than you imagine. Feed them well, and they'll breach the Imperial Capital's northern walls for you."