Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 692 - 392: Reymont and Calvin (2)

A long-forgotten gleam sparked in Kaelin's eyes as he gazed at the two legion outposts.

Raymont spotted that faint shift and promptly presented his bargain: "In the private vault of the Raymont family, high-grade weapons sufficient to arm three full legions await, along with food stocks for two years. I offer to deliver them to the Thirty-First and Eleventh Legions."

"The condition is they must recognize who sustains them." Kaelin fixed his stare on the border chart, his chest tightening as if a seal was ripping apart.

That simmering fury, long suppressed in his heart from the agony and shame of his lost arm, at last surged forth to blaze.

Thunder rumbled against the window, yet his breaths came faster.

"Duke..." Kaelin's voice rasped slightly, "You're ready to gamble everything for me... I..."

His words trailed off, but heat already welled in his eyes.

Throughout the Imperial Capital, all had forsaken him.

Alone, this man braved the tempest's fury in the darkest hour, thrusting his clan's riches into Kaelin's grasp.

The sharp pain at his severed arm's stump eased a touch amid this blazing loyalty.

To bind this last faithful ally, Kaelin nearly cried out in raw fervor:

"Raymont! Once I claim the Three Counties of Fallow, choose one! No... take all three!"

Kaelin lifted his gaze, his tone fierce and resolute: "Moreover, the Grand Marshal title passes eternally to your line! Henceforth, the Empire's armies bow to your will!"

Raymont paused in shock for an instant.

Not from any heartfelt surge.

Rather, the Second Prince bent to influence far more readily than anticipated.

Still, he masked it with a fitting facade—stunned, yet laced with a savage edge.

"Your Highness..." he murmured low, "The Raymont family pledges undying loyalty."

Tears spilled from Kaelin's eyes at last, untouched, as he nodded with iron resolve.

Raymont rose, shrugging on his sodden cloak once more, looming like a shadowed bulwark.

"I'll slip out via the hidden tunnel." With that curt words, he shoved the door wide and vanished into the gale.

Once tucked away in the featureless black carriage, Raymont buried every trace of feeling.

The passion and devotion displayed moments ago might never have been.

Raymont drew a pristine cloth from his sleeve and meticulously cleaned his pauldrons.

There, where the Second Prince's hand had clapped.

His actions stayed deliberate, laced with frost, like scouring off foul omens.

Lightning cracked atop the carriage as the storm howled.

Raymont lounged amid the gloom, eyes icy as a leviathan lurking in abyssal depths.

......

At the core of Duke Calvin's manor.

The obsidian portal slammed shut behind, its boom fading down the cramped passage, sealing out the howling gales and lantern glow.

The hidden chamber spanned modestly, furnished plainly.

Bookcases lined the walls, secured by iron latches; at the heart stood a dark walnut desk flanked by two seats, a silver timer in one corner with grains drifting downward.

Duke Calvin occupied the dimmer chair, fingertips drumming softly on the wood.

His garb stayed subdued, save for a weathered crest from his sire affixed to his chest.

Facing him were the Fifth Prince and Divine Envoy Salomon, emissary from the Golden Feather Flower Religious Authority Country.

Salomon donned a slate robe, gloves of stark white that screamed intent, his neck's silver sacred badge catching faint flickers from the flames.

After a hushed pause, Salomon broke the quiet.

"Your Grace, the Prince and Cardinal Institute extend warm regards." His cadence even and mild, "Amid the Empire's chaos, holding firm the Southeast trade lanes and shipping Church Court spices promptly—this feat earns acclaim across the Holy City too."

Calvin chuckled lightly: "Holy City accolades always demand steep tolls."

Salomon sidestepped denial, pressing on: "Far from it—this visit bears a true gift."

With those words, he withdrew a compact vellum chart from his cuff and unfurled it smoothly across the desk.

The diagram outlined solely the Southeast Province's present borders.

"The Empire's fractures stand undeniable." Salomon's finger jabbed the parchment, "Few regions now uphold full martial and civil order."

"Your point?" the Duke queried flatly.

"The Southeast Province alone forms the Empire's sturdiest bastion eastward." Salomon met his eyes.

"Yet it frays at the edges. Port strongholds, inland clans—all move solo. Prolonged strife will hobble the Prince's ascent here, thwarted by petty barons."

Calvin conceded nothing, though Southeast years had drowned him in such kin rivalries.

"And?" he probed once more.

At last Salomon unveiled concrete terms: "The Prince pledges to secure Council and Cardinal Institute endorsement from the capital.

Uniting all Southeast Province arms and governance under your grip. Royal and provincial council commands transfer to you via sealed decrees."

The Duke arched a brow faintly: "Feels like dumping chaos in my lap to sort."

"Tidying disorder paves the new regime." Salomon met it head-on, "Nod assent, and in three months, the Prince enacts the Southeast Restructuring Edict. Thereafter, one ruler claims the Southeast."

This offer lacked flash but rang practical.

Calvin eyed the petite map, knuckles rapping the surface: "The Prince's sway makes enforcing such a decree no simple task."

"Precisely so."