Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 697 - 394: The Chess Player

Amidst the midnight hush, the warmth from the family's recent departure still clung to the study.

However, as the door softly clicked shut, that warmth withdrew like ebbing tides, leaving merely a lamp that elongated Louis’s shadow into a tall, lean silhouette.

Seated solitary at the desk, the tenderness in his eyes slowly dissolved, giving way to the poised tranquility befitting a Lord.

Such an air resembled a sword slid back into its sheath—concealed yet exuding a sharp, unmistakable edge.

A knock resonated at the door.

Bradley stepped inside, gripping a letter sealed with deep crimson fire lacquer.

The seal on the fire lacquer displayed the Calvin Clan’s wave crest, signifying their utmost urgent confidential missive.

"Sir, it’s a personal letter from the Duke."

Louis glanced up, his face serene and free of any emotional stir, not even a flicker of astonishment.

For the Daily Intelligence System had supplied the key intelligence a half-month earlier.

Duke Calvin held a clandestine rendezvous with Church Court’s Special Envoy Salomon, striking a covert deal to funnel funds for Louis to stir unrest in the Northern Territory and hamper the Imperial Northern Army.

This letter amounted to little more than a tardy scripted accessory.

Yet Louis accepted the letter nonetheless, idly seizing the paper cutter to open it.

Its words stirred a strange echo of a seasoned performer running through a well-worn act.

The letter’s core: Chaos engulfs the Empire, offering the Calvin Clan a shot at reclaiming supremacy.

Louis, you stand as the clan’s keenest blade, the Northern Territory’s beacon of hope.

For the sake of the Northern Territory and the clan, sever the Imperial Northern Army’s supply lines and ignite border skirmishes.

Should you succeed, the clan pledges full backing for you to claim true dominion over the Northern Territory.

Flowery words, lofty dreams, vague assurances.

Yet the Duke omitted any mention of the massive Church Court funds.

Upon finishing the letter, a faint, icy smile curved Louis’s lips.

To outsiders, it appeared as a father’s charge to his son, the clan’s faith in him.

But to Louis, it rang like a pitiful farce by a buffoon.

"Real silver and gold first into your own treasury, then have me use Red Tide Territory’s blood to fulfill your dream... Father, do you think I don’t understand, or do you think I will pretend not to understand?"

Louis’s gaze held the cool detachment of one who had pierced the deceit.

Louis passed the letter to Bradley, "Take a look; this is my father’s grand plan."

Bradley accepted it and scanned each line, his forehead creasing deeper with every word.

He remained unaware of the Duke pocketing the military funds in secret, yet his sharp mind grasped the peril this spelled for Red Tide Territory.

Disrupting supplies, baiting the Northern Army—this chained the whole Red Tide Territory to a barrel of gunpowder.

It wasn’t aid for Louis; it was hurling him over the precipice.

The veteran butler’s grip shook faintly on the paper; he recognized his old master’s sly machinations.

"Young Master," Bradley whispered, "this matter... the risk is too great. Although the Empire is chaotic now, the Northern Army is still a steel army. As soon as we touch the supplies, they will label Red Tide a rebel. No matter how good the family’s promise, we have to survive that first blow."

Louis chuckled lightly, remarking offhandedly, "You see it too? He’s trying to catch a white wolf with empty hands."

Louis balled up the letter carelessly and flung it toward the trash bin nearby.

"Since Father believes I can manage on my own," Louis rose, his eyes settling on the massive Northern Territory map adorning the wall, "then I’ll do it my way."

From now on, not the Calvin Clan dictating his path, but he shaping the fate of the entire Northern Territory.

"Bradley, the reason Father leaps forward so eagerly at this pivotal juncture is that he scents blood in the air."

The night hung still, the study filled only with the crackle of the fireplace.

Louis positioned himself by the window, his outline drawn long. His voice flowed steadily, yet it chilled the bones.

Bradley froze, "Young Master’s meaning...?"

Louis tilted his head skyward, peering into the remote blackened heavens, as though piercing the veil to the Imperial Capital’s turmoil.

"My intelligence source tells me the Regent King is about to die."

"What..." Bradley’s breath hitched, his voice barely holding steady.

In the present turmoil, the Regent King formed the Empire’s final bastion of stability.

His demise would unleash the princes in savage infighting, legion commanders raising banners of revolt. The Empire would shatter utterly, like a grand edifice stripped of its iron girders.

Louis pressed on, "Once the Regent King dies, the South descends into mayhem, the Imperial Capital worse. And in the Northern Territory... those legion commanders will sense the chance; they’ll probe and forge pacts."

Bradley inclined his head, sweat chilling his brow, "This... the Empire splitting, has it really...?"

"It’s a foregone conclusion." Louis’s composure unnerved, "Duke Calvin ranks among the earliest to catch the whiff. But since he aims to gamble, I shall gamble too."

He pivoted gradually, strides firm and assured, approaching the Northern Territory map.

Flames danced across the expansive parchment: peaks, ravines, domains, fortresses...

Former Northern noble lands dotted it like game pieces on a board.

Louis extended his hand, finger descending to the map’s heart.

"But who will I bet on?" he murmured softly.

Bradley swallowed hard, "You... bet on?"

Louis’s smile was subtle, eyes keen like a drawn dagger, "I bet on myself."

Not hubris, but the assured poise forged from endless triumphs and stratagems.

"If the Empire crumbles, let it crumble. What matters is forging the Northern Territory into an unbreakable iron bastion amid the storm."

His voice stayed level, yet every syllable hammered into Bradley’s soul like a spike.