Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 698 - 394: The Chessmaster (Part 2)

"In moments such as these, we cannot let ourselves become pawns in others' schemes. We must unite every noble house in the Northern Territory, every armed force, and every ounce of production capacity."

Bradley gazed at him in stunned silence.

Louis pressed on, "Not merely to weather the coming tempest, but to... push even beyond."

Bradley abruptly lifted his head, and in that instant, he caught a glimpse of a nascent Empire's silhouette gradually taking shape within Louis' gaze.

This wasn't mere ambition—it was the destiny thrust upon him by the tides of the age.

"Incidentally," Louis inquired abruptly, "how go the arrangements for the Northern Territory reconstruction conference?"

Bradley snapped back to the present: "All proceeds exactly as you ordered. The venue is Frost Halberd City, scheduled for autumn."

Frost Halberd City, once the ancient capital of the Northern Territory, its political heart and emblem of the spirit.

The city reduced to charred ruins by the flames of war from the Nest and the Barbarian Race had been silently restored under Louis' direction.

A chill gleam flashed in Louis' eyes: "The stated purpose of this gathering stays as reconstruction, yet the true aim is to consolidate military authority."

"I intend to overhaul every armed force across the Northern Territory, folding them into a single command structure."

His hand swept across the territories held by Raymond and the positions of the Imperial Northern Army on the map, his fingertip ultimately resting upon Red Tide City.

"Does Father expect me to keep the Northern Army in check?" Louis scoffed, "No, he misjudges me gravely."

"A real master... never follows another's script."

......

Gray Stone Fortress.

Icy gales battered the Iron Wall, echoing like a savage beast clawing at the entrance from beyond.

Gray Stone Fortress loomed astride the divide between north and south, akin to a massive iron barrier, splitting the entire Northern Territory in twain.

Torches lined the corridor every five meters, their flames flickering wildly against the chill winds, casting eerie glows on the desiccated heads of Magical Beasts mounted on the walls—trophies that doubled as grim portents.

Within the chamber, the hearth's flames danced restlessly.

Ackman Greer occupied the head of the table, his burly frame evoking the image of a towering grizzly bear on its haunches.

Though seated with nonchalance, his presence compressed the room's atmosphere, exuding the formidable aura honed from long years as Legion commander.

Fernan, vice commander of the Fourteenth Legion, and Soros, head of the Seventh Legion, flanked him on both sides—loyal aides dispatched by their superiors to stand in for them at this critical frontier summit.

Right then, the pair perched next to Ackman, sweat drenching their collars, too wary to unfasten even a single button.

Fernan's voice carried a tremor as he spoke: "Lord Greer, we had a deal—as per the pact with the Second Prince's envoy, Sorel—we just keep our eyes averted and stay nobly mute on Northern Territory matters.

Why call us here now to talk joint defenses? Such actions... will look like we're crossing lines."

Ackman held his silence at first.

He filled a goblet with potent spirits, illicitly brought over the Jade frontier at exorbitant cost.

After a swallow, a rasping chuckle escaped him.

"The Second Prince's offer to me was nothing but a vineyard in Valencia Valley and a Viscount's rank." Ackman derided, "He aims to turn me into a pampered watchdog lion—bet he dangled the same scraps before you?"

Fernan's forehead creased further, as he faltered: "However..."

"Listen up—right now," Ackman crashed the goblet down, liquor sloshing out, "the Regent King lies on his deathbed."

The officers inhaled sharply.

Ackman went on: "When turmoil erupts in the Imperial Capital, the Princes will rip into one another like ravenous wolves. Should the Second Prince fall, us border legions become the initial sacrifices."

His tone dropped, ambition sparking in his stare: "But imagine riding the storm's opposite wave? Imagine me as North Governor, commanding the Empire's toughest steel and richest coal reserves...?

Whoever claims the throne next must bestow a hereditary Dukedom upon me—and naturally, your rewards will flow abundantly too."

Soros moistened his parched lips: "Lord... are you truly set on devouring the Northern Territory?"

Ackman rose, strode to the map, and jabbed his finger hard onto Frost Halberd City: "Wake up and look! Since the clashes at the Nest and Bone Burial Wasteland, the Edmund Clan teeters on extinction! Of the North's famed Knight Orders, nine in ten have vanished!"

A scornful smirk appeared on his face: "As for that Louis? Just a mere youth. Don’t let his showy maneuvers deceive you—the real powerhouses of the Northern Territory fell in the Nest and to the Barbarian Race."

Ackman spread a parchment across the table, uncovering a document labeled "Draft of Northern Territory Joint Defense."

But concealed within lay a chillingly precise plan for carving up the territory.

The Seventeenth Legion would seize every pass and tax collection across the Northern Territory, essentially throttling the region’s vital lifeline.

The Fourteenth Legion would claim the western black iron mines, securing a reliable supply of arms and gear.

The Seventh Legion would grip the eastern plains and trade paths, commanding the Northern Territory’s wealthiest and most prosperous commercial artery.

Soros’s breathing quickened: "This is... slicing up the Northern Territory?"

Ackman’s laugh cut like a dagger: "Leave Louis his one key city, let him keep playing the magnate. Ignore him—as long as he dutifully rakes in the gold, we won’t bother him."

He paused, then drew his hand sharply across his throat: "If he won’t comply... choose a more pliable successor."

Fernan’s face tightened slightly: "I lack the power to ink a military pact; the legion commander must handle these decisions himself."

Colonel Fernan and Leader Soros traded knowing looks, both clear on the reason for their covert huddle amid this raging blizzard night.

As the legion commanders’ most faithful ears, they needed to carry back every word from this evening unaltered, letting the commanders gauge the shifting tides.

Ackman, fully anticipating this, offered a fresh parchment scroll: "No formal treaty needed—just a simple meeting record."