Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 723 - 404: Coronation Ceremony (Part 2)

A grim expression was plastered on Duke Diaz’s face as he donned the ornate robe of the Inspectorate. His family's ancestral privileges remained under the control of the Royal Family, compelling him to maintain a vigilant watch, regardless of political shifts.

The representative for the Holden family appeared as desiccated as wilted wood. Burdened by a substantial debt to the treasury, their only recourse was to endure this assembly, a symbolic representation of the Empire's might, lest they face utter ruin.

The Beres family's chosen delegate incessantly fiddled with his cuffs, his countenance etched with indecision. They were the quintessential opportunists, always aligning themselves with the prevailing power. This presence was dictated by the seemingly advantageous trajectory of the Fourth Prince's ascent.

An absence marked the Kadari Family’s representative. This lineage, once subjected to the former Emperor’s personal purge and deprived of their permanent standing within the Noble Council, had been temporarily reinstated solely to fulfill the eight-seat prerequisite for the Fourth Prince. Occupying the final position, they presented an outward facade of deference, a show of gratitude.

And then there were the three vacant chairs, stark reminders like somber tombstones.

Duke Calvin remained conspicuously silent, even recalling his proxy, Eleanor, from the Imperial Capital ahead of time.

Duke Raymond, a staunch pillar of the Second Prince’s faction, failed to make an appearance.

The Edmund Clan, despite its name echoing in the Northern Territory, was virtually defunct, with even Louis dispatching no envoy.

These empty seats, in themselves, constituted a blatant act of defiance.

Mei Si, the Director of the Inspectorate, stood at the head of the expansive table, adorned in a silver-adorned robe. In the absence of the Minister of Internal Affairs, the responsibility of officiating this significant ceremony had fallen upon him. Though his authority was temporary, his solemn presence carried immense weight.

His voice, sharp and resonant, cut through the hall's quietude:

"In consideration of the Regent King’s untimely demise, the nation cannot afford a lapse in leadership, not even for a day. It is hereby proposed to reinstate the Electoral Prince system, with His Highness, the Fourth Prince Rhine, assuming the role of the inaugural Imperial Guardian."

An uncomfortable hush enveloped the chamber.

Per ancestral tradition, such a critical decision demanded the unanimous consent of the Eight Great Clans; however, only five were presently accounted for.

No one uttered a word, each hesitant to be the first to break the charged silence.

Rhine, positioned on the dais, lifted his chin, his voice cutting like ice: "Silence implies consent." His gaze swept across the assembled figures below: "Absence signifies abstention."

He then turned his attention to the most amenable individual present: "Duke Simmons, what is the current tally?"

Simmons, radiating eagerness and impatience, raised the scepter that symbolized the nobility's decree, his voice booming with unwavering clarity:

"Five votes in favor! This constitutes more than a majority, and thus, it has passed!"

An attendant unfurled a scroll of parchment, its intricate gold patterns, indicative of the "New Imperial Charter," catching the flickering firelight and glimmering softly. This document contained revised statutes, personally drafted by Rhine.

Duke Simmons was the first to affix his signature, his hand trembling uncontrollably with exhilaration as his pen traced across the document.

Following him were Diaz, Holden, Beres, and Kadari.

With each name inscribed, Rhine’s smile deepened, a subtle yet undeniable augmentation.

Upon the secure placement of the fifth signature upon the parchment, he finally released a slow exhale.

He lifted a teacup, offering a delicate toast to the unseen tempest raging beyond the windows.

The gesture, outwardly serene, possessed the gravitas of his own coronation ceremony.

"Father... if you were here, you would surely scoff at me," he reflected internally, a trace of barely perceptible disdain coloring his thoughts.

"Yet, you never grasped that statecraft should possess elegance, not be a matter of flowers watered with blood."

He recalled his father’s actions in years past, the purges of numerous families, his methods brutal and direct, instilling widespread terror throughout the Empire.

"That was not governance," he mused, "merely a butcher's cleaver perpetually suspended overhead."

"And I shall not tread that path; true authority compels subjects to kneel willingly, not through coercion."

These words remained unspoken, yet they were imprinted upon his heart with a resolve stronger than any oath: no need for executioners, no necessity for bloodshed, no requirement to annihilate entire families.

Simply through established regulations, the legitimacy of written law, and a handful of signatures, he could orchestrate the Empire’s voluntary surrender of its power into his hands.

Tonight marked the inaugural step in this grand design.

Although the throne was not technically vacant, the true Emperor? He had been absent for so long, perhaps his return was an impossibility.

Should he indeed reappear, it would only be to grace Rhine’s coronation.

He gently set down his cup and turned, bestowing a refined and composed smile upon the attending civil servants: "Gentlemen, let us toast the dawn of a new order."

The assembly responded in unison, their voices echoing powerfully beneath the grand dome: "To His Majesty Rhine!"

......

Heavy rain cascaded into the valley, the downpour creating a cacophony akin to countless iron projectiles striking in unison.

Prince Kaelin, the second in line, arrived at this location with his remaining 800 devoted personal guards.

They had just managed to break through the encirclement from the western suburbs. Their armor bore the marks of countless blades, and many still had unbandaged wounds. Despite this, they gritted their teeth and pressed on, not a single soul letting out a groan.

As they passed through the final checkpoint and ventured deep into the valley, the scene that greeted them caused even Kaelin to gasp and hold his breath tight.

More than ten thousand soldiers, including Duke Raymond’s renowned Greyrock Cavalry and the 10th and 31st Border Legions, stood assembled in the pouring rain, their demeanor solemn.

Rain cascaded down their helmets, washing away the grime from their faces, yet they remained unmoving, like rows of unyielding iron pillars planted firmly in the midst of the storm.

Kaelin rode his horse slowly past these assembled knights.

Their eyes held no trace of confusion or hopeful expectation, but instead, a fierce, desperate glint of being cornered.

Months without adequate provisions had driven them to extreme measures. They had resorted to eating grass roots, boiling strips of leather for sustenance, and even butchering their own horses to survive.

This dire hardship had not broken them; instead, it had forged them, transforming them from mere men into something akin to wild beasts.

They required no mystical concoctions to control their will, nor solemn oaths to ensure their loyalty. Hatred itself served as their purest, most potent battle spirit.

Kaelin’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile.

"This is not an army," he murmured, a chilling satisfaction lacing his tone. "This is a wolf pack."

His gaze swept across the distance. "Rhine, that pedantic scholar, has driven the Empire's hounds to a state of maddened hunger... now, let him experience the sensation of being torn apart himself."

The moment Kaelin's words faded, Duke Raymond emerged from the driving rain, his cloak billowing dramatically around him.

Skipping any pleasantries, he simply raised a hand, issuing a silent command.

Instantly, hundreds of supply wagons, meticulously covered with thick oilcloth, were unveiled simultaneously by the waiting knights.

As the oilcloth coverings fell to the ground, a frenzied light flashed within the eyes of the knights standing stoically in the downpour.

These wagons contained no mystical artifacts emitting arcane glows, nor any ostentatious ceremonial decorations. They held only the most fundamental and potent source of morale for an army:

—Stunning chests filled with Imperial Gold Coins, their blazing surfaces reflecting the torchlight.

Raymond, adopting the posture of a magnanimous benefactor, tilted his chin slightly upward. His voice was calm, carrying an almost dismissive tone:

"Your Highness, Rhine believes that by withholding the treasury, he can compel your surrender." He gestured towards the rows of supply wagons. "However, he seems to have forgotten that a fortune accumulated over 300 years by the Raymond family cannot be obstructed by such trivial courtly schemes."

He raised his hand, as if to command the very rain to cease. "These... are more than sufficient for this army to overturn every single flagstone within the Imperial Capital."

Kaelin remained silent for a beat, then deliberately stepped onto a platform exposed to the relentless rain. His armor gleamed brilliantly under the intermittent flashes of lightning.

He drew his sword, the very symbol of imperial authority. Its blade sliced through the rain-laden air with a cold, sharp arc.

For a fleeting instant, the drumming sound of the rain seemed to be swallowed by the blade's passage.

Kaelin's voice boomed, empowered by an innate arrogance befitting royal blood: "Knights!"

He pointed his sword outward, in the direction beyond Greyrock Valley. "I am aware of your hunger—! I also know you have suffered grave injustices!"

The knights' eyes appeared to glow a fierce red under the flashes of lightning.

Kaelin's voice suddenly lowered, yet it carried a chilling intensity far more profound than any roar:

"Rhine! That craven hiding within the Imperial Hall, content with merely playing with ink!

He poisoned the Regent King! He severed your supply lines! He treated the Empire's valiant heroes as mere beggars!"

A clap of thunder echoed, lending a cold, sharp edge to his denunciation.

He raised his longsword high, its gleaming tip aimed directly at the dark, stormy sky.

"I do not demand your adherence to rules; I desire only one outcome from you." He enunciated each word with precision, his voice resonating like the striking of tempered steel. "March into the city, reclaim what is rightfully yours! Reclaim your lost glory!"

The wind whipped the rain into a frenzy, driving it towards the assembly.

In the very next moment, a brilliant flash of lightning split the night sky, perfectly illuminating Kaelin’s profile. He stood as resolute and stern as forged iron.

He bellowed: "Within two days, I want to be drinking Rhine's blood within the halls of the Imperial Palace! And you shall be drinking fine wine along Victory Avenue!!"

With a sudden, decisive motion, he swung the Sword of Punishment downwards, its heavy blade striking a nearby rock with a resounding thud.

"Troops—move out!!"

The response was not an eruption of chaotic cheers, but rather the synchronized, metallic rasp of thousands of weapons being drawn from their scabbards.

The sound was deep, resonant, and carried a chilling coldness, akin to a colossal beast awakening from slumber in the torrential downpour, baring its fearsome fangs.

Kaelin tilted his chin upward slightly, his chest heaving with a fierce, triumphant satisfaction.

The hunters commenced their silent, nocturnal march into the heart of the city.