Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 767 - 426: Turmoil on All Sides (Part 4)

"Old Calvin." He rarely used this address, "My entire existence, and that of your son, has been placed upon your shoulders."

The candlelight cast a gentle, flickering glow.

"Louis is securing the northern frontier, Eduardo is consolidating authority within the Holy City, and you, by my side, oversee the treasury, the aristocracy, and those allies teetering on the edge of betrayal."

Lampard paused, a hint of weariness touching his lips as he offered a faint smile.

"Do not allow me to fall. Should I fail, not a soul on this vessel will see another dawn, nor will the Calvin Clan endure."

Duke Calvin’s frame betrayed a subtle tremor.

He executed a bow, deeper and more respectful than his initial greeting.

The aged figure stooped nearly ninety degrees before extending a hand, performing a ritualistic and devoted kiss upon Lampard’s fingers.

"May the Emperor’s eternal glory shine ever brighter." His voice, though rough, resonated with unshakeable resolve. "The Calvin Clan pledges to secure that Triple Crown for you."

With his declaration made, the Duke turned, disappearing into the long, shadowed corridor that lay beyond the hidden chamber.

One by one, the candles behind him were extinguished, their flames succumbing to the encroaching darkness, which eventually consumed his shadow whole.

Within the confines of the secret room, Lampard stood alone.

He returned to the imposing map that dominated the space.

The Southeast territory, depicted as a meager fragment, remained confined to a corner.

Yet, in Lampard's vision, its borders were already shifting, expanding, and merging with others.

He could almost envision the solemn peal of bells from the Holy City.

Upon the pristine white throne, the newly appointed Pope would don the resplendent Triple Crown.

Empowered by that ultimate divine mandate, this Pope would launch a conquest from the Southeast, an unstoppable tide surging across the fractured Empire and the entire continent.

The ambient candlelight caught the gleam in Lampard’s eyes.

There was no trace of piety; only the unyielding ambition of an emperor.

...

By the time the Duke returned to his study, the night had deepened considerably.

There was no exultation of victory, nor even a simple sigh of relief.

Old Calvin, almost willing his body forward, slumped heavily into the chair behind his desk.

This particular obstacle seemed to have been cleared.

However, he understood with acute clarity that this was merely a temporary fix, a single nail precariously holding back an imminent collapse.

The entire endeavor rested upon a single, tenuous assumption.

Eduardo’s successful ascension to the white throne was paramount.

Should the bells of the Holy City fail to toll in the Calvin name, and should the papal crown adorn another’s head.

Then, all the hushed understandings forged that day within the prayer chamber would instantly become worthless parchment.

At that critical juncture, the Church Court would cast aside its veneer of piety, stripping Lampard of his divine shield. The Holy Eastern Empire would splinter instantaneously.

The ensuing conflict would escalate from a mere contest of factions into a catastrophic tempest of power that would consume all.

The world map lay unfurled across the desk.

His focus remained solely fixed upon the northern reaches.

The Gray Rock Province, starkly delineated in red, resembled a fresh, unhealed wound.

He then picked up his quill, and this time, his writing was deliberate and measured.

The familiar paternal admonishments and the counsel of elders were absent.

Every word was meticulously stripped of sentiment, leaving only the stark reality of political calculation.

"Since you’ve chosen the path of the lone wolf, ensure your gate is firmly guarded. I will shield you from the Church Court’s accusations of heretical trials. In turn, you will wield your blade to carve out a sanctuary for the family amidst the coming chaos..."

This was an accord of equals, a chillingly rational understanding.

Upon completing the final stroke, the Duke rested his quill and idly tapped his fingers against the wooden surface of the desk.

Once this missive was dispatched, the Calvin Clan’s final vestige of paternal affection would be irrevocably severed.

Yet, this was precisely the outcome Louis desired.

And it was the path his father ultimately recognized as the correct one.

The Duke rose and moved towards the window.

Beneath the velvet cloak of the night sky, the grand square before the Imperial Palace blazed with light.

On one side, the Golden Feather Flower Holy Emblem, a symbol of the Church Court’s judgment and absolution, was prominently displayed upon the city ramparts.

Opposite it, the royal banner of the Fifth Prince fluttered sharply in the nocturnal breeze.

Divine authority and regal power.

Two pennants, flying in proximity yet maintaining a wary distance, akin to twin blades drawn from their scabbards.

The Duke observed this tableau in silence, his gaze slowly deepening, becoming a complex tapestry of emotions.

The corners of his mouth curved into a subtle, self-deprecating smile.

"Gaius." His voice, faint as if addressed to the air itself, carried a hint of melancholy. "Possessing unparalleled talent, shouldering the hopes of all, thrust into the very vanguard.

Yet, you met a grievous end in the Nest battle, reduced to a mere husk. Buried alongside an era that concluded with the Emperor’s disappearance."

The Duke briefly closed his eyes, then reopened them, his focus shifting.

His gaze now settled upon a small landmass across the sea, situated in the southeastern quadrant of the map, marked conspicuously with the Church Court’s Golden Feather Flower insignia.

"And Eduardo. Dispatched to the land of the Church Court at an early age, a seemingly insignificant pawn."

"Yet he has ascended the sacred steps and is now called a saint. Just one more stride, and he can claim the Triple Crown, wielding divine might."

His gaze eventually drifted back to the north.

Settling upon Gray Rock Province, which bordered the Northern Territory, now painted crimson.

"And the eighth? Casually tossed into the Northern Territory back then, merely for a Northern Territory Expansion Order. Little did I know, I was nurturing a wolf ready to devour men."

Two vast provinces, an unbreakable legion. A name that inspires terror even without a crown."

A low chuckle escaped him, his eyes fixed on the two banners outside the window, his voice laced with quiet determination: "The Calvin Clan... shall endure forever."