Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence Chapter 772 - 428: New Intelligence (2)

Certain items, when utilized effectively, possess the capability to directly influence an entire operational chain.

This particular piece of intelligence falls precisely into that category; it has the potential to be transmuted directly into fortifications and pathways.

[3: Eduardo Calvin has been entirely ensnared by the Golden Thorn Feather Crown, entering a state of irreversible synchronization on the consciousness level, destined to serve as its successor execution vessel.]

Louis's fingers momentarily halted their movement.

He fixated on the inscription, letting out a slow breath after two deliberate inhalations.

Eduardo.

The initial thought that surfaced in his mind wasn't related to his family's intricate chess games or the authority wielded by the Imperial Capital.

Instead, it conjured an image of someone with whom he felt a profound sense of comfort and ease.

From their very first encounter, the impression Eduardo left on Louis was exceptionally positive.

Outwardly, he appeared gentle, his speech soft, yet he invariably maintained a perfect grasp of propriety and measure.

Furthermore, during the investigation within the Nest, Eduardo had opted to reveal his capabilities. It was precisely at that juncture that Louis had definitively concluded this was an individual of principle, someone prepared to embrace risk for the benefit of others.

Yet, now, this very person had been chosen, reduced to a mere puppet, leaving Louis's heart in a state of considerable turmoil.

Regarding the Golden Thorn Feather Crown itself, Louis was largely unfamiliar with it; this was the first instance he had encountered such an item within the Daily Intelligence System.

Nevertheless, even from this limited intelligence, he could infer certain crucial details.

That crown clearly wasn't merely a symbol; its wearer would have their personal will supplanted and their judgment obscured, leaving them with only the capacity for execution.

The Pope stands as one of the most formidable figures on the continent, arguably ranking among the most powerful beings in existence.

If even such an individual could only exist as a mere instrument, then the entity orchestrating these events must wield authority far exceeding that of the Empire and the Church Court.

This apprehension sent a shiver of ice down Louis's spine.

He traced the implications of this revelation backward, formulating a hypothesis that caused him to break out in a cold sweat.

The Nest, the Burning Pain Vine Court, the draconic relics...

It was plausible that this Golden Thorn Feather Crown shared a common origin with these other enigmatic entities.

Though they manifested in varied forms and served distinct functions, all were dispersed across the continent, united by a singular characteristic: the capacity to harbor, amplify, and transmit specific wills.

Over many years, he had meticulously perused countless historical volumes, ranging from the foundational records of the Empire to clandestine manuscripts of various religious orders, even including texts once deemed apocryphal and compilations of folklore. Yet, he had never unearthed any records pertaining to these phenomena or the residual memory fragments they had imprinted upon him.

It appeared as though they had been deliberately expunged from history, or perhaps they originated in an epoch that predates recorded time.

It's possible a critical void exists here, a segment of history utterly forgotten by the collective memory of the world.

And the Primordial Heart residing within him might very well be an artifact of the same origin, potentially even its central component.

This realization imbued Louis with a rare sense of helplessness.

He desired to investigate further but lacked any concrete starting point; for the present, his sole recourse was to depend on the Daily Intelligence System.

'Grant me some strength, System Father...'

Louis remained in silent contemplation for a brief period, ultimately committing two lines to the intelligence ledger – the only tangible action he could take at that moment.

"Deploy two disguised merchant vessels to infiltrate the Golden Feather Flower port. Institute three tiers of observation: the docks, the academy, and the grain market. Concentrate solely on investigating anomalies; avoid any direct pursuit of the core objective."

He closed the book, and the interface dissolved, leaving behind only the stark chill emanating from the unlit stove in the room.

A faint, almost imperceptible intake of breath sounded from behind him.

Sif had awakened. She didn't immediately sit up but instead buried her face further into the pillow, her voice carrying a slight huskiness: "You were standing by the window for quite some time just now."

"Just contemplating a few matters," Louis replied, cinching his outer robe tighter and glancing back at her.

Sif opened her eyes, her gaze still somewhat clouded with sleep, yet she spoke with clarity: "There's a mobilization assembly scheduled for this morning. The troops stationed in the Black Iron territory, the workshop brigades, and the recently formed provincial night watch units will all be in attendance. Don't forget."

Louis allowed a small smirk to play on his lips: "As if I could possibly forget something like that?"

"You would," Sif countered, tilting her head to the side, her tone laced with deliberate certainty. "And typically right after I've reminded you. I can't fathom what occupies your mind."

Louis raised an eyebrow in playful challenge: "That implies your reminder lacks sufficient formality."

Sif emitted a soft snort, though a subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. "I see. Then, next time, I shall ensure I remind you several times over."

"That won't be necessary," Louis chuckled, moving back towards the bedside. He reached out to gently tuck a stray strand of white hair behind her ear. "If you were constantly watching over me, I'd find it harder to sleep peacefully."

Sif looked up at him, her gaze now sharp and clear: "Then make an effort to remember better."

She sat up, drawing the blanket up to her shoulders, her tone shifting to a more businesslike register, though a lingering warmth remained. "That's precisely why I came with you – to prevent you from over-scheduling yourself."

The sound of approaching footsteps intensified outside the room.

A horn sounded faintly in the distance, a brief call that seemed to signal the city's awareness of the approaching dawn.

Having Sif arrive the previous day meant Louis enjoyed a slightly later start this morning. With pressing matters awaiting him, his usual morning cultivation rest would have to be foregone for the day.

Louis fastened his sword belt and stepped out of his room.

......

Outside the Black Iron Castle entrance as morning broke, a chilling wind gusted up from the stone steps, prompting many to pull their collars tighter.

Yet, the throng gathered at the gate buzzed like a boiling kettle, radiating intense heat.

Over five hundred officials were already in line, awaiting entry.

Pete adjusted the collar of his deep blue Red Tide uniform, finding himself nudged forward by the dense crowd.

The uniform's inner lining was already slick with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his back, but there was no time to dwell on such discomforts.

The surrounding chatter consisted of familiar dialects.

It was the Northern Territory dialect, spoken with a rapid pace and resolute tones.

These were all low-ranking cadres selected from within the Red Tide system.

Across from them, more than two hundred individuals sported thick, brightly colored outer robes, creating a striking contrast to the somber Red Tide uniforms.

They stood rigidly, though a palpable tension emanated from their expressions as their eyes darted about.

These were veteran bureaucrats from the former Black Iron Province, retained temporarily for their experience following an initial vetting process.

Pete cast a brief, dismissive glance their way; they might be colleagues for now, but he knew they would eventually be phased out.

Gray Rock Province was essentially a massive refugee camp, barely held together. Food, shelter, medical care, and maintaining order were all monumental challenges, any one of which could overwhelm the system.

Only capable executors, able to manage the situation amidst resource scarcity and personnel disarray, were needed – the very reason Louis continuously dispatched personnel there.

Pete, who had endured the rigorous selection process.

He had undertaken the most thankless and easily criticized tasks, forcefully keeping death rates in the collapsing Northern Territory to single digits.

When his transfer order arrived, he read it over several times.

A promotion in rank, a doubling of his salary.

More significantly, the reason for the appointment column bore the distinct signature of Louis Calvin.

This was the true source of Pete's elation.

Being recognized by Lord Louis meant his efforts were genuinely seen and his work ethic approved.

The strenuous work he had undertaken was not in vain.

The crowd shuffled forward, and Pete moved with them into the hall.

This grand space had once hosted the Count's balls. Its ceiling soared high, and a crystal chandelier still hung in the center, though its lights were not fully illuminated.

To accommodate nearly six hundred attendees, all the sofas, tea tables, and decorative side tables had been removed, replaced by tightly packed rows of wooden folding chairs.

The chairs were arranged side by side, occupants pressed close together.

Despite the chilly weather, the collective exhalations of hundreds of people quickly made the air close and heavy.

Pete felt his uniform collar grow damp with sweat, yet he maintained his upright posture.

He located his seat in the second row, slightly to the side.

As he sat, a strong, peculiar odor assailed his senses.

It was a mix of perfume and sweat.

Pete turned his head, observing an official from the old Black Iron Province, a man past his prime and looking rather sickly. The man's fingers were restlessly twisting his sleeve.

It was evident the individual was unaccustomed to such a gathering, his gaze nervously flitting towards the backs of the Red Tide officials seated in the front rows, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.

"A group of lunatics..." The man's lips moved, but no sound emerged.

Pete noticed his silent muttering but offered no reaction. He simply retrieved a charcoal pencil and a slim, hardbound booklet from his pocket, opening it on his lap.

Lacking even a small table for writing, he had to use his leg as a makeshift support for his notes.

He had encountered many individuals like this before; in these new situations, they often brought their own baggage, some of which could be shed, while others were bound to be discarded.

The previously pervasive murmuring within the hall abruptly ceased.

It was as if an unseen pressure had fallen upon them.

Pete instinctively looked up.

A figure had appeared at the doorway. Louis had arrived.

No formal announcement was made, yet the entire hall fell into absolute silence.