Winter Lord: Starting with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 454 Duke Calvin's Last Letter
The northern region in early summer rarely showed any signs of mildness.

On the windowsills of the upper floors of the castle, the last layer of snow was quietly melting, and water droplets dripped down the stone walls, refracting a faint light in the sunlight.

A warm breeze blew in through the half-open long window, carrying the scent of reviving damp earth, making one almost forget that this place was once a bitterly cold land where even breathing would freeze.

The sunlight, carrying just the right amount of warmth, slanted across the large oak table in the center of the study.

Louis, however, had no interest in enjoying this moment of comfort.

He stood by the wall, his back to the window light, a pen in his hand, his gaze fixed on the giant map hanging on the wall.

But not the northern border, but the southeastern province and its surrounding provinces, or the Holy Eastern Empire.

The pen moved across the map, making a soft scratching sound.

The major ports were marked out, the coastal grain distribution centers were marked with bold lines, and several major waterways running through the inland areas were repeatedly marked.

He left several symbols that outsiders couldn't understand next to key points; these were marching routes, supply depots, and alternative plans in case the situation got out of control.

The heavy wooden door to the study was suddenly pushed open.

Louis's pen stopped in mid-air.

Bradley walked in, his steps as steady as ever, but his expression was more solemn than usual.

Behind him followed a person completely wrapped in a gray cloak, the hood pulled low, almost obscuring his entire face, looking like a destitute refugee wandering the wasteland.

Louis merely glanced up and easily penetrated the other party's deliberately suppressed aura.

High-ranking extraordinary knight.

Moreover, he had suffered a severe injury and his fighting spirit was on the verge of exhaustion, relying entirely on his willpower to hold on.

Such a powerful figure was capable of holding down a city, yet at this moment he was wearing a tattered cloak and standing in his study, his posture even hinting at his unsteadiness.

Bradley stepped aside and whispered, "My lord, the man has been brought. This is Lord Nico. He is... one of the Duke Calvin's most trusted bodyguards."

The person under the cloak slowly raised their head and removed the hood.

It was a face thoroughly weathered by time. The eyes were sunken, and the lips were chapped, clearly indicating that it hadn't had a proper rest in a long time.

Even so, his gaze remained clear and alert, though he couldn't hide the deep exhaustion that had almost drained him dry.

Nico didn't say a word of nonsense, nor did he bow or kneel.

With slightly trembling hands, he took an envelope from his inner lining and handed it to him with both hands.

“Young Master Louis…” His voice was low and hoarse, but without hesitation, “This is what the Duke asked me to give you.”

Louis reached out and took it.

It was just an ordinary kraft paper envelope, with some wear on the edges. There was no family crest or sealing wax on it; it was so clean it was almost deliberate.

Because any extra markers could prevent it from ever reaching its destination.

Louis simply nodded slightly to Nico, then deftly opened the envelope and pulled out the neatly folded letter inside.

He was all too familiar with the handwriting, but it no longer carried the same ease.

Each letter was written with extraordinary force, the pen strokes were sharp and messy, and in many places the ink even tore through the paper, the ink spots spreading between the fibers, leaving indistinguishable marks.

Louis could almost picture the scene of writing the letter.

My hands were trembling uncontrollably, and my body was too weak to sit for long, yet I still forced myself to finish writing, stroke by stroke, simply because of the importance of this letter.

The first line of the letter contained no small talk.

There was no address to Louis, no address to my son, not even a single superfluous word.

"By the time you read this, I should be nearing the end of my life, but I have planted a time bomb for the Holy Eastern Empire."

It won't explode immediately, but shortly after my death, the administrative center will be paralyzed, the holy certificates issued by the Vatican will become worthless within three days, and the price of rice in the capital will increase dozens of times..."

Louis's gaze lingered on those lines for a moment, but he showed no surprise.

These conclusions were not unfamiliar to him.

Long ago, [Daily Intelligence] had already pieced together this picture piece by piece on his desk in a fragmented way:
Lampard and the Duke of Calvin have formed an alliance. The agreement stipulates that after Louis's southward journey, Lampard will be granted an offshore island as a fiefdom and will receive one-third of the Calvin family's estate in a lump sum.

A sudden fire broke out in the archives of the Southeast Province last night. Core documents, including records from the past decade such as the "Land Survey Records," "Population Registers," and "List of True Taxpayers," were completely destroyed.

Due to illness, the Duke of Calvin has formally appointed his eldest son, Seldon, as "Regent," granting him full authority over family affairs and the signing of foreign treaties.

[Virod Port was closed late at night, but it has been confirmed that a fleet of ships was secretly loading gold coins, their destination unknown.]

……

The scattered pieces of information were now being pieced together again by this letter, a deliberate attempt by Duke Calvin to create confusion.

"The Southeast Province is now a piece of fat meat coated with poison."

The Papacy swallowed it, Selton swallowed it, and the royal family was drooling over it. Even if you do nothing, within ten days they will be killing each other over the unequal distribution of the spoils.

What you need to do is not to rush in and fight, but to wait until they are poisoned before you land.

Louis tapped his fingers silently on the table. Duke Calvin was feeding him by writing down his suggestions intermittently.

"I burned all the tax registers, leaving only one copy in a black box. Without it, the Vatican is blind in the Southeast."

I've cut off the supply lines. Now, only you can save those millions of people.

Remember not to give them food immediately. Wait until they are starving to death, until the knights are only working for those two gold coins, then give them what they want. Make the people of the southeast understand that only you can give them your life…

Upon reading this, Louis's mind was already aligned with the deployment of troops heading south, the order of port takeover, the temporary grain price curve, and the security nodes.

He had already begun these preparations.

Even details that others might not notice, such as the early transfer of his sister, who was still in the southeastern province and shared the same parents, and her inclusion in the protection list, had already been completed.

In the middle section of the letter, the handwriting begins to show obvious changes.

The lines became unstable, some strokes were almost carved into the paper, and a few ink stains were abruptly blurred, like drops of blood.

"The family seal is in Nico's hands, as are the real tax ledgers and the keys to the overseas treasury..."

"From this moment forward, you are the head of the Calvin family..."

Louis looked up and glanced at Nico, who was still standing to the side, struggling to stay upright, then looked down and continued watching.

"Also, help me find out what happened to Eduardo."

As for the others... including Selton, those fools who leech off the family, if you find it troublesome, just get rid of them all..."

The letter was turned to the last page, and unexpectedly, the tone suddenly changed.

No longer displaying the cold calculations of a strategist, but rather a frankness bordering on dark humor.

"Finally, here's some advice from someone who's been there: have as many children as possible, marry as many women as you can, and have as many as you can."

Don't worry about feelings, and don't worry about how to cultivate them. If there are enough of them—twenty or thirty—you'll eventually get lucky and bump into a few monsters like you.

This is the Calvin family's ultimate survival secret: quantity triumphs over probability.

At the end of the letter, there was no extra farewell, only a signature—Calvin.

Louis closed the letter.

He thought of that absurd suggestion about "having more children" and finally let out a short, cold laugh.

In that man's logic, he was never a cherished son, but rather a lottery ticket that had won the jackpot. The previous twenty-odd failed bets.

Mediocre, useless, or exploited offspring are merely acceptable sunk costs.

If a "Louis" happens to come along in the end, the investment will be a complete success.

He wasn't angry; instead, he calmly accepted this assessment. "Since you treat me as a probability event, then I'll rightfully take the entire prize money."

When he reviewed the entire letter, what rose in his heart was not warmth, but an almost cold respect.

He praised his most obedient second son to death, abandoned the long-lost son of the pope and his eldest son, a top knight, and chewed up the blood and flesh of the family and the old order, all in order to hand over the last power to the most dangerous and most likely successor.

That wasn't fatherly love; it was a naked transfer of power.

Before old age and death approached, an old lion personally killed all the weak cubs.

But as a lord, Louis had to admit that this ruthlessness in sacrificing everything for victory was itself a force worthy of awe.

What the Duke left behind was not a will, but an admission ticket.

Louis reached out and took the heavy family ring from Nico, then put it on his finger.

From this moment on, he chose to devour this blood-stained feast.

The moment the metal ring fastened, a subtle, almost imperceptible change occurred in Louis's aura.

The cold restraint unique to the lords of the North and the ruthless scheming passed down through generations of the Calvin family silently merged at this moment, no longer repelling each other, like two perfectly fitted gears finally meshing together.

He turned around and calmly walked toward Nico, who was still kneeling on one knee.

After completing his mission, the last breath that had sustained Nico across the continent had completely dissipated.

His body swayed slightly, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. If he hadn't held on so tightly, he probably would have collapsed long ago.

The battle aura of a high-ranking extraordinary knight is dwindling, like a well about to dry up.

Louis stopped in front of him.

“Lord Nico,” his voice was low, but without a trace of condescending pity, “don’t rush to see the old duke.”

Nico's shoulders twitched slightly.

“He swallowed his anger in the letter,” Louis continued, “but I didn’t.”

He leaned down slightly, his gaze level with Nico's.

"Live well, keep your eyes open, and watch over him."

Watch as I crushed those bastards in the southeast inch by inch, and watch Calvin's flag be planted back on the walls of the capital.

Louis straightened up, his tone tightening as he resumed the cold, hard rhythm of a lord issuing orders.

"Take Lord Nico to the best guest room and use the highest-grade life-saving potion. Without my permission, Death cannot take him away."

The guard immediately responded and stepped forward to support Nico.

Just as Nico was about to bow and leave, Louis seemed to suddenly remember something and called out to him.

"By the way, Nico."

Louis walked to the window and pointed to the training ground outside Red Tide Castle.

Under the setting sun, the Red Tide Legion was conducting routine drills, their ranks perfectly aligned and their momentum overwhelming.

"Don't rush to leave tomorrow, it's the Red Tide Legion's military parade."

He didn't turn around, but simply said, "Since you are the Duke's most trusted knight, then you should keep an eye on things for him."

"Look at my wolf pack in the North. Compared to his Southeast Province back then, are their teeth hard enough?"

A long-lost glimmer of emotion finally appeared in Nico's cloudy eyes.

He was originally prepared to die, and only wanted to bring everything to the end.

But the phrase "to safeguard the Duke's interests" precisely struck at his last weakness.

Nico bowed his head deeply, his forehead almost touching the ground.

“Yes, sir…” After a brief pause, his voice was deep and clear, “Patriarch.”

The moment the title changed, power was finally transferred.

Louis's gaze lingered on Nico for a moment before shifting away.

However, only one calm and realistic thought flashed through his mind:

High-level extraordinary knights—resources of this caliber are extremely rare. It would be a waste to perish halfway through their journey.

After Nico left, the top-floor study returned to silence.

Bradley stood still, not speaking immediately.

The chief steward, who always managed all affairs of the Red Tide Territory perfectly, had his gaze fixed on Louis's left hand.

To be precise, it rests on that signet ring worn on the thumb.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and his lips trembled slightly uncontrollably.

As an old man who had served the Calvin family for thirty years, he knew this ring all too well.

Now that it has a new owner, it only means one thing...

That once arrogant Duke Calvin has probably reached the end of his life.

A sense of sorrow, like a belated tide, surged within my chest.

But when Bradley looked up and his gaze fell back on Louis, the sadness was overshadowed by another, more complex emotion.

The young lord before him possessed a demeanor that was even more composed and powerful than the old duke in his prime, whom he remembered.

Bradley suddenly realized that the child who had been considered superfluous back then.

The young master, who was sent to the North to fend for himself, has truly come to this.

The ring didn't choose the wrong person.

He opened his mouth, wanting to bow, but found his throat felt like it was blocked by something: "M-Master...the old master..."

The words had barely left his mouth when his voice involuntarily choked, and he was unable to finish the sentence.

Louis glanced at him, said nothing, and simply turned to the liquor cabinet, took out a bottle of spirits, and poured two glasses with practiced ease.

He handed one of the glasses to Bradley: "Don't look so sad, Bradley, the Duke isn't dead yet."

These words are not gentle, but they are more powerful than any comfort.

Bradley took a deep breath, took the glass, and nodded vigorously, forcefully suppressing the emotions that were about to overflow.

The atmosphere then calmed down.

Louis didn't give him much time to process his emotions. He naturally turned around and returned to the long oak table covered with maps and documents.

"How are the preparations for tomorrow's military parade going?" His tone had returned to the usual cold and stern one when a lord inquired about military affairs.

Bradley straightened his back almost reflexively.

“Everything is ready, sir.” His voice became clear and organized again. “The organization of each legion has been checked, equipment maintenance and drills are all completed. The logistics, medical and artisan departments are all on standby.”

Louis nodded, as if pondering something, and then suddenly said, "I have an idea."

Bradley paused, then instinctively looked up.

“Make a note of this,” Louis said calmly. “Add one more element to tomorrow’s parade…”

Bradley's eyes widened slightly.

(End of this chapter)