The night was deep, and a gentle breeze tapped at the window, but inside the study, only the candlelight flickered faintly.
Duke Calvin sat alone in a high-backed chair, his fingers turning through a thick stack of urgent military comndation reports from the Imperial Capital's Privy Council.
The edges of the parchnt still bore the scorch marks characteristic of rapid transmission, indicating the urgency of its delivery.
He calmly scanned the post-war summary, but his fingers paused slightly when he saw one piece of intelligence.
“Gaius Calvin, severely wounded in the battle of the Doomsday Mother Nest, with depleted battle qi and a disintegrated nervous system, has fallen into a long-term coma and is currently in a vegetative state, unable to awaken.”
For a long ti, only the ticking of the wall clock could be heard.
Duke Calvin lowered his head, his long fingers gently caressing the words “deep coma,” “consciousness sealed.”
His brows twitched slightly, but he showed no sign of losing composure.
He was not an old man who would weep in his study; he was one of the Eight Pillars of the Empire, the patriarch of the Calvin Family.
But his fingertips had unconsciously tightened, creasing a clear line into the edge of the letter.
He closed his eyes and whispered:
“...Gaius.”
His eldest son—Gaius, the family's pillar, who had been sent to the Imperial Capital as a hostage from a young age and had steadily advanced through the trials of the battlefield.
Gentle, steady, neither arrogant nor impatient.
And he was also a Peak Knight, the Deputy Commander of the Imperial Dragon Blood Legion.
He had originally thought this man would be the most reliable heir to the Calvin Family.
But now, he had fallen in the Northern Territory.
The lamplight gently swayed, as if the wind had stirred it.
He remained silent for a long ti, then suddenly spoke in a low, self-muttering voice: “Still alive—perhaps not unable to awaken—maybe it's temporary—”
His voice was very soft, carrying a forced calm.
He knew, of course, that such words were just excuses he was making for himself.
Duke Calvin sighed, slowly leaning back into the high-backed chair, his thumb rubbing the edge of the intelligence's wax seal, his thoughts swirling like a tide.
“A family's top combat power, just gone like that.”
A montary shadow flickered in his eyes, but it quickly returned to cold sternness; it wasn't a lack of emotion, but a refusal to let emotions ever dictate judgnt.
Gaius was too straightforward, without any thought of self-preservation; perhaps he wasn't suited to be the patriarch of the Calvin Family.
This was related to him being sent to the Imperial Capital as a hostage early on. If he had known he would beco a Peak Knight, he would have kept him by his side and personally nurtured him.
But thinking about that now was useless.
The Duke slowly exhaled, suppressing the chaotic emotions in his heart, and continued to unfold the next page of the secret letter.
“Viscount of Red Tide Territory, Louis Calvin, organized local military and civilians to defend the Snowpeak defense line to the death; led a team to break through the swarm's blockade and counter-support Frost Halberd City;
At the end of the battle, detonated the outer defense of the Doomsday Mother Nest, assisting in the destruction of the Mother Nest's core, achieving outstanding military rits, already reported to the Imperial Capital by Duke Edmund.”
He froze.
At first, he even thought a scribe had made a mistake with the na.
“Louis?”
That—his eighth son?
Before last year, he hadn't even rembered the child's na, nor had he ever intended to.
It wasn't until last year that the child had, step by step, achieved results.
He had established a foothold in the Northern Territory, taking in refugees, building strongholds, and even earning the Governor's trust.
To what extent was that trust? Edmund had married his daughter to him.
That was the first ti he truly acknowledged that “ignored eighth son.”
But even so, he had never held too high expectations for him.
To slowly expand the family's influence in the Northern Territory would already be considered a great service.
As for a large-scale battle that could influence a war like the “Doomsday Mother Nest”? He hadn't even considered it, but—
“At the end of the battle, detonated the outer defense of the Doomsday Mother Nest, assisting in the destruction of the Mother Nest's core—outstanding military rits, one of the greatest contributors to this battle.”
Duke Calvin's brows slowly furrowed: “How did he do it? The knights under his command should not have been sufficient to participate in a Annihilation War of this scale.”
Unbeknownst to him, Louis was no longer that neglected child, who could be casually sent to the Northern Territory to die.
He was one of the largest existing lords in the Northern Territory, a pillar of the Northern Territory's defense line, and a “ritorious official” nominated in the Imperial war reports.
Duke Calvin slowly leaned back into the high-backed chair, remaining silent for a long ti.
The candlelight trembled in his eyes, reflecting no emotion.
But his mind was already working rapidly.
He had to secure the best reward for Louis.
This was the iron rule of ancient noble families—if you were useless, they could discard you at any ti.
But if you demonstrated value, capable of bringing glory and benefit to the family, then they would spare no effort to support you, pave the way for you, sche for you, and offer all resources.
It was that cruel, and that realistic.
And this opportunity was also a big gamble.
The Northern Territory Empire was in the early stages of reconstruction; various Northern Territory families were riddled with holes, dozens of noble lines had ended, old power had collapsed, and a new order had yet to be established.
And he, Duke Calvin, happened to have a son there, who was also a ritorious official who had achieved great rits in the most crucial battle.
However, this great ritorious official was the kind of person the Emperor disliked the most:
Born into one of the Eight Great Families, with military rits, popular support, territory, and even married to Duke Edmund's daughter.
It could be said that Louis had accumulated all the labels the Emperor disliked.
Emperor Ernst August, that man as cold as iron, never trusted nobles, and even less so, birthright.
He had personally stripped dozens of hereditary vassals of their titles, just to break the old nobility's monopoly on power.
He could heavily reward a commoner officer, but he was extrely wary of a scion of a powerful family achieving military rits.
He hated any “deep-rooted” family descendant standing outside imperial power, forming their own influence.
Duke Calvin slowly tapped the armrest of his chair, his expression grim. If I directly requested a reward for Louis through a morial, it would only invite suspicion.
Not only would he gain no advantage, but that child would also be targeted.
He had to change his approach, to make the entire Empire believe: it wasn't the Calvin Family supporting Louis, but rather the Northern Territory that had produced a Louis.
He needed everyone, including the Emperor, to see a local hero who had climbed up on his own, who had carved out a world through desperate military achievents.
A ritorious official who would not shake the foundations of the Empire, a survivor representative who could just happen to stabilize the post-war frontier.
Suddenly, a thought flashed, and the Duke's eyes gradually brightened.
He slowly sat upright, his fingers lightly tapping the table, as if striking the rhythm of an upcoming power play.
If he could organize an entire set of political rhetoric, “pleading for the Northern Territory,” “speaking for the survivors.”
Even if it was just a carefully designed facade, it would be enough to push the internal imperial aid process for the Northern Territory.
As long as the direction was right, public opinion and court discussions would naturally propel him forward.
And compared to him personally “requesting” the Emperor, which would only make the Emperor wary of powerful families ddling with military rits:
The ideal scenario was for Duke Edmund, the Governor of the Northern Territory, to co forward, and for other families to petition, which would both align with imperial law and avoid his own suspicion.
His eyes flashed, and an idea was already forming in his mind: it would be best for the Governor of the Northern Territory to personally manage the awards and enfeoffnts.
Although in recent years His Majesty the Emperor had governed with an iron fist, severely cutting the power of the Eight Great Families, and was highly wary of all old nobles.
Only one person was an exception—Duke Edmund of the Northern Territory.
He was one of the Eight Great Families, but his position was as stable as a rock.
He had guarded the Northern Territory for over forty years, and his family had declined as a result, with even his only son dying on the battlefield for the Empire.
Military power, prestige, and imperial favor, he possessed all three.
He was almost the most “trusted” old general in the Empire today.
And if Duke Edmund were to spearhead the post-disaster reconstruction proposal, securing resources and political exemptions for survivors across the Northern Territory.
The Emperor would not only not reject it, but might even “agree with a high posture.”
This ant that the entire block of benefits would be pushed onto Duke Edmund's table.
And within this ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) “post-disaster aftermath” pie, Louis could at least get a large, most succulent, most central piece of the pie.
Because he was both Duke Edmund's son-in-law and one of the few local lords who had actually achieved military rits in this war and maintained the operation of his territory after the war.
His Red Tide Territory was currently the most complete, with a sound army structure, intact granaries, stable popular support, and a core of political power in the entire Northern Territory.
Far stronger than other half-ruined territories and garrison of broken walls.
All of this ant that no matter how the Empire chose to deal with the Northern Territory next, Louis had to be one of the considerations.
Duke Calvin's eyes were calm, but his mind was rapidly working, beginning to plan the details of the entire sche.
First, the Calvin Family must not co forward.
If he rashly acted to secure honor and territory for Louis, it would only alert the Emperor and the Auditing Departnt.
That cold-as-iron ruler of the Empire most feared noble descendants rising again through family influence.
He couldn't move, but Edmund could.
If Duke Edmund ca forward to request the establishnt of a post-disaster agency and the rewarding of ritorious individuals, it would be both reasonable and justifiable, and the Emperor would be happy to “go with the flow.”
“The more one stands against His Majesty begging for aid, the easier it is to have a sword drawn; but the more one stands at His Majesty's feet weeping, the easier it is to be rewarded.”
Calvin sneered inwardly, making up his mind to push the Edmund Family to the forefront.
The second step was to unite various nobles and weave a web of petitions.
He secretly identified several old families with stable relationships who could speak in the Imperial Council, intending to offer so peripheral territorial mining rights, procurent rights, supplies, gold, and other benefits in exchange for their endorsent.
To get them to support the Empire in establishing a “Northern Territory Post-Disaster Comndation Bill.”
Not for any single person, but for all survivors, all ritorious officials.
The main purpose of this bill would be:
To request the Emperor and the Imperial Council to grant post-war relief resources and enfeoffnt powers to the Northern Territory, and to establish a temporary autonomous body to stabilize the political situation.
The third part was to promote the establishnt of the “Northern Territory Post-Disaster Consultative Autonomy Group.”
This was the most crucial step.
The establishnt of this autonomous group, ostensibly to assist the Empire in “handling disaster areas, resettling the populace, and reorganizing remnants of the army,” was in fact a legal governing platform tailored for Louis.
The group would have Duke Edmund as its nominal leader, and Louis would naturally enter the standing committee as the “Red Tide Territory Representative.”
Titles were illusory; only the Red Tide Territory retaining its personnel, food, population, security, and knightly formations truly possessed “governing capability.”
The Empire only needed to “delegate autonomous governing power,” without spending a single soldier or coin. Who would object?
And this delegation itself implied a default authorization of legitimate power and resource allocation.
Throughout this entire process, Duke Calvin would remain completely hidden; he would not sign, not endorse, nor speak.
He only needed to invest so wealth and resources, allowing these proposals to naturally surface, with others speaking and others pushing them forward.
And his influence within the imperial aristocracy would subtly ensure these gears shed precisely.
What the Emperor would see was a vast post-disaster cooperation movent.
Not the rise of a new Calvin Family power in the Northern Territory.
With his thoughts settled, Duke Calvin slowly rose, walked to his desk, and pulled out several encrypted parchnt sheets.
He dipped his pen in ink, his handwriting as decisive and fluid as a blade, each stroke embodying calm deliberation and the calculation of family interests.
The first letter was to his sister, Calvin Eleanor, who was also the family's spokesperson in the Imperial Capital.
He instructed her on how to maneuver within the core council, laying out Louis's military rits while concealing any overly conspicuous brilliance.
The second letter was to Duke Edmund, his in-law. He used a tone of “overcoming crisis together,” with sincere words, expressing his full support for Edmund's reconstruction of the Northern Territory, and encouraging him to voice any demands.
The subsequent letters were addressed to several noble Councilors in the Imperial Capital court with whom he had close ties.
He did not directly request support for Louis, but rather, under the pretense of “Northern Territory co-prosperity,” “rits in aiding the populace,” and “reconstruction of the Imperial new order,” he urged them to support Duke Edmund.
He blotted the ink dry, then sealed each letter into black cylinders bearing the family's secret seal, using different grades of sealed bronze stamps.
A mont later, a butler quietly appeared and took the letters away.
Then he casually flipped back to the last page of the report, what he had initially thought was an unimportant post-war roster, but at the very bottom, he saw a small, inconspicuous line of text:
“...Pal Calvin, lost contact in the Doomsday Mother Nest combat zone, confird killed in action.”
His fingers paused, his gaze slightly sharpening.
“Pal?” He softly uttered the na, as if pulling out a dust-covered old tag from so distant, blurry corner.
After a mont of silence, his brows did not furrow, nor was there sadness in his eyes; he rely quickly sifted through the person's outline in his mind.
“Ah—it's him.”
“He was one of those I sent with the second exploration team last year. His mother was—Asta? No, or was it Marine?” He paused, ultimately failing to recall.
“Well, if I can't rember, it ans—he was never important.”
He gently set the letter down, his fingertips not even pressing hard, as if it were a piece of scrap paper.
Pal.
Another one who didn't survive the Northern Territory.
“If he's dead, then he's dead,” he said indifferently, as if rely confirming the settlent of an account.
Sons, he had plenty of them.
Those without value would sooner or later be eliminated by the gears of power, and those who could survive would naturally climb up.
This was the truth of the Calvin Family system.
Not everyone was worthy of the honor of the surna; those nad Calvin could also just be a disposable attempt.
He straightened his posture again and picked up new docunts.
The letter with its fading warmth was pressed to the very bottom, losing all sense of presence.
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