Free Web NovelThe morning mist had not completely dispersed, and the windows of the Kite Tower Mansion(Iris Tower Residence) reflected its fleeting glow.
Eleanor Calvin sat before a mirror, quietly allowing her maid to comb her hair. Her formal gown was meticulously layered, and the golden buttons beneath the blue satin were perfectly aligned.
Her gaze fell upon a thin sheet of intelligence spread on one corner of the dressing table. With a mere blink, she silently recalled the seventeen secret reports delivered last night.
“The Ministry of Finance held a closed-door meeting last night; the topic is unknown.”
“The Regent has established new visitor procedures in the palace; even his personal knights require layers of approval to approach him.”
“The Censorate raided the Ninth Hall in the inner city and detained a knight formerly of the Herlan family; his identity is unknown.”
Eleanor did not frown; even the subtle rise and fall of her brow remained as calm as ever.
Only her posture was a little straighter than usual.
Half a year was not a short time; the situation was beginning to change.
Some people were getting restless, starting to make small moves.
But these probes were still clandestine, subtle, cautious, and not yet crossing the line—like a careful first step onto a frozen river.
It seemed the nobles of the Imperial Capital still retained basic patience.
After getting dressed, Eleanor, surrounded by guards, headed to the dining room, looking out the window.
A line of Swift Birds soared over the Imperial Capital, flying to various places; this sight had continued for half a year.
Upon arriving at the dining room, the delicately fragrant green tea was warm, and a maid gently placed toast spread with apricot jam before her.
Eleanor held the silver spoon, stirred it twice, but did not take a sip.
Her thoughts still flowed, like a slow but ceaseless undercurrent, quietly intertwining in her mind.
Today, the Dragon Throne Council reconvened.
The topic had been announced a week prior: the death of the Governor of the Northern Territory, Duke Edmund.
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Not out of shock, but out of mourning for an old adversary, an old ally.
How many nobles were there now who could wholeheartedly pledge loyalty to the Empire?
Edmund was one; he deserved the title'Shield of the Empire'.
He defended the Empire's northernmost city until his death, a pity.
What surprised her, however, was the young man who succeeded Edmund as the 'De Facto Ruler of the Northern Territory'—Louis Calvin.
Eleanor barely remembered this nephew before he went to the Northern Territory.
But now, barely in his early twenties, he had become the most powerful person on the Empire's northern frontier.
After Edmund's death, the power in the Northern Territory was almost seamlessly transferred to him.
Eleanor was never one to praise lightly, but this time, she couldn't help but sigh in her heart: “Indeed, the new waves push the old.”
The rewards from the last major battle had not yet been fully determined.
And her duty today was to secure his rightful share.
Not just the confirmation of the Red Tide Territory's status, but at least a promotion in noble rank.
This was a task her elder brother, the current head of the Calvin Family, had personally entrusted to her.
It was both for the family's strategic planning and to secure a coronet for Calvin's future leverage in the Northern Territory.
And his casually phrased instruction in the letter still echoed in her mind.
“If there's an opportunity, mention the matter of the noble rank—but don't try too hard.”
Eleanor's heart stirred with a subtle thought.
Her brother's attitude was becoming more and more interesting.
He wanted a piece of the Northern Territory pie but was unwilling to take any risks for it, not even truly binding himself to Louis.
His subtext was all too familiar: “It's best if we can get some benefits, but it's fine if we can't. We shouldn't invest real gold and silver in that frozen, cracked land.”
Was this because he didn't want Louis to stray too far from his control?
Or did he, from the start, not consider the Northern Territory a place worth long-term investment?
Her brother's thoughts were always hard to guess, and she didn't need to know them anyway.
Eleanor took her gloves and walked out of the residence with light steps. The wind this morning was still biting, and the edges of her cloak ruffled slightly.
The carriage passed through the morning mist in the center of the Imperial Capital and entered the Golden Staircase Avenue, lined with bronze knight statues. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
Beyond the carriage window, the majestic dome of the Yuchen Hall was faintly visible, like the back of a sleeping giant beast, silent and solemn. freewёbnoνel.com
Eleanor sat silently in the carriage, her face expressionless, but an imperceptible ripple of emotion flickered in her eyes.
Half a year ago, she had also gone to the Yuchen Hall, wrapped in a cloak symbolizing the Calvin Family.
At that time, His Majesty the Emperor personally presided over the meeting. Dragon's Blood incense filled the hall, and under the almost suffocating imperial pressure, no one dared to speak more than ten sentences.
Eleanor was merely a 'mouthpiece' then, simply reading out her brother's opinions. As for the outcome?
Naturally, the Emperor would decide.
Eleanor adjusted her gloves, a tired smile gracing her lips.
And now she could not only speak but even influence the direction of the meeting.
Truly acting as a representative of the Eight Great Families, engaging in fierce clashes with various other representatives.
The Emperor was gone, the old order loosened—
This was the stage for politicians.
The carriage stopped, and she slowly alighted, passing through layers of golden guards and banners, entering the Yuchen Hall amidst the echoing morning bells.
The Yuchen Hall was still as solemn and eternal as rumored.
This temple-like assembly hall, built with a massive stone dome, had gigantic alchemical chandeliers suspended above.
Blue flames still leaped from the center of the rings, having burned for a full 373 years without ever extinguishing, symbolizing the eternal will of the Empire.
The four walls of the hall were embedded with twelve ancestral emblems symbolizing the glory of the ancient Empire, from the shattered dragon shield of Dragon's Breath City to the crescent spear of Youfeng Ridge (Ghost Wind Ridge).
All were petrified memorials of millennia of bloodlines.
As she slowly took her seat, she scanned the emblems she knew all too well, feeling no reverence, only irony.
After all, now, most of these descendants of nobles, symbols of so-called order, had knives hidden in their sleeves.
Even the Eternal Flame could no longer suppress these restless ambitions.
And the Imperial Throne was empty.
More precisely, the 'Obsidian Imperial Throne', carved from a single piece of obsidian, was still there. It stood on the highest step of the hall,
like a god overlooking mortals.
But since Emperor Ernst August's disappearance, no one had dared to sit on it.
The First Prince, the nominal Regent of the Empire, now merely sat on a high chair in the center of the long table, his face pale, his breath weak, his gaze almost unfocused.
Eleanor gazed at him for a moment, and a recent secret report flashed in her mind: “Someone attempted to poison the Regent, unsuccessful. Specifics unknown.”
Seeing his current state, it was likely true. In just half a year, some people couldn't hold back; things were progressing faster than she had imagined.
Inside the grand hall, the scent of Dragon's Blood no longer permeated the air. That rich, noble, and powerful fragrance had, at some unknown point, completely dissipated.
In its place was an invisible, musty smell of power, the damp aura of various forces brewing.
Eleanor walked past the long table and took her seat at the Calvin Family's designated spot.
She did not immediately open the documents before her, nor did she nod to any acquaintances. She simply rested the back of her hand on her snow-white glove,
her gaze sweeping from left to right, over everyone present.
She was observing, and she was recalling.
Half a year ago, Eleanor had also sat at this table, even in the same position.
At that time, the Emperor was still present, and everyone was a hundred times more cautious than now.
And now?
Those who once 'only dared to lower their heads, stammering, and feigning deafness' before the Emperor were now sitting straighter and speaking louder than one another.
Especially those noble representatives from the Empire's western and southern territories, whose lands were far from the center.
Once cautious, they now had sharp eyes and beaming smiles.
In contrast, most of the once formidable representatives of the civil official faction now looked haggard, with deep eye bags.
Mace from the Censorate was an exception, still sitting as straight as an ice sculpture, as if nailed to his seat.
“The civil officials are being depleted, and the local powers are expanding.” This was Eleanor's clearest conclusion at the moment.
With the Emperor absent, the Yuchen Hall was no longer a stage of authority but a long table for carving up meat.
Some were eager to try, some held their ground, some feigned composure...
Eleanor's gaze swept over the Regent's seat; that frail figure was still trying to maintain his posture, as quiet as ever, yet as meaningless as ever.
“This isn't a Dragon Throne Council; it's a hunting ground for power.”
Eleanor picked up her warm teacup and took a light sip.
And was she not also a hunter?
Just then, a faint, almost imperceptible footsteps broke the tense silence among the nobles.
The Imperial Grand Steward, Lin Ze, emerged slowly from the shadows. His face was gaunt, his steps silent yet impossible to ignore.
Even with the Emperor missing for half a year, this old man still diligently fulfilled his duty as the mouthpiece of the Imperial Will.
Eleanor gently lowered her head, her gaze serene. She was not close to the Grand Steward, yet she could not but show respect.
This was a Privy Head who had served under three emperors without being replaced, rumored to be nearly two hundred years old.
Even now, with the Dragon Throne vacant and the Empire without a master, when Lin Ze unrolled the scroll of mithril-silk paper, the Yuchen Hall remained utterly silent until he began to read:
“Agenda Item One. Regarding the Governor of the Northern Territory, Duke Edmund, who succumbed to illness after being wounded in the ‘Buried Bone Canyon Battle,’ this is hereby confirmed.
His lifelong achievements, the stability of his administration, and his contributions to defending the Empire’s borders against barbarian disasters are hereby recognized with the Imperial Grand Order of Merit.
However, after his demise, there is a vacuum in the military and political leadership of the Northern Territory; the province currently lacks a successor, and arrangements for succession need to be deliberated.”
Around the long table of nobles, a silent rustling sound arose, as some nobles gently turned the official documents in their hands, or tried to conceal their agitated expressions.
“Agenda Item Two.” Lin Ze continued to read without waiting for the echo to fade:
“Regarding the achievements and rewards for the ‘Northern Territory Barbarian Disaster’ battle, the Imperial Capital's Commendation Office, the Ministry of Military Affairs, and the Censorate have submitted a consolidated review.
Awards will be evaluated based on military merit, stability, and logistical contributions.
Among them, the Northern Territory Independent Knight Order, the Imperial Knight Order, and other units performed exceptionally well and are included in the reward deliberation list.”
Lin Ze's tone was neither high nor low, as if he were merely dissecting a frozen corpse and reading its history.
Finally, he slowly rolled up the mithril paper scroll.
The meeting officially began.
At the beginning of the meeting, several border marquises successively proposed some innocuous suggestions:
Such as rebuilding the Northern Territory's postal system, erecting monuments for those who died in the Northern Territory, and providing limited tax exemptions for the Northern Territory.
Some were quickly passed, while others were shelved due to “requiring # Nоvеlight # further evaluation.”
The noble representatives behaved politely, their tones respectful, as if this were still an orderly and stable Empire.
The entire meeting proceeded in an uneventful atmosphere; no one proactively mentioned the vacant Governor position in the Northern Territory or the post-war power distribution.
This was the expected slow phase.
Eleanor Calvin sat quietly in a corner of the long table, her eyelids lowered, calmly waiting.
Suddenly, a calm yet measured voice broke the silence: “Lord Louis’s achievements and post-war contributions are evident. Should he not be awarded a medal and a noble rank commendation?”
All eyes turned to the speaker, Marquis Ashville, a moderate old noble from the Southwest Province, seemingly unrelated to the Calvin Family.
But at this moment, he was speaking for her.
A nearly imperceptible glimmer flashed in Eleanor's eyes.
This was the opening she had secured by personally visiting him in secret a few days prior, exchanging it for tax revenue from the Southeast ports.
And this was her primary objective for this trip.
To secure the title of Imperial Count for Louis, without involving him in the struggle for power.
After all, her nephew Louis was too young, barely in his early twenties, from a pioneering noble family. In just four years, he had risen from an unknown baron to the current de facto ruler of the Northern Territory.
If he were also given the title of Imperial Governor, it would only expose him to the envious and hateful gazes of everyone.
By not mentioning the forbidden word 'Governor,' and only using battle merits and noble rank promotion as an entry point,
in the Empire's current chaotic power structure, this was the furthest step she could take.
As long as this proposal was not rejected, even if no one seconded it, her mission would be half accomplished.
Above the Imperial steps, the Regent, the First Prince, leaned on the ebony armrest, his face pale, his eyes shadowed.
He was not a man who could make decisions, at least not now.
He merely tilted his head slightly and whispered a few questions to 'Royal Attendant' Lin Ge beside him.
Lin Ge leaned in, whispering into his ear. No one knew what he said.
A few breaths later, the Regent, holding onto the table's edge, struggled to his feet, his voice weak but still trying to maintain royal decorum: “Louis Calvin—for his valiant service in the Northern Territory campaign, is hereby granted the rank of Count.”
The hall was silent.
Then, a few faint claps of applause sounded, not enthusiastic, but no one objected either.
However, many nobles showed cold expressions, with hidden disdain in their eyes. “Count? Promoted again?”
“Only four years, and the shortcut for pioneering nobles is truly fast.”
“Hmph, just by defending a barbarian fortress, he gets a noble promotion—it seems troubled times are good for rising in rank.”
“But never mind the Northern Territory, that freezing cold place isn't worth a few coppers. Being a baron in the South might even be more comfortable than him.”
They laughed in their hearts.
They didn't object to Louis's promotion but expressed their contempt in a hundred ways; they had always looked down on noble titles in the Northern Territory.
Eleanor saw clearly, yet maintained her neutral observer's posture, merely nodding slightly, as if thanking His Majesty for his “benevolence.”
But she slowly breathed a sigh of relief in her heart.
Mission accomplished.
Though the position of Count was not that of Governor, it was a leap from provincial noble to Imperial enfeoffment.
Meaning Louis had legally acquired the authority for provincial transfers and military establishment qualifications.
The Calvin Family had placed this chess piece on the new board.
But just as she was about to calmly drink a sip of wine and celebrate this partial victory,
an abrupt voice interrupted her mood.
