mtlumby2d Chapter 833 - 453: Duke Calvin’s Last Letter
Chapter 833 - 453: Duke Calvin’s Last Letter
The early summer in the Northern Territory rarely shows any mildness.
The last layer of snow on the castle’s high windows is quietly melting, with droplets falling along the stone walls, reflecting a faint light in the sunlight.
Warm wind blows through the half-open long windows, carrying the scent of reviving moist soil, making one almost forget that this was once a frigid place where even breathing would frost.
The sunlight carries just the right touch of warmth, slanting across the giant oak long table in the center of the study.
Louis, however, has no mind to enjoy this comfort.
He stands by the wall, back to the window light, holding a pen in hand, his gaze fixed on the giant map hanging on the wall.
But not the Northern Territory, rather the Southeast Province and its surrounding regions, or rather, the Holy Eastern Empire.
The pen moves across the map, making a subtle rustling sound.
Main ports are circled, coastal grain distribution centers are marked with heavy lines, and several main inland rivers are repeatedly annotated.
Beside key nodes, he left symbols that outsiders would not understand, which are marching routes, supply transit points, and contingency plans in case the situation spirals out of control.
The heavy wooden door of the study suddenly opens.
The pen in Louis’s hand pauses mid-air.
Bradley walks in, his steps as steady as ever, but his expression is graver than usual.
Behind him follows a person fully wrapped in a dusty cloak, the hood pressed low, almost covering the entire face, looking like a vagrant lost on the plains.
Louis only glances up, easily penetrating the deliberately suppressed aura of the other.
High-tier Extraordinary Knight.
And severely wounded, Fighting Energy is on the verge of depletion, sustained solely by willpower.
Such a strong figure is enough to hold a city, yet at this moment stands in his study wearing a tattered cloak, hinting at instability even in posture.
Bradley steps aside slightly, whispering, "My Lord, the man is brought here, this is Nico. He is... one of old Duke Calvin’s most trusted personal guards."
The man beneath the cloak slowly lifts his head, removing the hood.
It’s a face thoroughly washed by wind and frost. Deep-set eyes, cracked lips, evidently long deprived of decent rest.
Even so, his gaze remains awake and alert, only unable to hide the deep weariness nearly drained.
Nico doesn’t utter a single unnecessary word, nor does he kneel in salute.
He merely retrieves an envelope from inside his garment with slightly trembling hands, handing it over.
"Master Louis..." His voice is hoarse, yet firm, "This is what the Duke wanted me to deliver to you."
Louis reaches out to take it.
It’s just an ordinary brown paper envelope, corners even slightly worn, without a family emblem, no wax seal, clean almost deliberately.
Because any extra mark could prevent it from ever reaching its destination.
Louis merely nods slightly at Nico, then briskly slashes open the envelope, pulling out the neatly folded letter paper inside.
The script is all too familiar, except it no longer conveys serenity.
Each letter is written with extraordinary force, strokes sharp and rough, many places directly piercing through the paper, ink spreading across fibers, leaving indelible marks.
Louis can almost imagine the scene when the letter was written.
Hand trembling uncontrollably, body too weak to sit long, yet forcing himself to complete it stroke by stroke, simply due to the letter’s importance.
The first line of the letter, without any pleasantries.
No greetings for Louis, no my son, not even a single unnecessary embellishment.
"By the time you read this line, I should have little time left, but I’ve planted a landmine for the Holy Eastern Empire
It won’t explode immediately, but not long after my death, the administrative center will first collapse, the Holy Certificates issued by the Church Court will become worthless within three days, the rice price in the capital will multiply dozens of times..."
Louis’s gaze pauses on those few lines, yet shows no surprise.
These conclusions are not unfamiliar to him.
Long ago, pieces of this picture were already assembled on his desk through fragmented reports from [Daily Intelligence]:
[Lampard and Duke Calvin forge an alliance. Agreement details: After Louis heads south, Lampard will be permitted to retain an offshore island as his fief, and will receive a third of the Calvin Clan’s wealth in a lump sum.]
[Sudden fire broke out at the Southeast Province Archives last night. Key documents, including nearly a decade of "Land Measurement Records", "Population Register", "Real Tax Source List", were all incinerated.]
[Due to declining health, Duke Calvin officially appoints his eldest son Seldon as "Regent", to fully manage family affairs and sign external treaties.]
[Vero Port sealed off at night, but confirmed a fleet secretly loaded gold coins, destination unknown.]
...
And this scattered intelligence, at this moment, is reconnected by this letter, deliberately created chaos by Duke Calvin.
"The Southeast Province now is a piece of meat smeared with poison.
The Church Court swallowed it, Seldon swallowed it, the Royal Family is drooling aside. Even if you do nothing, within ten days, they’ll slaughter each other because of uneven spoils.
Your task is not to enter the fray, but to wait, wait for their poison to take effect before landing."
Louis’s fingers silently tapped the desktop, Duke Calvin’s spoon-feeding manner wrote his advice intermittently, to feed to him.