Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 721 - 403: Death of the Regent King? (Part 2)

It was the Chief Steward Lin Ze, who had served three Emperors and was rumored to have lived for over two centuries as the head of the council.

He remained stooped, yet steady like an ancient tree.

Arens’ lips trembled, his voice fractured into breaths like the cold wind: "All of you, leave..."

The doctors turned pale, hurriedly retreating as if pardoned.

The heavy door slowly closed behind them, the vibrations echoing in the depths of the bedchamber.

In the end, the vast room was left with only two people—the dying Regent King, and the old man who had always stood in the deepest shadows of imperial power.

Arens could feel the cold seeping from his limbs, climbing to his chest like a tide.

Knowing he would not last the day, he mustered his final strength to grasp Lin Ze’s wrist.

The grip was feeble, yet it was like clutching a useless straw while drowning.

"Lin Ze..." Arens’ muddied pupils trembled slightly, "I tried my best... really... will Father... blame me..."

This was the most vulnerable question of a dying man, not a Regent King’s inquiry, but a son’s fear.

Lin Ze’s face showed no sorrow; it remained impassive as ever, as if nothing in the world could stir a ripple in his heart.

He lightly reversed his grip on Arens’ cold hand, leaning down to bring his timeworn face close to the Regent King’s left ear.

He whispered softly, words that did not seem like comfort.

Arens’ pupils, which had almost scattered, suddenly constricted to pinpoints, glaring hard at the old man who had raised him.

His frail chest heaved violently, emitting guttural sounds from his throat as if trying to shout something, but unable to form complete syllables.

Yet Lin Ze only looked back with those indifferent eyes.

Then, the seemingly hunched and emaciated old man gently lifted the Regent King’s body, his movements as tender as cradling a baby.

"Let’s go, young master Arens."

The next moment—boom!!

Lightning tore the night sky, white light slashed through the window into the bedchamber.

When the thunder subsided, the two in the chamber had vanished without a trace.

Only the candle flame continued to flicker, illuminating the empty bedchamber, as if nothing had ever existed.

......

Outside, the thunder roared, as if trying to tear a wound into the night sky, and the rain pounded the eaves, dense as war drums.

Yet inside the banquet hall of the Fourth Prince’s residence was an entirely different world.

The imperial orchestra sat in a corner, strings and flutes gracefully intertwining, performing elegant court suites.

The sound of the instruments firmly suppressed the fury of the thunder outside, creating an illusion, as if this space were completely isolated from the rest of the Imperial Capital.

The air was filled with the aroma of rare red tea, carrying a faint floral scent.

Lain disliked strong alcohol; in such settings, he preferred tea, which kept him sober and appeared more restrained and graceful.

The guests able to stand here tonight were themselves symbols of status.

At least a Count or a true Lord wielding organized military force was required to step into this banquet hall.

They were not wealthy from money alone but were those who could influence the lifeblood of a domain on the empire’s map.

Because of this, their demeanor carried a restrained yet unmistakable tension of ambition.

A few old aristocrats bowed slightly, as if preemptively currying favor with the future, their posture on the brink of obsequiousness.

Some from military families with broad shoulders and upright postures occasionally glanced at Lain.

They were accustomed to following the strong, and the current powerhouse in the Imperial Capital was evidently the Fourth Prince.

Duke Simmons stood at the center of the banquet hall, meticulously dressed for the evening.

The deep purple and gold embroidered tiger robe of his family draped over his shoulders, symbolic of the head of the Simmons family among the Eight Great Clans, worn only for truly significant events.

His face displayed uncontainable joy, like some release after years of repression.

After all, he had bet on the Fourth Prince not just for one or two years.

Now, the returns were finally arriving.

Simmons raised his teacup, his voice resonating with an unlikely vigor for an elder: "Gentlemen! Let us raise a toast to the new era approaching! To the new era led by His Highness the Fourth Prince! The Empire shall return to the path of reason!"

The surrounding civil servants and nobility nodded in agreement, their tones tinged with fervent adulation.

The entire banquet was like a warm and bright stage, where every noble conducted themselves with cautious displays of loyalty and anticipation.

From the look of it, this was nearly an early enthronement banquet.

Sitting at the main seat, Rhine held his cup of tea, speaking humbly: "Duke, you flatter me."

But in his eyes lay a clear delight, as if he had just heard a melody that resonated deeply with him.

Duke Simmons took a few cautious steps forward, though unable to hide his pride: "Your Highness, the succession documents for the Inspectorate are ready.

Once the bell tolls, those few hesitant among the Eight Great Clans... I’ve already given them a nudge. They know where to stand now."

The confidence in his tone came from successfully garnering much support for the Fourth Prince, marking the proudest political gamble of his life.

Rhine lifted his gaze slightly, a gentle encouragement in his eyes: "You’ve worked hard, Simmons. The future of the Empire will certainly have a very important place for you."

Duke Simmons felt a weight lift off his shoulders, and couldn’t help but chuckle softly: "To earn Lord Emperor’s trust is my honor."

Rhine’s fingers slightly tightened, and the teacup shook lightly but didn’t spill a drop.

He clearly relished that address.

A thunderclap boomed again, causing the window frames to tremble slightly, yet the heavy curtains kept it firmly outside.

In the banquet hall, glasses clinked, whispers continued, laughter and flattery intertwined.

The atmosphere seemed to tell every guest that the future power of the Empire was firmly in the hands of the Fourth Prince.

At that moment, a personal guard slipped silently through the side door.

His movements were ghostly quiet, disturbing none of the guests, as he moved through the candle shadows to Rhine’s side.

He leaned down and whispered, only audible to the Fourth Prince: "Your Highness, urgent news... The Second Prince’s and Fifth Prince’s residences are empty."

The weight of the news could have caused many nobles to lose composure on the spot, but Rhine’s hand didn’t so much as twitch, as he smoothly held his teacup.

This was within his expectations.

Prey sensing a crisis would naturally flee, yet the more urgent their flight, the more it indicated that the balance of control had fully tilted in his favor.

The guard shifted his feet nervously: "Your Highness... shouldn’t we seal the city gates and pursue them?"

Rhine lifted his teacup, taking a light sip. "Now that city defense is in my hands, they have no supplies, no soldiers. Even if they escape, what upheaval could they cause? Let them run, the farther the better, further cement the charge of absconding out of guilt."

The guard accepted the order and withdrew.

In less than ten minutes, the guard returned briskly, his demeanor visibly more frantic, his voice trembling as he approached Rhine.

Rhine smiled: "Caught the two mice?"

The guard struggled to speak: "Your Highness... no. It’s... the Regent King."

"Oh?" Rhine raised an eyebrow, "Out of breath?"

"No... gone." The guard swallowed, "Regent King Arens and Lord Chief Steward Linze... vanished into thin air in the sleeping chamber. When we entered, we only saw lingering flashes."

Rhine’s hand finally trembled, causing the teacup to lightly sway.

He stared at the guard to confirm: "Truly disappeared?"

The guard nodded.

Within the banquet hall, music continued as guests remained immersed in the bustling congratulations, unaware of the storm brewing at the throne’s edge.

Rhine suppressed the unexpected unease in his chest, quickly regaining his calm.

"The truth doesn’t matter," he reminded himself internally, "What matters is what everyone believes."

So he ordered quietly, speaking quickly but with clarity: "From now on, Regent King Arens died of illness ten minutes ago. Physicians and guards can testify."

The guard hesitated: "But... the body..."

"Find one," Rhine said coldly, "Just similar in build. Use alchemy potion on the face, make it unrecognizable, say the illness caused it to rot."

The guard’s pupils shrank: "Your, Your Highness, but this..."

Rhine looked up, repeating each word: "The Regent King died tonight, that’s the only truth. In the announcement in the next days, he must be a corpse lying in the coffin. You must accomplish this."

Though the last sentence wasn’t finished, the guard realized the consequences, turning pale, replying in a trembling voice: "Yes... I will make it happen."

As the guard hurriedly left, the guests at the banquet noticed the commotion.

Dozens of eyes simultaneously turned toward the main seat.

Rhine slowly stood, regaining composure, speaking in a voice filled with sorrow: "Everyone... I’ve just received word. Regent King Arens... has just passed away."