Lord of Winter: Beginning with Daily Intelligence

Chapter 831 - 452: Deadly Transaction

The spiral stone stairs leading to the top of the clock tower were dark and long.

The stone walls, eroded by time and weather, were rough and uneven, while the candlelight flickered in the airflow, stretching and twisting the shadows.

Seldon Calvin ascended step by step, his expensive boots making a steady "tap, tap" sound, echoing repeatedly in the narrow space.

Thousands of steps, and his breathing did not falter.

Not just because of the physique of a knight, but also due to the adrenaline surging through him at this moment, overwhelming all fatigue and discomfort.

The stone steps extended upward layer by layer.

With each step he took, Seldon could clearly feel a psychological disorientation spreading from his feet, as if he were slowly being lifted off the ground.

Leaving behind the hesitation of old nobles, the indecision of paternal figures, those outdated yet still revered decency and promises.

The scene in the square replayed uncontrollably in his mind.

Flames rose, golden, foreign fire consuming the scaffolding, his father silent two streets away.

That silence, more glaring than any plea.

The old man, once known as the Southeast Fox, now dragged his tail in the dust, left with nothing but dull and futile caution.

This proved the decision he made two years ago was not wrong.

Seldon sneered inwardly.

That outdated aristocratic dignity would only drag the entire family into the fire together.

What the Southeast Province needed now was someone who understood calculation, a person to rebuild upon ruins.

A new master was needed.

He did not think he was bowing to the Church; quite the opposite, he saw it as a collaboration with well-calculated costs and returns.

Divine authority is ultimately hollow.

Taxes, grain, ports, warehouses, account books—these are what truly control the entire Holy Eastern Empire.

Bishop Salomon and his clerics are outsiders; without the Calvin Clan’s administrative network laid out over centuries, they couldn’t collect a single copper tax, couldn’t transport a single carriage of grain, let alone maintain the superficial order of the city.

If the Church wanted to take root here, they must borrow a hand familiar with the terrain, and that hand could only be him.

At the end of the stone steps, the heavy wooden door to the tower top stood quietly.

The thick door panel was carved with prayer texts long worn down, and the iron hinges showed an age-old dark color.

Seldon paused in front of the door.

He did not push the door immediately; instead, he leisurely tidied the family crest on his collar, ensuring it was impeccable.

He raised his hand again to smooth his hair, making certain it wasn’t disturbed by the draught.

Finally, he adjusted his expression in the empty air of the tower top.

He suppressed the despise and ambition lingering in his eyes deeper, replacing them with a shrewd, reliable, and appropriately respectful face.

Then, Seldon stretched out his hand and pushed open the door leading to the top of the clock tower.

The wind howled at the pinnacle, like some invisible beast hovering above the city.

Bishop Salomon stood at the edge of the clock tower without any railing, overlooking the colorful but darkly fluid capital of the Southeast Province.

Seldon stepped onto the tower top, the heavy wooden door closed behind him, shutting off the city’s clamor.

He stood a few steps away; the wind stretched his voice, yet it remained clear.

"Your Eminence, it seems the purification ritual was very successful." His gaze swept over the lingering smoke on the square below, "But to truly quiet this city, faith alone is not enough. Fear can make people kneel but cannot keep them obedient for long. Here, more worldly power is needed."

Salomon slowly turned around, his face adorned with the usual gentle smile, the curve of his mouth precise, like a pre-cut mask.

"God heals the soul," he said softly, "The world governs the body."

He looked at Seldon, nodding slightly as if assessing a chess piece that approached voluntarily: "Mr. Seldon, the Church always respects obedient partners."

Seldon walked a few steps forward, standing with Salomon at the edge of the clock tower: "Precisely why I came up here."

He didn’t beat around the bush, directly throwing out his bargaining chip: "As you said, my father’s body can no longer manage the current situation. But I am different. I can fully cooperate with the Church’s taxation system, assist in integrating the province’s accounts, and even..."

He paused, as if weighing the weight of his words.

"Allow half of the Calvin Clan’s monopoly on grain to be jointly managed by the Church."

Seldon turned his head, looking at Salomon, his gaze honest to the point of sincerity.

"I want the glory of Golden Feather Flower to bloom in every city, every port in the Southeast."

The sound of the wind darted between them, as if awaiting the next striking blow.

"Of course," Seldon shifted the topic, his tone becoming sharp and clear, "Cooperation needs a title."

"I want the Royal Family’s Duke Protector of the Realm title." He said the word without hesitation, "The Church must publicly crown me."

Then he added the second condition.

"There are still some stubborn people within the family." Seldon’s gaze cooled, "They are not devout enough to the crown, nor do they understand order. I currently lack sufficient troops to address these internal threats."

He looked at Salomon, his tone deep and direct.

"I need to borrow your Holy Hall Knight Order to help me clear the house."

The clock tower peak was momentarily silent.

Salomon did not immediately respond; his gray eyes fixated on Seldon, seemingly piercing through flesh and blood, weighing value.