In the Kingdom of Nord, warmth graced the land for only three months each year. The rest of the time, it seemed perpetually shrouded in snowstorms and bitter cold. Winters here were so frigid that while the Dawn God could bring the morning light, he could not bring warmth. Followers of the Agricultural Goddess tirelessly sought ways to plant cold-resistant crops like wheat, barley, and rapeseed in the fertile yet perpetually frozen soil. The single annual harvest barely sufficed to meet the kingdom’s food needs.
Night fell over Wulan Town in the northern reaches of Nord. It was the heart of winter once again, and the sky, as usual, was blanketed with heavy snowfall. Thick layers of snow covered the roofs of every household and the roads alike. The town was eerily silent, with only the dark smoke rising from chimneys breaking the stillness. The stars above provided faint light, but the snow buried everything beneath its icy shroud.
During this season, the sun set early. After dark, the faster one returned to town, the safer they were; the slower, the greater the danger. The wilderness after sunset was fraught with peril—bandits, beastmen, marauding northern barbarians, and even the terrifying greenskins or the undead were known to appear. The townsfolk rarely ventured out at this time, finding solace only behind their doors and by their warm hearths.
The world outside was a monochrome landscape of white. Except for the occasional patrol of guards, the town was plunged into darkness, resembling a ghost town. The howling winter wind swept through, and snowflakes danced in the air. In this coldest season, the townsfolk could only huddle in their homes, longing for the arrival of spring.
A pair of black leather boots crunched on the snow-covered steps at the town gate. A man clad entirely in black leather appeared, wearing a triangular leather hat pulled low, its brim dusted with snow. He was tall and imposing, with a single-handed sword adorned with gold and silver patterns strapped to his back. In his hand, he carried a golden warhammer, its handle as long as half a man’s height, with a spiral spike at the base that gleamed coldly.
The man’s face was handsome, always wearing a smile, resembling a priest. Yet, the faint stubble around his mouth suggested he was no older than twenty-five. The bloodstains on his chainmail and the sharpness in his eyes made it clear he was no ordinary priest.
After glancing around and finding no footprints in the snow-covered dirt road, he sighed softly. Spotting a sentry at the gate, he approached and asked casually, “Excuse me, have you seen a man in a tall round hat, a cloak, outdated long trousers, and black leather boots, with a pale complexion, in the past two days?”
The guard was initially reluctant to answer, but the man gently opened his cloak to reveal a silver wolf-head badge on his chest.
“My apologies! My mistake, Sir Knight!” The guard instinctively straightened and saluted upon seeing the badge. “Three days ago, such a man did pass through! He called himself Mr. Butte, a friend of the lord, so we let him in. He left yesterday morning, heading southwest!”
“Mr. Butte? Hmm, let me think. Three days ago, a stranger must have ridden into town on horseback…” The man chuckled, gesturing in a way that made the guard uneasy. “Then our loyal guards approached to inquire, but the traveler pulled out a few silver coins, handed them to our loyal guards, indicating he wished to remain anonymous. Our loyal guards, sensing the traveler’s sincerity—no, Mr. Butte’s sincerity—let him in, right?”
In the freezing cold, the guard’s forehead broke into a sweat, which quickly turned to ice. He stammered softly, “Sir Knight, please forgive us. We must have been bewitched by evil spirits at that moment! I’m willing to hand over the money. Please, I beg for your mercy!”
The man seemed displeased, exhaling a puff of white mist before waving his hand. “Forget it. Let me into the town.”
“Yes, yes! Thank you so much!” The guard, as if granted a pardon, hurriedly opened the gate. The wooden gate creaked open on its simple wooden hinges, and the man led his horse into the town, leaving the guard behind, still shaken.
It was only six in the evening, a time when townsfolk would usually be active. But in Nord, the sun had set as early as three, so the man walked alone through the streets, pondering the events of his journey.
“The soldiers’ pay ensures they don’t starve, but it doesn’t allow for a comfortable life. Accepting bribes in situations that don’t violate orders is understandable. Mr. Belter is indeed clever. As a seasoned monster hunter, he understands human nature. A few silver coins have helped him avoid much trouble along the way. But this makes my job harder.” The man looked up at the bright moon in the sky and muttered, “Heading southwest—is Mr. Belter planning to reach the port?”
“Regardless, it’s best to find lodging for now. The wilderness at night is too dangerous.” After a moment of thought, the man decided to seek shelter.
Stay for a day or two, then meet up with that woman from the Garland Council.
Nord was a desolate and remote place, but even the smallest towns with human settlements had inns. The man quickly found one—a two-story building with about a dozen rooms.
The inn, as always, was open to all townsfolk, its sturdy wooden door welcoming.
Inside, the inn was like a lively party. Wooden tables and chairs were scattered haphazardly, and people were engrossed in conversation, drinking barley ale. The innkeeper and his wife bustled behind the bar, serving food and ale. The hearth blazed warmly, and a pot of thick stew simmered in the oven, its aroma filling the air.
The contrast between the cold outside and the warmth inside was stark. The windows were fogged, creating a divide between the two worlds. By the central fire, two drunken men danced clumsily to the minstrel’s cheerful tune, while an imperial merchant awkwardly tried to keep up with a burly local, his strange movements eliciting laughter.
“Lady Freya! Another barley ale!” A burly man with thick sideburns slammed his empty wooden mug on the bar. “Beautiful! You must call me beautiful when you say my name! More ale? Pay up first—you’ve had four mugs, that’s twenty coppers!” The plump innkeeper, hands on hips, smacked the man’s head with a ladle. The man hastily dug into his pocket and pulled out thirty coppers. “Here, beautiful Lady Freya, bring the ale!”
“Coming right up!” The innkeeper’s plump hand swept the coins into her pocket. With payment secured, she beamed and directed her staff to bring out more barrels. The innkeeper placed a plate of roasted lamb before a soldier seated at the bar. “Sir, your lamb. Enjoy!”
“Thank you.” The soldier, his face lined with age, accepted the lamb and ordered a cup of wine before digging into the meal.
On the other side of the room, a flamboyantly dressed minstrel in purple, with a red soft cap and a lyre slung over his shoulder, tuned his instrument, preparing for his performance.
“Master Minstrel, what tale will you regale us with today?” a patron called out.
“Make it a good one, or we won’t pay!” others chimed in.
“Ho ho!” The inn erupted in laughter. The minstrel adjusted his attire and began to strum his lyre. “Very well, today I shall tell you an ancient tale, a grand epic from a hundred and fifty years ago!”
“Centuries ago, the land was peaceful, and people lived in harmony. Though the northern barbarians and the central lands occasionally clashed, trade and peace were the norm. The southern realms boasted the greatest ports and free trade cities. The dwarves of the eastern mountain ranges traded their fine crafts and weapons with the human empire. The southern wastelands were dotted with dwarven fortresses, a testament to their golden age… Back then, the forests were not as dangerous as they are now…”
“But around a thousand years ago, everything changed.”
“The world was transformed.”
The inn grew quiet, save for the crackling of the hearth. The patrons settled in, for it was customary to remain silent during a minstrel’s performance. The imperial merchant, though seemingly indifferent, also listened attentively.
The minstrel began to play a melancholic yet hopeful tune:
“Around a thousand years ago,
In the north of the empire, darkness fell.
Evil gods ran rampant, chaos reigned, turning the land into a living hell.
The God of Totems fell, the Beast God vanished.
Civilization succumbed to barbarism, wisdom retreated before savagery.
Peace was lost, war spread.
In the south of the empire, the greenskins rose.
Gork’s head became Uzg’s ornament.
The dwarves’ ancient fortresses could not withstand the spreading plague.
The statues of ancient kings were toppled, the treasures of tombs became spoils for invaders.
Yet, in the face of annihilation, alliances were reforged.
The Longbeards, the Lion Knights, marched together.
But this victory was no cause for celebration.
The empire lost its emperor.
Brothers turned against each other, mired in endless strife.
In the dark corners, the undead rose from their graves.
Evil beastmen corrupted the land.
The world descended into chaos, all was in peril.
A hundred and fifty years ago, a twin-tailed comet streaked across the sky, and a hero emerged.
He was Ludvig, the Savior.
The Demon Prince was slain, the evil shamans fell.
Even the mightiest champions of chaos were butchered before him.
On the Fasha Plains, the forces of justice formed an invincible alliance.
Ancient dragons roared.
Angels soared through the skies.
The elves’ staves and bows gleamed.
The dwarves formed an impenetrable wall.
Even devils from the fiery depths joined,
Inspired by the Savior, fighting for justice against chaos.
All was thanks to Ludvig.
The heads of purified demon princes and chosen ones hung from the empire’s walls,
A testament to his glory and achievements.
The cries of victory shook the heavens.
The people elected him as the new emperor.
All was thanks to Ludvig.
Chaos was driven back.
Peace returned to the land.
The people prospered.
The hymns of the gods resounded once more.
All was thanks to Ludvig.”
The minstrel’s passionate recitation of the epic captivated the room. No one noticed the new guest who had entered the inn.
Only the sound of the door chime drew their attention. The man stood at the entrance, having listened to the entire tale before stepping inside. The story of Ludvig, the Savior, was familiar to all across the continent. This great former rural noble, later the emperor of the new empire, had united the shattered remnants of the old empire with his strength, political acumen, and decisive actions, ultimately defeating the forces of chaos. The new empire rose from the ashes of the old, and Ludvig became its founding emperor.
“Are there any rooms available?” The man’s voice, as expected, sounded young.
“A stranger?”
“No rooms, stranger. We’re closing soon. You’d best leave.”
“Closing up! Closing up!”
The patrons, half-joking, half-serious, shouted. The town wasn’t particularly welcoming to outsiders, and the man’s unfamiliar face drew some hostility.
“Shut your mouths, you fools! It’s not easy getting a guest in this weather, and you lot always ruin my business!” The innkeeper’s roar silenced the patrons, and her round face immediately softened into a smile. “Yes, we have plenty of rooms. Just you?”
“Yes, just me. And please prepare some dinner as well.” The young man went upstairs to leave his belongings before returning to sit at the bar. He ordered black bread, boiled beans, barley ale, and a large lamb chop, totaling twenty coppers.
“Master Minstrel, tell us a new story.”
“What kind of story would you like?” the minstrel asked with a smile. “How about the tale of the founding knight-king of Bretonnia?”
“We’ve all heard that one!” the patrons protested.
“A story about the war between the greenskins and the dwarves?”
“That’s boring!”
The patrons and the minstrel began a lively debate, some wanting war epics, others love stories, and even tales of the gods. The minstrel was at a loss.
“How about this: let the minstrel tell us a new story—the legend of our own Nord hero, ‘Hammer’ Leon!”
“Yes! That’s a good one!”
“Let’s hear it!”
The man quietly ate his meal, spreading butter on his bread with a bit of extra coin from the innkeeper. After finishing his dinner, he excused himself and returned to his room.
He had booked the inn’s best room. The worst accommodations were in the common room, filled with simple straw beds. Slightly better were the single or double rooms, with a simple bed and a bucket of water in the corner—not for drinking, but for convenience.
His room had a soft bed, a table, a chair, and even a separate area for washing. A small window looked out onto the snowy landscape. After entering, Leon gently pushed the window open and gazed at the falling snow. “I wonder how long this snow will last…”
At that moment, the bracelet on his wrist glowed with a soft white light. Without surprise, he pressed the gem on the bracelet, and a commanding voice emerged.
“Leon, have you found Belter’s trail?”