This cold winter was already more than half over, and life had grown increasingly difficult for those living in the borderlands.
Gesong Town was a wealthy, prosperous place—at least, it had been until this winter. Located near Winterhold, it was one of the transportation hubs for reaching several border trade markets from within Typhon. Even before so-called "cross-border trade" emerged, it had been an important stopover for merchants traveling back and forth.
Merchants coming from north and south brought considerable income here, and traveling traders had made the town thrive. After trade opened up, sharp-nosed, clever people turned it into a land of flowing gold within a year or two, and it had even begun to show the potential of becoming a major city. However... the good times did not last long.
War broke out.
Though the fighting had not reached this place yet, that flourishing prosperity was gone for good. Cross-border trade had ceased, merchants kept far away from this troubled land, and the important transportation hub had been requisitioned by the Empire. Caravans laden with money and goods had been replaced by war chariots and troops moving day and night, while locals who had once lived off the passing merchants now had no choice but to become "idle."
Simpson, who ran an inn, leaned back by the window, gloomily polishing a brass pipe in his hand. There had long been no tobacco in it, and its gleaming bowl spun in his fingers like a toy. A layer of condensation had formed on the crystal glass window beside him, making the street outside look hazy and indistinct. The cold wind howled through the streets outside, and some of the chill slipped in through poorly sealed window gaps, making the balding middle-aged man hunch his neck again.
He raised his