A Young Man from the North

It had snowed.

Kord stood behind the office's broad floor-to-ceiling window with a pipe clenched between his teeth, gazing absently at the drifting snowflakes outside and the factory buildings, slightly hazy amid the falling snow.

In this northern land, the first snowfall always came early. Even before winter officially arrived, early snow often paid a premature visit.

In the past... though it had not really been that long ago, snow arriving too early was often seen as a terrible omen, even associated with death.

An early drop in temperature meant outdoor activities ended sooner, fuel became harder to store, and commoners had to use limited food and fuel to endure a longer winter. For the poor, who had to carefully account for every stick of firewood and every piece of bread, each additional day of winter often meant the difference between life and death.

So people even had a special name for this prematurely arriving snow: the White Death.

But that was in the past—at least across most of the southern territory. In Kord's eyes, the scenery of the first snowfall was gradually replacing his old impression of the "White Death"—it was quite beautiful.

He only hoped the snow would not spread too far, especially across the Holy Spirit Plain... After all, there were still many regions in this country that could not withstand the White Death's might.

Kord bit down on his pipe. A faint red light flickered within it, and thick smoke slowly spread through the room, carrying his thoughts along with it.

The wind drove snowflakes against the large panes of crystal glass. In the past, this clear, glittering material had always been associated with expense and scarcity, and such large pieces were rarely produced—Typhon Empire had long monopolized the technology for making cheap, large white crystals.