The March of the Times

Goods from the Cecil Empire were gradually flowing into many nations across the Northern Continent. Even though it was the depths of winter, driven by enormous profits and supported by the imperial family, merchants still braved the bitter cold and perilous roads to bring all manner of novel, interesting, and highly useful things to distant foreign lands.

Amid the towering mountains of the Far North Realm, a grayish-white fortress of massive stone stood atop a peak. Howling winds swept across the ridges, whipping up layers of snow and icy mist outside the fortress. Huge Fire Basins burned fiercely throughout the stronghold, their grease mixed with frostfire grass juice and brilliant crystal dust, causing the flames to glow blood-red. Not even the howling winds could extinguish them.

Invisible curtains enveloped the ancient Dragon's Landing Fortress, joining the enormous Fire Basins in resisting the roaring winds outside. Within the fortress, great Fire Basins and hearths burned just as fiercely in an exceptionally spacious hall. A middle-aged man in a dark red cloak sat in a broad chair, studying the Magic Guide Terminal before him with great interest.

Firelight shone upon the middle-aged man's face, casting flickering highlights across his resolute features, short gray hair, high cheekbones, and prominent nose.

"Your Majesty, this is the Magic Guide Terminal brought by those Cecil merchants—by inserting different plug-in boards, it can cast various simple spells. It is very convenient, whether for personal protection or as a tool," said a tall courtier with a thick beard and broad forehead, introducing the item presented by an attendant. "And these are the Alchemical Potions they sell—the effects are quite ordinary, but the price is astonishingly low. In fact, by our standards, the medicine inside is even cheaper than the bottle itself..."

The middle-aged man with short gray hair,