It was a night of raging wind and snow.
Frost Snow City's ancient, sturdy fortress stood amid the wind and snow just as it had for the past several thousand years, like a proud sentry guarding the first outpost before the Gorgon Abyss. Its layered, petal-like walls faced the biting wind, keeping the blizzards sweeping across the plains outside the city. Yet the howling produced by the wind as it tore across the plains could still pass through the gaps between the walls and enter the fortress city. Distorted twice over by the city walls and magical barriers, the sound became a low, mournful whine that echoed without end through the outermost streets of the fortress city, like the earth itself crying out.
Outsiders would likely have a hard time sleeping peacefully on a night like this. Even the hardy northerners couldn't help growing irritable as they listened to the wails circling outside the city. Northern tradition regarded such ominous sounds spiraling over the snowy plains as a bad omen, so the taverns along the fortress city's outermost streets lit their brightest lamps one after another. Barrels of strong liquor were carried to the tables, transforming into courage and warmth as they flowed into people's veins.
Those who remained in Frost Snow City laughed and chatted loudly in the taverns, using their voices to drive away the ominous sounds from the plains. They talked about the fighting at the front, the Black Sword Knights who had lost their minds, and the Gorgon Abyss, which had entered a relatively quiet state—and some were also talking about the "delegation" that had entered the city during the day.
Whatever they talked about, the point was to heat up the atmosphere. Only then could they withstand the blizzard sweeping across the entire snowy plain.