Autumn had come to the Northern Territory once more, bringing another season of bountiful harvests.
Golden waves of wheat rose and fell in the wind, heavy heads of grain bending the stalks low. In the fields, farmers swung their sickles, reaping a year's toil into storage. On the threshing grounds, the rumble of threshers mingled with people's laughter, composing a hymn to the harvest. Granary after granary was filled to the brim, and the clean fragrance of new grain drifted through the air, refreshing the heart and mind.
Over the past year, the Northern Territory had undergone earth-shaking changes. Its immigrant population had surpassed one hundred thousand, while newly reclaimed farmland covered more than a million mu. Grain production not only fully met local demand, but also left a vast surplus to be transported south along the trade routes. Handicrafts had flourished as well: textile-making, ironworking, ceramics, brewing, and other industries had been established one after another. Their products supplied not only local markets, but were also sold as far as the southern counties. Trade grew more prosperous by the day, and Frosgard had become one of the largest distribution hubs for goods in the north.
Yet Karl's gaze had long since crossed the borders of the Northern Territory, settling upon the southern lands still shrouded beneath dark clouds.
Since autumn began, the news arriving from the south had grown increasingly unsettling. The Empress Dowager's rule had become ever more brutal. To raise military funds, she constantly increased the taxes, even collecting the next three years' taxes in advance. People in many places had been driven to ruin, selling their sons and daughters, yet still unable to fill that bottomless pit. Worse still, the Empress Dowager's lackeys, eager to claim merit and rewards, fabricated charges at will, confiscated households, exterminated