The temperature plummeted.
The clerk cursed under his breath, wrapped his coat tighter around himself, and tossed a few more logs into the stove beside him. But it did little to make him feel any better.
Winter was almost here, and the biting wind already heralded the coming cold wave. Yet for the clerk, none of that was the worst part. Cold, famine, war—there had been almost no hope to be seen all year. Even so, he would rather stand here in the wind than go to the front lines and fight those damned Evil God Believers and monsters.
"Ugh..."
Looking at the blank roster before him, the clerk sighed. Not long ago, this place had been packed with visitors. Mercenaries eager for adventure and dreaming of money and power had nearly worn down the threshold. Back then, some had even needed to offer him a little bribe before he would write their ridiculous names onto the list.
But now?
The place was deserted, with barely anyone coming through the door. Ever since the previous first reclamation campaign had failed, almost no one had shown up.
And the source of it all was that terrifying city.
Thinking of it, the clerk found himself glancing through the window at the dim city at the foot of the distant mountain.
The Cursed City, Mordheim.
The clerk shuddered. Merely recalling that name made cold crawl over his entire body. Although the registration office where he worked was nowhere near Mordheim, he still felt uneasy—as though simply speaking the name would bring down some dreadful calamity. He nervously looked around, as if a Ratman or something else might suddenly leap out from the darkness...
"Knock knock knock!"
The sudden knocking nearly made the clerk's heart jump out of his mouth. He hurriedly straightened up,