November 15, 627 of the Light Calendar.
Novigel, Northern Borderlands.
Snow had fallen all night, with no sign of stopping even at dawn; bitter winds swept through the streets, and the entire city lay shrouded in a white curtain of snow.
The atmosphere within the city was even grimmer than the weather.
Every household had its doors and windows shut tight, and almost no pedestrians could be seen.
Squads of soldiers in white cloaks, the Church's emblem embroidered on their chests, patrolled the streets. Their expressions were tense, their eyes constantly scanning the ends of the roads.
At vital locations throughout the city, including wells and granaries, mages from the Magic Association stood guard with standard-issue staves. They cast detection spells again and again, pale blue halos flickering faintly in the snow.
Since the siege began, the enemy had tried to poison the city more than once.
Beyond the city walls, the distant horizon had long since been swallowed by a gray-black expanse.
The oppressive weight of an approaching storm hung over the isolated city.
The hall of the Lord's Manor.
An enormous map of the Northern Borderlands lay spread across a long table. Freya, Bishop Paul, Elder Matthew, and the city's lord, Count Edmond Orton, stood around it. Gas lamps cast their shadows onto the walls, flickering between light and darkness.
"Elder Matthew!"
An Executor of the Order hurried into the hall, his entire body covered in snow.
"Our reconnaissance confirmed that the Demon Army has completely cut off every road to the north and south. Balks's main force is stationed in the Graytooth Hills, fifteen kilometers outside the city. Together with the other demon forces, they've sealed Novigel in tight..."
Ice still clung to his cloak, and his lips were purple from the cold.
"The enemy's patrol ring