Guard Captain Adams pulled his leather armor tight around himself, but the damned wind still chilled him to the bone.
This blasted weather.
His gaze swept across the withered yellow fields. They should have been lush green wheat fields, yet now not a single new shoot could be seen. Farther away, the villages lay as silent as graves, without a trace of human life.
Despair was the only thing still growing in this domain.
Just then, the rumble of wheels interrupted his thoughts.
A convoy slowly approached from the end of the dirt road. Adams's stomach clenched. What he feared most was desperate infected people trying to force their way through the checkpoint. It had happened more than once, and every clash left some of his men wounded or even dead.
His hand instinctively tightened around his spear, but his palm was slick with cold sweat. It felt as though this damned plague had long since drained all his strength.
The convoy drew closer, and the flag on the lead carriage became clearer-the Thornflower.
"Halt! Who goes there!"
A young guard beside him cried out. It sounded less like a challenge than a terrified wail.
The carriage window slid open, and a man poked his head out.
He was well dressed, with a healthy complexion. His immaculate formal attire was utterly out of place amid their surroundings. Adams even caught a faint, fresh scent from him, a scent that seemed to belong to another lifetime.
"Marcus of the Golden Sail Merchant Guild, special envoy from White Tower County. A letter has already been sent to Baron Elijah."
White Tower County!
Adams jolted in surprise as rumors about that place flooded his mind. Some said Count Klein's domain had no plague, as though it enjoyed divine protection. Some said its warehouses