The dirt road leading to the Gray Marsh Fief was a mire, and a procession of several thousand people trudged through the thin mist.
They were artisans from the territories surrounding Sabertooth Province, traded by their lords with a single written agreement to this legendary sanctuary.
Among them, a young carpenter named Thomas pulled his thin hemp clothes tighter around himself. His straw sandals were already soaked through with mud. The lords had said they were sending them somewhere "good," but when had those men ever been so kind?
Thomas was not alone. Most people in the procession looked frightened, their whispered conversations filled with speculation about forced labor and overseers' whips.
But as they approached a place called Stone Salt Town, the scenery began to change.
This was Lord Ola's territory, reportedly one of the first places to receive protection, and order now prevailed here. To everyone's surprise, spring plowing had already begun on both sides of the road!
"Heavens, they're... actually plowing the fields?" Exclamations rose from the crowd.
The farther they went, the more astonishing the sights became. The sprawling farmland was neatly laid out, filled with busy farmers whose faces showed no distress.
On the road, they even saw caravans flying merchant guild flags pass well-equipped patrols. People still looked tense, but the despair so common back home was almost entirely absent.
Just when they thought this was all the White Tower territory had to offer, something even more astounding appeared before them.
First came a line of light on the horizon.
That line quickly spread into a rose-red glow, coloring the underside of the gray clouds. As the procession continued forward, a black spire emerged from the center of the glow.
Beneath the spire stood an enormous tower. It did not look as though it