Wind and snow raged outside the window, and the sky over Frost Glaive City was as gray as a cauldron of thick molten iron.
In the office of the Northern Frontier Governor's Office, the fire in the hearth burned weakly, its warmth never quite overcoming the chill that seeped into the bones.
Duke Edmund stood before a wooden table in a black military cloak, his brow tightly furrowed as he studied the map spread before him.
Frost Glaive City, marked at the center of the map, had once been the pride of the Northern Frontier. Now it was like a festering sore pinned to the paper, painful to look at.
"We can't stay here."
His gaze slowly shifted to several other possible sites for a new city on the map, but none was entirely suitable.
"The corpses, the toxic fog, the Demon Energy wreckage... until we clear away everything the Brood Hive left behind, Frost Glaive City will remain uninhabitable."
But the cold front had already arrived, and heavy snow had blocked the roads. Recklessly relocating the city would be tantamount to suicide. For now, they could only hold out here and struggle through the winter.
Edmund pressed his knuckles against the tabletop and pondered for a long time, his brow never easing.
Just then, a knock broke the deathly silence. Knock, knock.
The old butler's low yet anxious voice came from outside. "My lord, an urgent letter from the Imperial Capital."
Edmund paused briefly and raised his head.
"Bring it in," he said gravely.
The butler entered respectfully and handed him a parchment letter bearing a golden dragon seal.
The wax seal was unusually conspicuous. It was not the emperor's personal insignia, but the exclusive crest of the Dragon Throne Conference.
Edmund took the letter, frowning slightly as unease