Winter was about to arrive.
The first full year after the Brood Hive War was drawing to a close with it.
Duke Edmund still held to his old traditions, convening a Northern Frontier conference as late autumn ended, before the snowy season began.
Only this year, the conference would no longer be held in the Frost Glaive City of their memories, majestic and imposing, its chill alone enough to keep others at bay.
That city was dead.
After being repeatedly devoured, gnawed at, and burrowed through by insect venom, the entire city had become like the vast carcass of something recently slain.
Alleys had collapsed, roofs had caved in, and wells had run dry. Some even oozed black slime, and no one dared approach them anymore.
It was no longer a city, but a graveyard.
The name "Frost Glaive City" that remained on the map was now an empty designation.
The actual new city had been built two li northwest of the old one, against the hills, on a hastily selected site.
It was called "New Frost Glaive," but it looked more like a refuge piled together from gray bricks, planks, and salvaged debris. Every brick and tile spoke of haste and straitened circumstances.
Even so, the Duke insisted on naming it "Frost Glaive City."
In his eyes, if even the name was lost, the Northern Frontier would truly have no backbone left.
Yet the rebuilding of New Frost Glaive City was still incomplete. It could hardly even be said to have taken shape; only a rough framework had been enclosed along the contours of the hills.
Only the three main buildings-the central administrative hall, the Command Tower, and the barracks-had begun to take shape. The remaining districts consisted largely of prefabricated wooden houses, temporary plank walls, and simple roofs.