After the New Year, the year was 2942. In Allen's memory, this was a peaceful year, one in which the Northern Men could develop without worry.
Spring seemed blessed by the gods that year, too. The weather warmed unusually early, and even the snow on the peaks of the Misty Mountains began showing faint signs of melting after the New Year.
During that time, Allen also ran several simulations, traveling to the Pendor Continent and the magical continent of Calradia.
He made little progress in his Pendor simulations. He had wanted to try a few new identities to see whether they offered more opportunities, but both of his new identities ended with him dying in battle.
Even with his strength increased again, Allen could not guarantee his safety on the Pendor Continent, especially when he encountered organized units of Dawn Knights and Dawn Wyverns this time.
Just thinking about it made Allen want to curse. He had finally managed to get an identity as a village chief, only to run into those fanatical god-worshippers who liked to burn first and ask questions later. Those bastards had torched his village for no fucking reason, without even giving him a chance to explain. In the end, the unarmed Allen had died under the Dawn Knight Order's massed charge.
The other attempt had been even harder. After arriving at Silverblade Fortress, Allen found himself under siege by Wolfbird, the Slayer of Mist Mountain. While Allen led his people through a desperate breakout, Wolfbird personally led the pursuit and caught up with him.
To cover the civilians' escape, Allen fought desperately before dying beneath a great axe. The civilians failed to escape, too, and were dragged back. Their fate was easy enough to imagine.
Though things went terribly on the Pendor Continent, Allen made