The horse-drawn carriage procession bearing the Horned Wolf banners of House of Silver finally passed through Gimle’s main gate, moving slowly into the heart of the metropolis, one of the most important centers of power on the continent of Borealis.
Although known as the northern capital, a city blanketed in snow for most of the year, Gimle possessed a far more hospitable atmosphere than Silvergard Fortress on the frontier.
This difference was not the result of some enormous magical barrier or protective dome surrounding the city.
The reason was far simpler, yet it demonstrated just how important geography was to the survival of a settlement.
Gimle stood within a high-altitude valley sheltered by the surrounding landscape.
The mountain ranges in the region weakened most of the polar winds before they could reach the city center.
The air remained cold, and snow still fell, but the temperatures were far less extreme than those in the northern frontier, where House of Silver risked its lives holding back the onslaught of monsters and eternal blizzards.
Through the glass window of the main carriage, Aiden calmly observed the scenery outside while sitting on Duchess Freya’s lap.
Black cobblestone streets stretched neatly between rows of sturdy stone buildings.
The snow piled along the roads had been cleared away, leaving only thin white layers in corners that were difficult to reach.
Merchants bustled in front of shops, while warm smoke rose from the chimneys of houses and commercial buildings.
There were no enormous magical walls enclosing the city.
No protective dome radiated light into the sky.
Gimle survived because humanity had learned to make use of nature rather than merely fight against it.
However, the city’s layout was not what first caught Aiden’s attention.
It was the food.
The aroma of freshly baked wheat bread brushed with butter drifted from a nearby shop.
Not far away, a vendor turned large cuts of roasted meat over an open fire, while exotic spices mingled with the fragrant steam rising from a street vendor’s pot of hot soup.
Fresh fruits were neatly arranged in wooden crates.
Brightly colored vegetables were displayed across market stalls.
Some merchants even sold foodstuffs that, according to Aiden’s estimation, should have been difficult to obtain in the northern regions during such a bitterly cold season.
In Silvergard, fresh food like this was a luxury that could not always be enjoyed every day.
This much fresh food in the middle of the northern winter…
Aiden narrowed his eyes, analyzing the scene in his mind.
Of course.
Gimle couldn’t possibly survive by relying solely on hunting, livestock, and local agriculture.
A city of this size required a logistical network capable of operating throughout the year.
Trade routes had to remain open, storage facilities had to be properly managed, and supplies from warmer regions had to arrive regularly.
Gimle was more than just an administrative center.
It was an economic hub connecting regions with vastly different geographical conditions.
As if sensing her youngest son’s curiosity, Freya gently stroked his hair.
“Are you wondering where all that food comes from, Aiden?”
Aiden raised his head.
His sapphire eyes met his mother’s with an innocent expression befitting his age.
“Why is there so much food, Mother?”
Freya smiled faintly before turning her gaze toward the window.
“Because Gimle cannot survive on what grows in the icy mountains alone. This city needs supplies from other regions, especially to meet the needs of its population.”
She pointed toward several large wagons that had just passed through an intersection.
Intricate carvings of sacred emblems were clearly visible on their sides.
“Most of the high-quality wheat, fresh fruits, and livestock traded in the capital come from the Holy Kingdom of Winterfell.”
Aiden raised a small eyebrow.
“Winterfell?”
“That’s right.”
Freya nodded.
“The kingdom lies in the eastern part of the continent of Borealis. Although it shares the same continent as we do, its natural environment is very different. Thanks to the sacred power of Goddess Aurelia, its lands have been blessed with extraordinary fertility. The kingdom’s central territories never experience extreme winters or summers.”
She spoke calmly, though a hint of pride could be heard in her voice.
“That is why Winterfell can produce enormous quantities of food throughout the year. Its agricultural output not only meets the needs of its own people but also serves as one of the primary sources of supplies for cities in the northern regions.”
Aiden turned his attention back to the scenery outside.
So it isn’t merely ordinary trade.
Winterfell’s agricultural advantage makes it essential to Borealis’s economic stability.
However, Freya’s attention soon shifted from trade to something that seemed far more meaningful to her.
“Winterfell is ruled by Pope Celestine V alongside the Holy Inquisition Council,” she continued.
“To its people, the authority of the kingdom and the teachings of their faith cannot be separated. Their lives are built upon their belief in the Goddess they worship.”
Freya paused for a moment.
A genuine sense of reverence shone in her eyes.
“High Valkyrie Aurelia is the Creator Goddess who serves as the spiritual foundation of that kingdom. The people of Winterfell worship her as the Goddess of Light, the protector of life and the giver of blessings to their lands.”
She then lifted her gaze toward the sky, as though picturing a scene far removed from the snow-covered city.
“And even today, the Goddess’s sacred power can still be witnessed directly. Above Winterfell, a magnificent radiance shaped like a winged angel in prayer continues to shine in the sky. Its light symbolizes the Goddess’s presence and reminds her people of the faith they uphold.”
Freya clasped her hands together before her chest.
“Her sacred name is Aurelia Valkyries Lumina Vespera.”
Her voice softened, trembling slightly with reverence.
“I was born in Winterfell, Aiden. That is why I know its traditions and way of life better than most people in this country. Even now, I still invoke the name of Goddess Aurelia in my prayers.”
Aiden did not answer immediately.
He studied his mother’s face for several moments before turning his attention back to the streets outside.
As someone whose consciousness extended far beyond what his physical appearance suggested, he understood that a person’s beliefs could not always be separated from their life experiences.
To Freya, Winterfell was more than a kingdom that supplied food.
It was her homeland, and the place where the faith she still held dear had taken root.
Aiden had no intention of belittling that.
He simply stored the information in his memory alongside the other fragments of knowledge that might prove useful in the future.
“Besides Winterfell, Gimle also receives supplies from the Kingdom of Baronia,” Freya added.
“Especially spices and various kinds of vegetables.”
“Is Baronia also on the continent of Borealis, Mother?” Aiden asked innocently.
“Yes, but it lies far to the southwest,” Freya replied.
“Unlike Winterfell, whose fertile lands are blessed by the sacred power of Goddess Aurelia, Baronia possesses its own geographical advantages.
“The kingdom stands in a warm volcanic valley, where geothermal heat from deep within the earth keeps the soil fertile and allows various crops to grow throughout the year.”
Freya shifted her gaze toward the line of supply wagons passing along the main road.
She gently stroked the back of Aiden’s hand.
“That is why Baronia can supply spices and various vegetables to other regions, even when most of Borealis is buried beneath snow. As long as the trade routes remain open, its agricultural produce can reach Gimle regularly.”
So Gimle relies on two different advantages.
Winterfell provided food through fertile lands blessed by sacred power, while Baronia used the natural heat of its volcanic valleys to sustain agricultural productivity.
Together, they supported the needs of a city that served as the northern region’s center of government.
Meanwhile, House of Silver guarded the frontier against monsters and the dangers lurking beyond the snow-covered territories.
A system in which everything depends on everything else.
Military strength kept trade routes safe.
Trade routes supplied food and other logistical necessities.
And Gimle served as the meeting point where political power and economic interests converged.
Interesting.
Aiden leaned back comfortably.
In a world that appeared to be dominated by individual strength, monsters, and magic, the survival of a kingdom still depended on things far more fundamental.
Food.
Trade routes.
And the ability to protect both.
The main carriage of House of Silver continued along the crowded streets.
However, as the procession approached an intersection near the southern district, Aiden’s attention suddenly shifted.
The crowd that had been filling the streets began moving toward the sides.
Conversations stopped one after another.
Several merchants hurriedly pulled their carts away from the main road.
Pedestrians lowered their heads, while others remained silent, daring not to ask questions.
No commander shouted at them to move aside.
No bell sounded to announce the arrival of troops.
Yet everyone seemed to understand that they had to make way.
Then came the sound of metal-plated boots striking the ground.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The clinking of steel armor rang out in a steady rhythm, following the synchronized cadence of disciplined footsteps.
A squad of twelve soldiers emerged from behind a row of stone buildings.
Aiden observed them carefully.
They looked different from the royal knights he was accustomed to seeing.
Dukedom soldiers generally wore layered silver-colored armor supplemented with monster fur to withstand the cold.
Meanwhile, the northern frontier guards wore heavier equipment designed to endure blizzards and battles against monsters.
The twelve soldiers now marching through Gimle, however, presented a far more uniform appearance.
They wore full suits of gleaming silver combat armor, with blue cloaks fluttering behind them.
The Sacred Sun emblem was mounted prominently on each soldier’s chest.
Not a single face was visible.
Their heads were completely concealed by expressionless silver metal masks, leaving only narrow slits for their eyes.
There were no striking differences between one soldier and another.
They moved like a single unit that had no need for words.
Not because they lacked individual wills, but because their discipline seemed to have eliminated every unnecessary movement.
Yet the most intriguing thing about them was neither their armor nor their masks.
It was the three people being dragged along in the middle of their formation.
All three wore tattered clothing and ragged hoods.
Their hands were bound, and they were forced to match the pace of the soldiers escorting them.
One of the prisoners kept struggling, but the two soldiers beside him immediately yanked his chains, making him stumble.
All three looked terrified.
From the faint conversations drifting along the street, Aiden caught a word repeated by several townspeople.
Heretics.
People accused of opposing the teachings of the Church of Light.
Duchess Freya, who had been observing the streets, suddenly stiffened.
Her fingers tightened around Aiden’s robe.
The small change did not escape her son’s notice.
Freya was not a woman who easily displayed anxiety.
This time, however, her eyes betrayed a tension she could not entirely conceal.
“The Divine Punishers…” she whispered.
Her voice was so quiet that it nearly disappeared beneath the clatter of armored boots outside.
Aiden looked up.
“Do you know them, Mother?”
Freya did not answer immediately.
She waited until the soldiers had passed closer before looking back at her son.
“They are one of the holy law-enforcement forces of the Holy Kingdom of Winterfell,” she explained in a low voice.
“They answer directly to the Holy Inquisition Council, not to the ordinary royal courts.”
Freya’s gaze followed the column of silver armor.
“The title Divine Punishers is not merely a name people have given them. They are notorious for their extraordinary fanaticism and their willingness to carry out the Inquisition Council’s orders without hesitation.”
Aiden shifted his gaze toward the three prisoners being dragged along.
“Why are they called the Divine Punishers?”
Freya fell silent for a moment.
“They believe that only Goddess Aurelia deserves absolute worship. To them, a different faith is not merely a mistake, but a deviation that must be eradicated.”
She lowered her voice even further.
“That is why they show no fear even when confronting the followers of other gods. Including the followers of the Thirty Founding Gods of Aethelgard.”
Freya’s eyes narrowed as one of the soldiers turned toward their carriage.
The silver mask revealed no expression.
Yet for several seconds, the gaze behind its narrow eye slits seemed to sweep across the entire carriage interior before returning to the road.
Freya drew Aiden closer.
“Don’t stare at them for too long, Aiden.”
Aiden obeyed, turning his gaze away with a small, natural movement befitting a two-year-old child.
Behind his innocent expression, however, his mind was already working far faster than his appearance suggested.
A fanatical force that answers directly to the Inquisition Council.
They possess authority distinct from ordinary royal law enforcement and do not hesitate to act against followers of other religions.
Interesting.
A force like this could also become a source of tension for any faction whose beliefs differed from theirs.
And this city was currently filled with people from all across the continent.
Nobles, merchants, adventurers, royal envoys, and followers of various faiths, each arriving with their own interests.
The birthday celebration of Princess Gyo might be the official reason many had gathered.
But behind the festivities, various powers were positioning themselves.
Aiden suppressed a faint smile beneath his innocent expression.
It seems this visit to Gimle will be far more interesting than I expected.
The main carriage of House of Silver continued onward, leaving behind the intersection where the Divine Punishers had just passed.
The sound of their boots gradually faded into the distance, carrying the three prisoners toward an unknown destination.
Yet the tension they had left behind did not disappear with them.
At the same street corner, four people stood among the crowd.
They wore thick coats with long cuts characteristic of temple travelers.
The emblem of the Wheel of Reincarnation was attached to their chests and to the cloth scrolls they carried.
The symbol identified them as followers and priests of the Church of the Thirty Gods of Aethelgard.
All four had witnessed the entire incident.
And none of them looked pleased.
A middle-aged man with bowl-cut brown hair clicked his tongue.
A scar ran across his cheek, splitting the skin from near his cheekbone down toward the side of his jaw.
His name was Marcus.
He watched the backs of the silver-armored soldiers as they moved farther away, then released a harsh breath.
“Tch. Those fanatical dogs from the East again.”
His voice was restrained, but the disgust beneath it was difficult to conceal.
“They march around as though every inch of ground beneath their feet belongs to their Goddess. Yet they’re nothing more than pawns serving a throne blinded by its own faith.”
The white-hooded woman standing beside him immediately drew her coat tighter around herself.
Her eyes were sharp, occasionally glancing toward the guards stationed at the intersection.
“Keep your voice down, Marcus,” she whispered.
Although she was warning her companion, she made little effort to hide her own hatred.
“The Holy Inquisition Council has an extensive surveillance network. You never know who might be listening to our conversation. If one of them hears what you’re saying, we could be arrested before nightfall.”
Marcus snorted.
He glanced toward a magnificent temple standing not far from the main road.
Its structure rose high above the surrounding buildings, supported by white pillars, with the emblem of the Sacred Sun displayed atop its tower.
The temple was dedicated to Goddess Aurelia.
The sight only soured Marcus’s expression further.
“You’re too easily frightened.”
“And you’re too eager to invite trouble,” the woman retorted.
Marcus ignored the jab.
“Don’t forget what happened a hundred and twenty years ago.”
This time, his voice grew more serious.
“The Holy War between Aurelia’s faction of Light and the Church of the Thirty Gods of Aethelgard ended without a decisive victor. Both sides suffered heavy losses, but neither managed to subjugate the other.”
He clenched his fist beneath his thick coat.
“And that was when Aethelgard hadn’t even needed to deploy all its trump cards on the battlefield.”
The woman in the white hood looked at him sharply.
“The God Descendants…”
Marcus nodded.
“Exactly. The God Descendants.”
He surveyed the surrounding streets before continuing.
“Ever since that war ended, both sides have understood the limits they cannot recklessly cross. Neither has truly forgotten the hostility between them, but neither wishes to repeat an open war at the same cost.”
A cold wind swept through the streets.
The hem of Marcus’s coat fluttered as snowflakes swirled around their boots.
“So, for now, this is merely a cold war,” he continued.
“A conflict that persists without escalating into large-scale bloodshed.”
He turned his gaze toward Aurelia’s temple once more.
“But don’t misunderstand. The fact that we haven’t attacked each other does not mean we’ve made peace.”
His jaw tightened.
“If those Divine Punishers dare lay a hand on us in Gimle simply because of the faith we follow, they’ll learn that the Church of the Thirty Gods is not some weak organization they can oppress as they please.”
“Marcus.”
The woman’s voice was now much firmer.
“This isn’t Aethelgard. We’re in Gimle, the center of power in the northern territories. We came here to carry out our mission, not to start a fight with Winterfell.”
Marcus fell silent.
For a moment, hatred remained plain in his eyes.
Gradually, however, his clenched fist relaxed.
He knew she was right.
Gimle was no place to indulge personal grudges.
Especially now, when the city had become a meeting point for competing political and religious interests.
One reckless act could trigger consequences far greater than any of them could afford to bear.
Finally, Marcus pulled his hood farther down, covering part of his face.
“We’ll see how long they can maintain that arrogance.”
The four followers of the Church of the Thirty Gods began moving again.
They left the intersection and slipped between merchants and pedestrians, gradually disappearing into Gimle’s bustling streets.
No one pursued them.
No one stopped them.
In the distance, Aurelia’s temple still stood in all its splendor, while the Wheel of Reincarnation emblems on their clothing vanished behind rows of buildings.
Two faiths.
Two powers that had fought a war a hundred and twenty years ago.
And a city that had temporarily become a place where both sides restrained their mutual hostility.
In Gimle, the snow might cover footprints and make the streets appear peaceful.
But it could not freeze the hatred passed down through generations.
And beneath the tranquility of the northern capital, the embers of conflict continued to burn—waiting for a single spark to set the entire land ablaze once more.