At the minor hills of the Northern borders, near the Vinlig territory, a carriage rattled along the uneven mountain path.
Pulled by a pair of sturdy, thick-haired horses bred for cold terrains, the vehicle trudged steadily upward despite the snow-dusted ground and the skeletal remains of dried trees dotting the landscape.
Inside the carriage, four people were seated in relative quiet, the occasional jostle of the wheels over stones punctuating the stillness.
Lucian sat in one corner near the back seat of the carriage while looking out at the outside atmosphere from time to time.
Given that there was still a presence of snow but the weather conditions were somewhat bearable, he focused on why he was here—to secure a sustainable source of gunpowder.
He had been dealing with city affairs since the day he last visited the territory.
