The second week of the Cold Month, the cold wind from the northern mountains howled without end. A heavy snowfall had lasted the whole night, covering the long defensive line of the northern parts of the mountain range. Even the sea of fire and smoke raised by the magic cannon and Legion Spells cooled under the power of nature, and the ranges along the edge of the Dark Wasteland were clothed in silver.
Yet even the most ordinary Soldier knew this brief, quiet winter would not last long—the cold could only slightly slow the movements of the aberrations, their offensive would not halt because of any change in the weather. On that foul, corrupted land, clashes between the frontline troops and the aberrations would soon begin anew; indeed, in a sense… they had never truly ceased for a single moment.
