On the wind-swept wastelands of the northern frontier, Louis Calvin pulled his wolfskin cloak tighter around himself, standing alone atop an icy cliff. As a duke’s son, he had been cast into this eternally frozen wilderness under the pretense of “pioneering glory.”

Just when he thought this was the end of the road, the Daily Intelligence System activated:

【Thirty-seven starving frost wolves are lying in ambush in the southeastern valley. They plan to raid your territory tonight.】

【At dawn, a corpse of an ancient god will surface from the Ice Lake. Its heart still retains a trace of Winter Divinity.】

【The Church of Broomflower will label you a blasphemer. The Holy Flame Knights have already begun their northern crusade.】

【A tide of the undead will sweep across the continent. Humanity will be reduced to less than a million.】

…While southern nobles schemed and fought over power and titles, Louis’s iron cavalry had already crushed the barbarian tribes. Frost dragons roared above the Coldiron Wall.

Winter has come. This storm will consume the entire continent.