Chapter 155: Chapter 146: Choosing a Fief

The howling northern wind carried the still unmelted ice and snow across the open plains, whipping against the marching party, cutting their faces like knives.

Pal tugged at his cloak and clicked his tongue, “Can this really be called ’spring’? I haven’t seen a single blade of grass.”

Riding a tall steed, his red and black cloak embroidered with gold thread, he stood out remarkably.

Even in the northern wilderness, he maintained the air of a “young nobleman out on a jaunt.”

Not far behind him, Willis kept his head down and wrapped himself tightly in a black cloak, riding silently.

His eyes were constantly patrolling the front and sides, noting the terrain, landscape, climate, and the changes in marching speed, even occasionally noting the collapsed outposts and signs left by beasts along the way.

Pal had never proactively spoken to him, as he actually looked down on this “bastard.”

And Willis had no desire to speak to him either; although brothers, they were not very familiar with each other, traveling together only to look out for each other along the way.

Frost Halberd City finally appeared at the end of the snowfield.

The city walls were tall and imposing, the stonework rough yet solid, with battle scars on the mottled surface, as if ready to raise flags and repel enemies at any moment.

Two banners hung high on either side of the city gate, flapping loudly in the wind and snow, though slightly faded, still recognizable as the silver eagle emblem of Frost Halberd City.

Atop the gate tower, guards stood with halberds, their armor shining with an iron-gray sheen under the cold light, their gazes alert.

As they approached, a guard shouted, “Halt! Who goes there?”

Pal nonchalantly brushed the snow off his cloak and replied loudly, “People of the Calvin Clan. Pal Calvin, and beside me is Willis Calvin, both are Pioneer Lords enfeoffed by the Empire.”

The guard scanned the two of them, his demeanor not daring to relax, and upon hearing the name “Calvin,” his eyes turned solemn, promptly turning inside to report.

Soon, a response came from the gate tower: “Passage granted, guests of the Calvin Family, please enter.”

The heavy iron gate slowly opened, emitting a deep metallic grinding sound.

The guard nodded to the two, indicating they could enter the city.

Pal urged his horse forward while muttering softly, “At least the gate looks decent; who knows what the inside will look like?”

As they stepped inside, a middle-aged official in a heavy cloak approached quickly.

He bowed slightly before them, speaking concisely, “I am an aide dispatched by Duke Edmund. Please follow me to the Governor’s Mansion; Duke Edmund has been informed of your arrival.”

The two nodded and walked with him, occasionally glancing at their surroundings.

The streets of Frost Halberd City were muddy, snow mixed with sewage, making a squelching sound as the horses stepped on it, as if stepping into a mix of unmelted ice and bloodstains.

Unlike the chaotic and filthy mess of the slums, the streets showed almost no sign of idle civilians.

Instead, soldiers and knights could be seen everywhere,

donned in armor and helmets, their expressions grim, marching in step, occasionally brushing shoulders, their hands moving discreetly to their sword hilts.

The city’s architecture was mostly stone-built, with a rough and simple style, stone walls mottled and marked with frost scars, like the scars of old soldiers.

Many wooden parts had weathered, door and window frames nailed with iron sheets or large iron nails, many roofs having collapsed before.

Sustained with makeshift planks and leather, with undried frost still hanging in the cold wind.

These houses were clearly not built for “living” but for “holding.”

Watchtowers along the street stood tall and silent, slightly tilted in some places, yet still stood like mountains amidst the wind and snow.

No hawking calls, no cooking smoke, no children playing and laughing.

Frost Halberd City lacks any trace of “urban” vitality. It’s more like a slumbering suit of battle armor, unremarkable in appearance but capable of withstanding enemy assaults.

“Tsk, this is no city, it’s clearly a frontline fortress.”

Pal muttered softly, his tone unable to hide the characteristic disdain of a noble son.

He glanced at Willis beside him, seemingly waiting for a confirming response.

But Willis did not respond.

He simply gazed silently at the city before him, the street, and the silently marching soldiers.

A fleeting solemnity crossed his eyes, as if he finally understood something.

This was not desolation, but the remnants of war.

Here there was no chaos, only a near-cold order, a peace sustained by sacrifice and repression.

Willis lowered his head, tightened his cloak, his eyes drooping slightly.

The journey should never have been underestimated, but now it seemed he had still underestimated the weight of this land.

Of course, he did not respond to Pal’s complaint, nor did he express his own concerns.

Pal saw his silence, merely pursed his lips and rolled his eyes.

His arrogance prevented him from lowering himself to inquire what the silent man was thinking.

Thus, the two walked side by side down this heavy street, silent, each preoccupied with their own thoughts.

The accompanying scribe walked ahead, speaking steadily, “Just two more streets to the Governor’s Mansion; please bear with us a little longer.”

Soon they arrived at a rugged castle, the Governor’s Mansion.

The gates of the Governor’s Mansion slowly opened with a heavy creak, and as they stepped inside, it was solemn at first glance.

There was no opulent ceiling, no velvet carpet or crystal lamps, only a heavy long table, a few old bookshelves leaning against the wall, and the sole decoration, a deep blue military flag.

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