Chapter 728: The Young Man from the North

Snow had begun to fall.

Kord stood behind the large floor-to-ceiling window of his office, pipe clenched between his teeth, gazing absentmindedly at the swirling snowflakes outside. The factory buildings beyond the glass appeared faintly blurred beneath the gentle cascade of white.

In this northern land, the first snowfall always came early—often arriving well before winter officially set in.

Not long ago, such an early snow was considered a bad omen, even linked to death itself.

An early cold snap meant outdoor work had to stop sooner, fuel supplies became harder to manage, and common folk had to stretch their limited food and firewood to survive a longer winter. For the poor, who counted every stick of wood and every loaf of bread, even a single extra day of winter could mean the difference between life and death.

So people had a special name for this premature snow: the White Death.

But that was in the past—at least in most parts of the southern regions. To Kord, the first snow was slowly replacing those grim memories with a different image: a beautiful scene.

He only hoped the snow wouldn’t spread too far, especially not over the Holy Spirit Plains. After all, many parts of the country still couldn’t withstand the White Death’s harsh grip.

Kord bit down on his pipe, the faint red glow inside flickering as thick smoke curled upward and slowly dispersed. His thoughts drifted along with the smoke.

The wind whipped snowflakes against the massive crystal glass. Such crystal had long been associated with rarity and expense, and it was rare to see panes this large. The technology to produce cheap, large white crystal had been monopolized by the Typhon Empire for years. Transport difficulties and deliberate embargoes meant that during the Ansu era, standard window panes never exceeded half a meter in size. It wasn’t until a year ago that Cecil’s alchemy factory cracked the Typhon secret, allowing large crystal glass to gradually appear in southern architecture.

With the arrival of these large crystal panes and the new architectural style introduced by Emperor Galvin Cecil, floor-to-ceiling windows became a fashionable feature this year.

How the alchemists managed to reverse-engineer the technology without samples or documentation was a mystery to Kord, a businessman rather than a technician.

His rare moment of quiet was soon interrupted by a steady knock on the door. From behind him, his eldest son Pal’s voice called out, “Father, someone’s here to see you.”

Kord turned. “A representative from Marlin Trading Company?”

It was early for a visitor on such a snowy day.

But the young man at the door shook his head. “No, sir. It’s a young man from the North. He says his name is Philm. He claims he has something very important to show you and that you’ll be interested.”

“A young man from the North?” Kord blinked in surprise. “Traveling all this way in such cold weather isn’t easy. Maybe he took the Highlander Express down here to try his luck…”

He muttered to himself, a hint of nostalgia stirring in his chest.

Strangers coming to see him was nothing new. As the rising head of the Kord Family Trading Company and leader of the Carol Merchant Guild, visitors were constant. Many were brave young dreamers—young people full of courage and fresh ideas, eager to seize opportunities in this rapidly changing land under Emperor Galvin’s new order. And Kord’s company was undoubtedly a place where opportunities could be found.

Most of these young hopefuls, however, were just that—hopeful but inexperienced. Their clever ideas often proved impractical. Still, Kord made a point of welcoming them. From a business perspective, his company needed to cultivate a reputation for embracing innovation and attracting talent. On a personal level, these bold challengers reminded him of himself—his reckless first ventures into trade, and the renewed fire for challenge he’d felt in recent years.

He hadn’t expected a stranger from the North to come calling, though. The young man must have done his homework.

His scheduled partners hadn’t arrived yet, so there was no harm in meeting this visitor.

“Let him in,” Kord nodded. “Tell him he has twenty minutes.”

“Yes, Father.”

Pal left, and moments later a young man in a blue coat and golden hair stepped inside.

By habit, Kord appraised the visitor’s attire and bearing.

The coat was decent—woolen, a bit worn but clean and well cared for. His smile was gentle and polite, tinged with a habitual humility, lacking any trace of arrogance or noble airs.

He was likely a middle-class citizen of some means, well-educated, perhaps once in service to nobility or in a profession requiring frequent dealings with those of higher status. He could clearly afford a ticket on the Highlander Express—probably a mid-tier cabin.

“Good day, Mr. Kord. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the young man said with a smile, a hint of excitement shining through. “I come from Baren. You can call me Philm…”

“Pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Philm. Please, close the door,” Kord nodded, gesturing toward a chair reserved for guests, cushioned and high-backed. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Philm quickly shut the door and settled into the chair. Kord, the renowned merchant, began his questions.

“Mr. Philm, I’m not very familiar with the North. Baren is…”

“Oh, it’s a small town near Saint Suniel, not very well known,” Philm replied with a practiced smile. Having been raised by his father and exposed to the old capital’s society, he knew the importance of maintaining a pleasant demeanor. Still, his youth betrayed him—his words came a bit too fast, his excitement barely contained. “It’s west of the capital, luckily untouched by the recent war…”

“Mr. Philm, let’s get to the point. The journey from Saint Suniel here isn’t easy. What brings you all this way in the dead of winter?”

“Yes, sir, it’s quite far. If not for the Highlander Express’s speed, I’d probably still be on the Gorgon River, and then I’d have to trek part of the way on foot—the river’s about to freeze,” Philm said as he opened a small box he’d brought with him, carefully placing its contents on Kord’s desk. “I came to show you something. I asked around in Rock City, and they said if you have new ideas or inventions, you should try your luck with the Carol Guild’s chairman. You’re known for helping young people, generous and discerning, often buying their good ideas…”

Kord paid little mind to the flattery and focused on the box. Inside was just a piece of crystal—a recording crystal, apparently a man-made crystal from the South. Its quality seemed low, but as a magical item, it would still be quite valuable up North. Judging by how carefully Philm handled it, this was likely his most precious possession.

The North wasn’t like the South; magical items were rare and expensive there. Though new transport routes using mechanical ships and magic-powered vehicles had begun bringing southern magical goods and cheap synthetic crystals northward, the supply was limited, and prices remained high.

Still, recording crystals weren’t uncommon to Kord. The real value must lie in what was recorded inside.

He looked up at the young man. “What’s on it?”

“Yes, sir. Please allow me to show you.” Philm took out several metal plates inscribed with runes—rune boards, though lacking official stamps or standard clasps, likely crude copies made in small northern workshops during the Ansu reforms. He carefully assembled them, fiddling for some time until the imperfect devices powered up. Then he placed the southern recording crystal at the magical focal point of the setup. “Almost ready, almost ready, sir.”

Kord considered telling him he had a modern magic network terminal with universal slots that could play the crystal directly, no need for such fuss. But curiosity and patience won out, and he watched as Philm completed the process.

The low-quality crystal began to glow, and an image appeared above it.

A man dressed in bright, flamboyant clothes stood in the projection, loudly praising someone off-screen.

A woman in a long dress entered, arguing with the man.

After a comical quarrel, a third person stepped into the center, seemingly trying to mediate, only to be attacked by both man and woman.

Kord stared blankly at the scene until the short drama ended and the image looped. He finally muttered, “What… is this?”

“‘The Lady of Butterfly Manor.’ It’s a popular play in the capital these past few years—I mean the old capital. I’m from there,” Philm said rapidly, eyes shining. His earlier nervousness had vanished. “Of course, this is just a short excerpt, and I made some adjustments… since the crystal isn’t a stage. Ah, sir, I should have recorded a longer segment. There’s a fantastic fight and debate later on, but the magic network terminals in the old capital only allow less than ten minutes per session, and I had to work hard to get a manager to help me record this from the crystal… I haven’t even told my father about this.”

Kord’s mind raced. On impulse, he asked, “Your father?”

“Yes. His name is Barna. He’s a well-known playwright around Saint Suniel and nearby, with his own troupe. But no one here would know him,” Philm said, pride and a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “We often perform for the nobility, but now… well, you know, the nobles don’t have much time for our shows anymore, and there aren’t as many nobles left in Saint Suniel. If my father knew I’d taken his proudest script and turned it into this, even performed it in the square, he wouldn’t be very happy…”

“Son,” Kord suddenly interrupted Philm’s somewhat rambling story, his eyes burning as he locked onto the young man’s gaze. “How did you come up with it? I mean, recording a play onto crystal…”

“I went to see His Majesty the Emperor’s coronation,” Philm said with a shy smile. “But I was standing far away, so all I could see was this huge image suddenly appearing over the square—then someone told me it came from a magic network terminal in the southern lands. Unlike the illusions created by mages, these terminals seem to be everywhere down south, scattered along streets and alleys…”

He paused awkwardly for a moment before continuing, “Sir, our troupe is struggling right now—everyone is. Half the theaters in Saint Sunir have already shut down.”

The wars in the north had changed many lives.

That’s why there was the Highlander ship, and why Philm had witnessed so many facets of life aboard it.

A stubborn father still waited for the nobles to return to the theaters, but a brave young man had run off, eager to see the world beyond—to witness the birthplaces of those incredible magical devices.

Maybe once the nobles recovered, they’d return to those grand, elegant playhouses. But as Kord looked at the crystal in front of him, still replaying the scenes over and over, he knew—some things were about to change.

A shiver ran down his spine.

He wasn’t the only one who’d thought to install heating runes on iron plates or to use ice spike spells in food storage boxes.

How much could something like this be worth?

(End of chapter)