In the deep winter month, night fell especially early. Lantat, already situated in the north, was hit by howling cold winds that made every pedestrian on the streets clutch their coats tighter, hold down their hats, and quicken their pace.
For them, the biggest change from the past was that street lamps now lined every road in Lantat, from the grand boulevards to the narrowest alleys. Clear, bright arcane crystal lights illuminated their paths home. Gone were the days when only a handful of bustling avenues had arc lamps, and most citizens had to navigate the winter darkness by Silvermoon and starlight, carry their own lanterns, or simply grope their way through the night — often stumbling and falling along the way.
The werewolf Nasdel rode the flow of passengers off the last arcane steam train of the day, stepping onto the smooth stone surface of the hexagram platform. In this world, cities themselves formed part of the arcane and Divine Arts defense networks, so with the exception of a handful of extraordinarily special cities like Ailin, the vast majority could never tear down their walls or gates, nor voluntarily abandon their defenses.
For precisely this reason, arcane steam trains were forbidden from entering cities at night. There was a saying about "the last train of the day" — after that, they had to wait at a temporary platform outside the city walls.
"Whew, the arcane steam train really lives up to the rumors and what the books say — comfortable, fast, and convenient. Truly an impressive alchemical creation." Nasdel exhaled a long breath and watched the plume of white vapor dissipate before him.
He wore the typical attire of the Holm Kingdom — a white shirt, brown sweater, and black double-breasted long coat, topped with a matching top hat. In one hand he carried an ornamental cane. His burly frame stretched the clothing tight, making it immediately obvious he was a man of considerable strength.
Nasdel looked around the platform and thought to himself, "It's a shame arcane steam trains can't run through the Dark Mountains. The Silvermoon Wasteland is the only option."
The Dark Mountains were riddled with dangerous spatial rifts and arcane creatures. There was over an eighty percent chance that a train venturing in would never come back.
The "Silvermoon Wasteland" was an extradimensional space controlled by the werewolf clan. Its name didn't really match reality — it wasn't a moonlit wasteland at all, but rather a quite prosperous and thriving plain. However, the werewolves had insisted on naming it that, and over the millennia, its original name had long been forgotten.
After surveying the platform and finding nothing of particular interest, Nasdel tugged at his clothes and headed outside, still somewhat unaccustomed to everything.
"Prince Dubonel entrusted me with this mission because he values me. He must see me as one of the rare werewolves with a clear head, good at thinking and observation. I can't let him down." Nasdel thought with pride and gratitude, his steps unconsciously quickening.
Dubonel had always considered himself the most cunning, clever, and scheming of all werewolves, and was Nasdel's personal "idol" — someone he tried to emulate in every manner and approach. The other princes and vampires all mocked Dubonel as a creature of truly linear thinking, reckless and lacking in planning, but that couldn't change Nasdel's view. They were obviously trying to slander His Highness's brilliance!
The moment he stepped off the platform, Nasdel's vision was flooded with brilliance — a dazzling panorama that made it seem as though the stars of the night sky had been reflected down upon the city of Lantat.
Arcane crystal lights flickered everywhere within his line of sight — street lamps, the warm glow inside homes, the headlights of alchemical carriages, and the lanterns hanging from horse-drawn coaches. All radiated a cozy, peaceful warmth, their combined light merging into a single luminous expanse that was dreamlike and breathtaking, seemingly outshining the very stars above.
And in one direction, two towering structures loomed over the entire city of Lantat. Their surfaces were studded with rows of luminous crystal lights that rendered them beautiful and noble in appearance, leaving a deep impression on Nasdel, who was seeing them for the first time. That was beauty of the most direct, visceral kind!
"This is..." Nasdel halted in his tracks, standing rooted to the spot in a trance, his mind going briefly blank — as if he were a werewolf unable to contain the restless urge of a full moon night.
"Never been to Lantat before? The taller one is the Holm Royal Arcane Tower. The slightly shorter one is the Holm Broadcasting Station, which also houses the National Electromagnetic Wave Management Committee..." A passing traveler shot Nasdel an amused glance and answered offhandedly.
A committee — wasn't that the kind of organizational structure only the Magic Council had? Did the Holm Kingdom's Electromagnetic Wave Management Committee somehow fall under a Four Strait Nations and Northern Coastal Corridor Electromagnetic Wave Management Committee? Was their headquarters in Ailin? A string of questions arose in Nasdel's mind, but he didn't ask any more, because the traveler's amused gaze had deeply wounded his pride.
"That was definitely the look you give a country bumpkin!" Nasdel was sure he'd guessed correctly, but in order to complete His Highness's mission, he forced himself to hold back and not beat the traveler up. "I absolutely cannot reveal my werewolf identity! But when I ask about other things later, how am I supposed to pretend this isn't my first time in Lantat?"
He possessed a fierce sense of pride, even among werewolves.
Carrying his luggage, Nasdel hailed a horse-drawn carriage and headed toward the bustling streets.
"Why are there so many people? Don't they feel the cold?" As they passed through a square, Nasdel saw hundreds — perhaps over a thousand — citizens standing in the freezing wind and felt quite perplexed. They weren't cold-resistant like werewolves, after all...
After having the carriage stop, Nasdel stood at the edge of the square and spotted a giant horn speaker at its center, from which a sweet, captivating voice was broadcasting.
"Coming up next is the program everyone loves — 'Mysteries of the Body.' We are honored to have Viscount John Wellesley with us. He is a Great Knight with extensive experience in body tempering. He will tell us which misconceptions about exercise to avoid before the body has fully matured, and what methods we can use to strengthen our bodies..."
Nasdel's eyes lit up. He pulled out a document from his luggage and began flipping through it rapidly.
Soon, he turned to a specific page, alternating between listening carefully and looking down at the document in his hands. Finally, he let out a hearty laugh and thought smugly to himself, "So this is the 'Voice of Mystery.' The intelligence was correct."