The first southern caravan arrived during snowfall.

Not heavy snowfall.

The quieter kind that drifted slowly across the northern roads and covered wagon tracks almost as quickly as they appeared.

The guards atop Elarion’s outer watchtowers spotted the convoy shortly before noon.

Six wagons.

Three mounted escorts.

Merchant banners from the southern trade roads.

Ordinary at first glance.

Yet by the time the report reached the fortress—

Malen was already suspicious.

"Too clean," the Peak Knight muttered while standing beside the upper battlements overlooking the valley road.

Below them, the caravan slowly approached the outer checkpoint while northern guards prepared inspection lines near the gates.

Lucien looked toward the approaching wagons calmly.

"Bandits?"

"No."

Malen narrowed his eyes slightly.

"They move like trained men pretending not to."

That alone was enough to become concerning.

Beside them, Lucas sighed deeply while reading the caravan registration papers.

"They claim to be iron and textile merchants from the southern routes."

"They are lying," Malen answered immediately.

Lucas frowned.

"You identified that from this distance?"

"One guard keeps checking terrain elevation."

The administrator blinked.

"...And that’s suspicious?"

"Merchants look at roads. Soldiers look at terrain."

Lucien stayed silent afterward while observing the caravan himself.

Nothing obviously wrong appeared immediately.

The wagons looked normal enough.

Travel-worn.

Snow-covered.

The lead merchant even complained loudly about northern weather while arguing with the checkpoint guards.

Convincing.

But Malen rarely became suspicious without reason.

Which meant Lucien already trusted the conclusion.

Far below meanwhile, the southern "merchants" entered Elarion beneath armed inspection.

The lead trader wore layered winter clothing beneath a dark fur cloak while speaking with the practiced friendliness of someone accustomed to negotiating across noble territories.

His name, according to the papers, was Rowan Hale.

Though his real name was actually Raven.

And at that moment—

The royal operative was trying very hard not to stare openly at the industrial district visible beyond the fortress roads.

Because the reports had not exaggerated.

At all.

Smoke rose endlessly from multiple forge districts while workers moved through organized supply routes carrying refined steel, coal, timber, and machinery parts between active workshops.

Even the roads looked reinforced recently.

Raven kept his expression neutral carefully.

But internally—

He understood immediately why Prince Cassian became concerned.

This was not a frontier territory anymore.

This was infrastructure.

One of the northern guards knocked against the side of the wagon again before stepping back.

"You’re clear."

"Finally," one fake merchant complained loudly. "Your roads nearly froze my teeth off."

The guard snorted.

"That means you’re adapting."

The southern operative forced a tired laugh while the caravan continued moving inward through Elarion.

Raven quietly observed everything.

Workers looked healthier than expected.

Armed patrols moved in organized rotations.

Construction continued even during winter.

And perhaps most concerning—

People did not look afraid.

That bothered him more than the dragon rumors somehow.

Oppressed territories usually carried tension.

Fear.

Bitterness.

But Elarion felt... functioning.

Alive.

The caravan eventually stopped near the central trade quarter where several northern merchants immediately approached looking interested in southern goods.

Perfect cover.

Raven dismounted slowly while the others began unloading trade samples from the wagons.

Textiles.

Iron fittings.

Wine.

Normal merchandise.

Hidden beneath one wagon compartment meanwhile rested coded communication tools and sealed intelligence materials.

Standard precautions.

One of his agents quietly stepped beside him afterward. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

"...This place isn’t what I expected."

Raven answered softly without looking toward him.

"No."

The operative lowered his voice further.

"What now?"

Raven glanced toward the distant western district where furnace smoke darkened the sky above Elarion.

"Observe first."

The agent nodded once before separating naturally into the growing market crowd.

Careful.

Professional.

Exactly as trained.

Unfortunately for them—

Aurethar noticed almost immediately.

High above the fortress walls, the golden dragon lazily rested across a reinforced watchtower while observing the settlement below with half-open eyes.

Then suddenly the dragon lifted his head slightly.

"...Interesting."

Nearby guards immediately looked nervous.

One swallowed carefully.

"What is?"

Aurethar’s golden gaze followed the southern merchants moving through the trade quarter below.

"Your visitors smell dishonest."

The guard blinked.

"...You can smell dishonesty?"

"I am a dragon."

"That did not answer the question."

Aurethar ignored him entirely.

Far below, Raven suddenly paused mid-step.

A strange feeling crawled briefly down his spine.

Like being watched.

He slowly glanced upward afterward.

And froze.

Because atop the distant fortress tower—

A massive golden dragon was staring directly at him.

Even across the settlement, Raven could feel the pressure behind those ancient eyes.

The dragon tilted its head slightly.

Then smiled.

Not friendly.

Not threatening either.

Worse.

Amused.

Raven calmly looked away afterward and continued walking.

Internally however—

Every survival instinct he possessed was screaming.

Later that evening, the southern merchants secured temporary lodging within the trade quarter while northern workers continued flooding taverns and supply halls after long shifts in the workshops.

The atmosphere remained loud and warm despite the cold outside.

Raven sat quietly near the corner of the inn listening more than speaking.

Workers complained about furnace schedules.

Guards argued over rifle training rumors.

One drunk blacksmith loudly declared smoothbore muskets "obsolete garbage" before another threw bread at him.

Normal conversation.

Yet hidden within it—

Information flowed constantly.

"...Marksmen training started yesterday."

"...Heard the Lord expanded steel production again."

"...No, the dragon actually ate the entire cow."

"...That cannot possibly be true."

"...I saw it."

Raven slowly drank from the mug in his hands while memorizing every detail.

This territory was industrializing faster than intelligence predicted.

And if the rifle rumors were true—

Then Prince Cassian’s concern was entirely justified.

A quiet voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

"You’re southern."

Raven looked up calmly.

Lucas stood beside the table holding several rolled inventory papers beneath one arm.

Tired eyes.

Sharp expression.

The administrator studied him casually.

"Your accent," Lucas clarified.

Raven smiled politely.

"Trade routes."

"Mm."

Lucas remained there another moment.

Then unexpectedly sat down across from him.

The inn suddenly felt quieter somehow.

"You’ll have to forgive northern caution," Lucas said lightly.

"Winter makes people suspicious."

Raven returned the smile carefully.

"And here I thought dragons caused the suspicion."

For the first time—

Lucas laughed.

Actual laughter.

Brief, tired, genuine.

"That too," the administrator admitted.

Then his eyes sharpened slightly afterward.

"So."

A pause.

"What exactly are southern merchants looking for this far north?"