The cold winter wind blew across the Ezo Sea. The lofty Northern Country was vast and desolate. The thousands of armed forces confronting each other, whether from the Kingdom or the Japanese, were like specks of dust along the coast. Even the ten Large Ships facing each other were no more than tiny grains of rice, dotted along the banks of the broad river. Yet the trade taking place here at this moment involved Wealth worth tens of millions, an exchange that would shape the future fate of two continents.
"This… Dada Noble from Mongolia (타타)… please extend your left hand, and allow this Servants to take your pulse…"
The soft, gentle voice, the small, icy-cold hand, lightly rested on Zuwaro's wrist. His brow rose as he looked at the Medical Woman taking his pulse before him. That delicate face, mild brows and eyes, posture as meek as wind-tossed willow, and the light, slender figure, did not stir up any other thoughts in him, only suspicion.
