Before I knew it, it was late December. Comfortable, cool autumn had passed and now even wearing two layers of clothing couldn't ward off the chill.
Located in a low-latitude region, Paratu only experienced ice on the coldest days of the year, but on some mornings, one could still see a layer of frost congealed on the ground.
Outside Shuangqiao City, in a corner of the army camp, Bell was sitting in front of a fire, lost in thought.
The wood crackled in the blaze, the wind occasionally scattering the flames, but still, they stubbornly radiated light and heat.
In the damp chill of winter, this small flame was the only thing that could make one feel warm.
Next to the bonfire stood a military tent, from which Berlion emerged carrying a pot of iron. He placed the pot over the fire, then turned to go back into the tent.
Seeing the blacksmith coming over, Bell stirred up the fire to make it burn more vigorously. Berlion set the pot on the fire and then turned back to the tent.