The carriage creaked over the thin snow on the road.
Sitting in the carriage, Horn wrapped his thick wool coat tighter, squinting at this core city of the Holy Alliance.
Although it was already morning, the winter sky remained grey, and the entire ry Court Barracks was shrouded in dimness and blur.
As the mail carriage he rode drew nearer to the ry Court Barracks city area, the yawns of the entire city could be heard more clearly.
The bubbling sound of water boiling.
The clinking sound when old windows were opened.
The scolding of mothers waking their children.
The greetings of citizens as they stepped out.
A melodious flute sound wafted from the market street.
Those who recognized this flute sound understood that the market street had opened, delayed to four in the winter compared to three in the summer.
By the time Horn reached the market street, the bell tower had just chimed six times, marking six in the morning.
