The battle had completely ended.
The golden Holy Fire had finally burned out, signifying that all things bearing the aroma of the undead had turned to flying ash.
It was dusk again, and under the setting sun, the thick white dust outside Agleya City silently spoke of the sadness of this war.
No matter the outcome, those with even a sliver of goodwill in their hearts, upon seeing this, could only feel endless desolation.
With the desperate help of the Undead Tribe, the Silver Shield Knights had managed to avoid any reduction in their numbers; they stood in the newly made cemetery, looking over the wilderness, motionless for a long time.
For the paladins of Tyr, this powerlessness was a true test of their will.
Hill rode the wind, flying over that wilderness.
Countless ashes, carried by the breeze, landed directly in a marble cave in the easternmost part of the Green Forest, a place he had prepared long ago.
