Chirp—!
Above the ruins of Minas Tirith, a half-elf ranger rode a griffin across this ancient battlefield, which had long since become an azure sea, and spread her hands with a dazed expression.
She let the bleak north wind blow the white lilies from her hand. Symbols of peace and longing, they scattered as they fell through the air, drifting above the endless sea of crosses before finally landing upon the claws the silver dragon statue stretched toward the heavens before the ruined walls.
Watching this chance-made scene, a wistful, mournful smile appeared on the half-elf's haggard, pale little face:
"Mr. Levis, Warriors of Zelandia, Aierlinni has come to see you again.
"Are you doing well in hell?"
Today happened to be the sixtieth anniversary of Zelandia's War of Resistance.
And not only today—every year as this date approached, many Northlanders would voluntarily bring flowers and offerings to this "Silver Dragon's Tear" to mourn the martyrs who had given their lives defending the people of the Northlands.
They believed.
They believed that so long as they had not forgotten, those people would live forever.
Yet they would all be stopped halfway by a band of rangers patrolling the border, who would complete the memorial rite for them by scattering the offerings from high in the sky.
Because Li Wei could not determine whether the Void Star God, which he had sealed back inside the Four-Dimensional Labyrinth, could still corrupt nearby creatures through nightmares—or how extensive its influence might be—he had Shield Warrior Skard and the others seal off these ruins after they fell into hell.
To the public, they claimed that too many Demons had died here, and that the chaotic power of the Abyss would taint mortal minds.
Still, many living beings wandered in by mistake, especially in the