In high spirits, Hill boarded the Purvi, a magic ship, with a group of Fairies and some of the Elven City Guard who wanted to fight in Luskan.
These young, able-bodied Elves had not taken part in a proper war for a long time.
Aglaia had everything they could want except enough chances to fight. They still wanted to push themselves and seek a chance to reach Legendary rank.
Having finally recovered from the pain of their comrades' senseless deaths, the Elven Crusade had regained their spirits. They sat on the terrace atop Purvi's back, chatting and laughing as they admired the vast frozen landscape below.
Beyond Aglaia's territory, the sea past Neverwinter had frozen solid into an ocean of ice.
Watching the lively Elves, Hill sat on a sofa suspended in midair and thought to himself: I need to talk to the Space-Time Divine Artifact. When he plans Luskan's defenses, he shouldn't give every battlefield to the Undead.
At the very least, he needs to leave some room for Toril's local forces to prove themselves. We can't count on the Undead forever.
After all, no game stayed popular forever. People's tastes changed... Maybe mecha games would become mainstream again someday. Most players always chased whatever was popular.
Unless those games became part of their reality... Hill could only hope that the frightening prospect of a game becoming reality would never come to pass.
He knew that most people from a technological society were like him... They might talk about wanting a more exciting life, but they would never truly want it to happen around them.
Just adapting to the change in everything he believed had taken all the strength Hill, a homebody, could muster. He had merely hidden the pain of those unavoidable changes behind his silence.
Yet some