"Good... that is good," said Eloi as he struggled to suppress the tears threatening to escape. At last, he had an answer for the comrades who had given their lives defending their homeland. Their sacrifice had not been meaningless, nor had they died for the ambitions of politicians seeking more power. They had bought humanity another chance to survive, and that alone made their deaths easier to bear.
The other officers inside the command tent were in no better condition. Every single one of them had lost soldiers who would never return home to their families, and every empty place in their formations weighed heavily on their hearts. This time, however, it had not been another pointless war caused by aging politicians refusing to compromise with one another. Their men had died protecting the entire world from a catastrophe, and even the System itself had acknowledged their sacrifice with its rewards.
Eloi slowly wiped the moisture from his eyes before forcing himself back into the role of commander. "Our brothers-in-arms would not want us to stand here grieving forever," he said firmly, his voice carrying throughout the tent. "We still have work to do, so I need every soldier to endure for just a few more hours." His officers immediately straightened themselves before saluting and hurrying off to carry out their assignments.
The first priority was to determine the exact number of casualties within every company and division. Other units received orders to begin digging graves for those who had fallen, as there was currently no way to return the dead to life. They deserved more than being left where they had fallen after fighting so desperately. If nothing else, they would receive a proper burial worthy of soldiers who had defended humanity.
Eloi personally oversaw another task. He ordered his engineers and craftsmen to begin constructing wooden coffins for every fallen soldier while another group gathered stone from the nearby ridge. A monument would be erected at the entrance to the depression where the fiercest fighting had taken place. Future generations deserved to know exactly what had happened there and who had paid the price to stop the corrupted tide.
Three exhausting hours later, the final casualty reports arrived. Eloi silently accepted the completed report before staring at the numbers written across the pages. His heart sank even though he had expected terrible losses from the very beginning. Without saying another word, he uploaded the report to the military marketplace so Herman could immediately access it before returning to his own work.
He knelt beside an enormous slab of stone that would serve as the monument's foundation. Holding a chisel in one hand and a hammer in the other, Eloi carefully carved each word into the rock himself. Every strike echoed through the quiet battlefield that had finally fallen silent. He refused to let someone else perform that duty because he believed the commander who had survived owed at least that much to those who had not.
Far away at military headquarters, Herman received the report almost immediately. He printed the document without thinking much of it, expecting another routine update from the front lines. However, the moment he read the casualty figures, all strength seemed to leave his body. He simply sat in silence, staring at the paper for nearly ten full minutes as though willing the numbers to change.
They had to be wrong.
That was the only explanation his exhausted mind could accept. Some clerk must have misplaced a decimal point or accidentally added another zero somewhere along the line. Yet the report had already been verified by multiple officers, leaving no room for wishful thinking. If the figures were accurate, then something had gone catastrophically wrong on a scale he had never imagined.
The office door suddenly opened as Rian entered the room. He immediately noticed Herman sitting motionless behind his desk, looking less like the confident marshal of Europe and more like a defeated general who had just watched his army perish. Concern spread across Rian's face as he hurried over without waiting for permission. Whatever Herman was reading clearly was not ordinary paperwork.
"Herman?" he asked quietly.
Receiving no answer, Rian carefully took the report from Herman's trembling hands and lowered his eyes to the casualty list. His expression froze after only a few lines before every trace of color drained from his face. His breathing became shallow as he slowly reread the numbers, hoping he had misunderstood them the first time. Unfortunately, every line confirmed the same horrifying reality.
"These..." Rian whispered weakly. "These numbers can't be real."
His voice sounded hollow even to himself. Fewer American soldiers had died during the Vietnam War, a conflict that had stretched across roughly twenty years. Yet these casualty figures had accumulated in only four days of fighting against the corrupted creatures. The comparison alone was enough to make the scale of the disaster almost impossible to comprehend.
Silence filled the office once more. Neither man knew what to say because there simply were no words capable of lessening the weight carried by those numbers. For the first time since the beginning of humanity's struggle against mana, both of them truly understood just how close the world had come to destruction. Even victory carried a cost so terrible that it would be remembered for generations.
Rian," Herman finally said, his voice hoarse as he fought to keep his emotions under control. "Eloi mentioned that they will bury the fallen soldiers at eight o'clock this evening. I want every military base across the continent to lower its flag to half-mast and play the European anthem exactly at eight. Every soldier under our command will stand at attention until we receive confirmation that the last of our comrades has been laid to rest."
Without waiting for a reply, Herman placed the casualty report back onto his desk and walked out of the room. Rian watched him leave in silence, recognizing that there were no words capable of easing the burden Herman now carried. The marshal had already decided what needed to be done, and delaying it any longer would only dishonor the men who had sacrificed everything. Some responsibilities simply had to be carried, no matter how heavy they became.
Herman's destination was not another command office but the military's highest strategic think tank. The elderly men and women gathered there were among the architects who had built the modern European Army after years of reform. Without their vision, cooperation between so many nations would never have become possible. Herman knew they deserved to hear the news directly from him rather than through an official report or the evening broadcasts.
The atmosphere inside the think tank turned deathly silent as Herman entered. One glance at his expression told everyone that something terrible had happened. Nobody interrupted him as he quietly handed over the casualty report before taking a step back. The silence that followed lasted several minutes as the veterans slowly read through the document.
Meanwhile, the casualty figures began spreading throughout every military installation in Europe. Officers quietly informed their soldiers to prepare for an inspection at precisely eight o'clock that evening, though no further explanation was given. Rumors spread rapidly through the ranks as everyone wondered what had happened. By the time the official numbers became known, even the most experienced veterans found themselves speechless.
Everyone had watched the battle through the System's projection. They had witnessed the endless tide of corrupted creatures, the collapsing shield walls, and the desperate fighting that lasted for days without pause. Even so, the moving images had failed to capture the true brutality of the battlefield. Only after reading the casualty reports did people truly understand the price that had been paid to prevent the corrupted horde from reaching civilization.
As the evening approached, military bases across the continent fell unusually quiet. Soldiers who normally joked with one another now stood in perfect formation without speaking a word. Rows upon rows of uniforms stretched across parade grounds, airfields, naval bases, and training camps alike. Every flag slowly descended to half-mast while thousands of eyes remained fixed upon it.
The largest ceremony took place at the headquarters of Europe's six remaining standing legions. Nearly a million soldiers stood perfectly still in disciplined formation, their salutes unwavering beneath the setting sun. The sheer scale of the gathering transformed the parade ground into a sea of uniforms that stretched as far as the eye could see. Not even the wind seemed willing to disturb the solemn silence that had settled over the gathering.
Then, precisely as the clock struck eight, the European anthem began to play.
Its familiar melody echoed across every military installation on the continent. Countless soldiers instinctively straightened their posture even further as the music filled the evening air. Many kept their expressions perfectly disciplined, yet tears still quietly rolled down their faces. Others stared ahead with clenched jaws, refusing to let themselves break formation.
At the center of the ceremony, the six highest-ranking officers of the standing legions slowly stepped forward. Together, they carried a single wooden coffin draped in the European flag. It did not belong to any one soldier. Instead, it represented every man and woman who had laid down their lives during the defense of the ridge line.
They advanced through the honor guard with measured, perfectly synchronized steps. Every movement was deliberate, carrying the dignity expected of those entrusted with honoring the dead. The fading sunlight reflected softly from polished medals and ceremonial swords. Behind them, a twenty-one-gun salute thundered across the landscape, each report echoing like a final farewell.
The ceremony was broadcast throughout Europe, and millions of civilians watched in complete silence. Many had never paid much attention to the military before this day. Now they watched seasoned generals carrying a symbolic coffin with expressions of profound grief, and countless viewers found themselves crying alongside them. The images required no explanation.
Those six officers had become legends during the war with Russia. They had organized Europe's defense when defeat had seemed inevitable and had prevented the continent from collapsing under impossible odds. Without their leadership, Europe might never have recovered enough to become a global power again. Even Herman, despite being Marshal of Europe, believed he had done too little to deserve standing among them.
Instead, Herman remained in formation beside the other officers, holding his salute without the slightest movement. His face remained expressionless, but his thoughts were anything but calm. The punishment the System had inflicted upon Russia was severe, yet it did not feel sufficient after witnessing the price Europe had paid. The architects of the operation were dead, but Herman found no satisfaction in that fact.
As he glanced toward the six officers carrying the symbolic coffin, he studied their expressions carefully. Behind their discipline, he thought he saw the same determination burning within each of them. None of them appeared willing to let the matter end there. Herman sincerely hoped he had read their eyes correctly.
Far away from the military ceremonies, countless civilians also stopped whatever they were doing as the anthem played. In a quiet house surrounded by a small garden, an elderly man with gray hair slowly stood from his chair. Without saying a word, he faced the direction of the distant gun salutes and raised his hand in a perfect military salute. Though retired for many years, his posture remained as disciplined as ever.
His young grandson watched the scene with obvious confusion. He had never seen his grandfather behave so seriously before, nor did he understand why gunfire echoed across the city while everyone remained silent. The atmosphere felt heavy even to someone too young to grasp its meaning. Quietly, he turned toward his father.
"Dad... what is Grandpa doing?" the boy asked.
The man's father wiped a tear from the corner of his eye before answering. "Grandpa is paying his respects," he said softly. "One day, when you're older, you'll understand why."
The father lowered his own head in silent respect but did not raise his hand in salute. He had never served in the military and felt that gesture belonged to those who had worn the uniform. Instead, he simply observed the silence alongside his father while the anthem continued to play, honoring the men and women who had given their lives so that countless others would live to see another sunrise.