Two hours after the first coffin had been lowered into the earth, the burial of the remaining soldiers finally came to an end. One after another, the last of the fallen were laid to rest beneath freshly turned soil, each grave marked with a simple headstone until something more fitting could be constructed later. Once the final salute had been given, Eloi quietly opened the military marketplace and sent Herman a short message informing him that the last burial had been completed. There was nothing more to say, as both men understood the weight those few words carried.
Around the newly established cemetery, soldiers carefully finished placing the final headstones before silently walking away from the graves. Their former campsite had been transformed into a resting place for nearly eighty-eight thousand comrades, and no one complained about losing their sleeping quarters. If anything, they considered it an honor that those who had given everything would remain surrounded by the brothers and sisters who had fought beside them. The battlefield had become sacred ground.
Only after the last grave had been filled did the exhaustion truly begin to catch up with everyone. The previous five hours of cleaning the battlefield, recovering the bodies, digging graves, and organizing the funeral had tested every ounce of willpower they possessed. Throughout it all, they had continued moving simply because there was still work that needed to be done. Now that the final task had been completed, their determination alone was no longer enough to keep them standing.
It was a strange feeling that many of the soldiers struggled to understand. Thanks to the System's healing, their bodies felt almost perfectly healthy, and most of their wounds had already disappeared without leaving lasting injuries. Their muscles no longer ached, and physically they possessed enough strength to continue fighting if necessary. Yet their minds felt completely drained after spending days under constant stress, surrounded by death and never knowing whether the next attack would be their last.
Sleep suddenly became more valuable than any treasure the marketplace could offer. Conversations grew shorter as countless soldiers quietly wandered toward their temporary sleeping areas without even bothering to eat another meal. Some collapsed onto their bedrolls before they had fully removed their armor, while others simply sat down against a tree and fell asleep within moments. No one judged them for it, because everyone was in exactly the same condition.
Eloi himself was hardly any different. Although his rank demanded that he continue overseeing the reconstruction of the camp, he knew there came a point where an exhausted commander became a liability rather than an asset. His officers had already received their orders for the night, and they were more than capable of handling any remaining work without him. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to admit that he, too, had reached his limit.
Before returning to his tent, Eloi stopped and slowly turned around one final time. His eyes settled upon the monument he had spent hours carving with his own hands, now illuminated by the fading light of the setting sun. The rough stone seemed almost golden beneath the evening sky, making the freshly engraved letters stand out with remarkable clarity. He silently read every word once more before allowing himself to leave.
The inscription read:
"Here lie the fallen soldiers of the European Army who, in the defense of their home, gave their lives so that their children might witness another peaceful sunrise.
To all descendants of the 87,980 soldiers who laid down their lives upon this battlefield defending Europe and the world against a force that sought its destruction, let it forever be known that they did not surrender. They stood their ground, fought with honor until their final breath, and fulfilled their duty as true soldiers.
And to every soldier who follows after them, take up these torches and carry forward the will they have entrusted to you."
For several moments, Eloi simply stood there in silence. He hoped the monument would survive long after he himself was gone, reminding future generations of the terrible price that had been paid on this ridge. History had a habit of forgetting the names of ordinary soldiers while remembering only kings and politicians. This monument was his attempt to ensure that, at least here, the fallen would never be forgotten.
On either side of the monument stood two massive iron braziers, each supporting a bright ceremonial flame. Their steady light flickered gently against the engraved stone as though guarding the words carved into it. Those flames had not been lit merely for appearance. They represented the unbroken will of the soldiers who had fallen defending humanity.
Eloi had personally ordered that those fires were never to be extinguished. If one flame ever began to weaken, another soldier would immediately relight it before it could fade away completely. As long as the fires continued to burn, the spirit of their fallen comrades would symbolically remain alive within the army. Someday, young recruits who had never experienced this battle would stand before those same flames and inherit the responsibility of protecting Europe.
Standing beside the monument were four fully armed soldiers assigned as its first honor guard. Their expressions remained perfectly disciplined despite the exhaustion clearly visible beneath their eyes. Each of them had volunteered for the duty without hesitation, understanding exactly what it represented. Even after everything they had endured, none of them wished to abandon their comrades so soon.
Fortunately for them, relief was already on its way. A permanent ceremonial guard had been organized and was marching toward the battlefield even now to assume responsibility for protecting the monument day and night. The current guards eagerly awaited their replacements, not because they disliked the assignment, but because they were barely able to remain awake after the events of the past several days. Even so, none of them would leave their post until properly relieved.
The eternal flames reflected softly from their polished helmets as the evening breeze gently stirred the surrounding grass. Behind them stretched row upon row of freshly dug graves, each one representing a family forever changed by the battle fought upon this ridge. The silence hanging over the cemetery felt almost sacred, broken only by the crackling of the ceremonial fires. It was a silence born not from peace alone, but from remembrance.
Satisfied that everything had been completed exactly as it should be, Eloi finally turned away. Tomorrow there would be reports to write, reinforcements to organize, and countless responsibilities waiting for him once more. Tonight, however, he allowed himself to believe that his fallen comrades could finally rest in peace. With that final thought, he quietly walked toward his tent, leaving the monument and its eternal flames to watch over the battlefield until dawn.
Somewhere deep within the universe, far beyond the reach of mortal eyes, something briefly flickered into existence before heavy chains wrapped around it and dragged it back into the darkness. The strange phenomenon lasted for only a heartbeat before silence reclaimed the endless void, leaving no witness behind to question what had almost awakened. It was as though the universe itself had rejected whatever had tried to emerge, burying the event beneath layers of invisible laws. On Earth, however, no one noticed that anything unusual had happened, as humanity remained focused on mourning the terrible battle that had just ended.
"Mya, do you know why everyone in the Sonnenberg family is in such a low mood?" Henning asked his best friend as they walked through the guild headquarters together. Yesterday, they had watched the live broadcast of the military funeral, where six legendary commanders, whose names were already printed in history books, had carried a symbolic coffin toward its final resting place. The government had already declared the day a Day of Remembrance, and every city had observed a moment of silence for the fallen soldiers. Even so, Henning could not understand why the normally cheerful Sonnenbergs looked as though they had lost members of their own family.
The entire household had become strangely quiet after the ceremony ended. Conversations had almost disappeared, smiles had vanished, and even the younger members of the family spoke only in hushed voices whenever they passed each other in the hallways. It felt as though an invisible weight had settled over the mansion, pressing down on everyone equally. For someone like Henning, who knew very little about the family's military connections, the sudden change was both confusing and unsettling.
Of course, Henning did not know that the official casualty lists had still not been released to the public. The European military had decided that every family deserved to hear the news from trained officers instead of discovering the deaths of their loved ones through the internet or the evening news. It was a painful process that required time, but the military believed that showing respect to the fallen also meant showing respect to those they left behind. No commander wanted a grieving mother or wife to learn the truth from a careless headline.
Unfortunately, not everyone shared those values. Several ambitious reporters had managed to obtain copies of the casualty lists through illegal means and intended to publish them immediately in order to gain fame, readers, and money before anyone else. They believed that being the first to break the story mattered more than the pain it would inflict on thousands of families. Before they could publish a single name, however, military police arrived and arrested every journalist involved.
The charges brought against them were severe enough to silence the entire press corps almost overnight. They were accused of betraying the nation by attempting to interfere with official casualty notifications during a national emergency, a crime that carried the harshest possible punishment under the newly revised wartime laws. News of those arrests spread far faster than the casualty lists themselves, causing every other investigative journalist to immediately abandon similar attempts. No article was worth risking execution over, and everyone understood that message without needing it to be repeated.
"You didn't know this, Henning," Mya finally said after looking around to make sure no one else was listening. "The Sonnenbergs spent most of the campaign attached to Legion 23, so it's almost certain that someone they know is among the soldiers who died." She lowered her voice even further before continuing. "Even if none of their direct friends were killed, then a friend's friend almost certainly was. Right now, everyone is grieving, so I'd be careful about what you say for the next few days."
Henning immediately understood why the atmosphere had become so heavy. Until now, the battle had felt distant, almost unreal, because he had only seen it through the System's broadcast. Watching soldiers fight on a screen was completely different from realizing that those soldiers had shared meals, jokes, and training sessions with people living under the same roof as him. Suddenly, the war no longer felt like history unfolding somewhere else. It had reached their home in the most personal way possible.
Before Henning could respond, Mya's face suddenly turned completely pale. Her eyes widened as though she had just remembered something incredibly important, and without saying another word she grabbed Henning by the sleeve. She immediately began dragging him down the hallway toward the guild's sleeping quarters with surprising strength. The sudden change left Henning completely confused as he struggled to keep up with her frantic pace.
"What is going on, Mya?" Henning asked while nearly stumbling over his own feet. "Why are we suddenly running?" He could not understand what had frightened her so badly only moments after they had been calmly talking. Judging by the panic on her face, however, whatever she had remembered could not possibly be good.
"No! Are you stupid, Henning?" Mya practically shouted through gritted teeth without slowing down. "We have to stop Lukas before he says something incredibly dumb and gets every single one of us punished with extra training!" Her grip tightened even further as she imagined exactly what kind of insensitive joke Lukas might accidentally make after hearing only half the story.
Unfortunately for her, the person she was dragging suddenly disappeared from her grasp. She blinked once in confusion before realizing that Henning had somehow slipped free without her noticing. Looking farther down the corridor, she spotted him already sprinting ahead at full speed with an expression that clearly showed he had reached exactly the same conclusion she had. The moment he understood who they were trying to stop, he no longer needed to be dragged anywhere.
Mya blinked twice to convince herself that she had actually seen what just happened. A second earlier she had practically been pulling Henning along like dead weight, and now he had completely overtaken her. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she immediately broke into a run herself. There was no way she was letting him reach Lukas alone.
The two promising recruits raced through the guild headquarters with remarkable speed, startling everyone they passed. Several instructors watched them disappear around corners without even bothering to ask what had happened, as the expressions on their faces made it obvious that something serious was unfolding. Neither Henning nor Mya paid attention to the curious stares directed toward them. At that moment, preventing one reckless comment had become more important than maintaining proper etiquette.
Both of them knew Lukas well enough to predict exactly how his mind worked. He had an unfortunate habit of speaking before thinking, especially when he became nervous or tried to lighten an uncomfortable atmosphere with humor. Normally, his jokes were harmless and occasionally even funny. Today, however, a single poorly timed remark about the battle or the funeral could deeply offend grieving veterans and instructors who had personally lost friends during the fighting.
If that happened, extra training would probably be the least of their worries. Many of the instructors serving at the guild had previously fought alongside Legion 23. The emotional wounds left by the recent battle were still fresh, and tempers remained dangerously short. Lukas would almost certainly apologize afterward, but that would not erase the damage already done.
While Henning and Mya hurried through the guild in hopes of preventing a disaster, events outside its walls continued moving at an equally frantic pace. Across Europe, military convoys rolled out from countless bases with new orders issued directly after the System's judgment. The previous battle had proven beyond any doubt that allowing Secret Realms to remain full posed an unacceptable danger to humanity. No commander wanted to gamble with another catastrophe of that scale.
Units that had only just returned from combat were immediately reassigned to clearing nearby Secret Realms before the creatures inside could build up their numbers again. Reserve forces, newly recruited adventurers, and local defense units all received similar assignments, creating one of the largest coordinated clearing operations the continent had ever attempted. Every available resource was thrown into reducing the threat before another realm reached its limit. The military refused to give fate another opportunity to test them.
Private owners who had legally purchased Secret Realms also received urgent notices ordering them to accelerate their clearing schedules. Those who lacked the strength to finish alone were instructed to request military assistance rather than allowing their realms to become overcrowded. The new policy left very little room for personal preference or financial concerns. Public safety had become the highest priority.
The reasoning behind those orders was painfully simple. A full Secret Realm no longer represented merely a private investment or an isolated training ground. It had become a direct threat to the nation in which it existed and, potentially, to the entire world if left unchecked. After witnessing nearly eighty-eight thousand soldiers give their lives to contain a single disaster, no responsible government was willing to take such risks ever again. Humanity had paid dearly for its lesson, and from that day onward, no one intended to forget it.