The group stood frozen in the ruins of Eden Village, the air thick with the stench of death and smoke. Luo Feng remained on his knees, still cradling what was left of Miya's body against his chest, his loud sobs the only sound breaking the silence.
The thirty-two adventurers slowly spread out, weapons drawn, eyes scanning every collapsed hut, every trampled field, every dark corner.
They searched for survivors.
They found none.
What they found instead was pure horror.
Bodies lay scattered everywhere. Some had been cut into pieces by demon claws. Others were burned black by fire magic, their forms twisted in final agony. Many more were crushed beneath the collapsed wooden beams of their own homes, arms still reaching out as if trying to protect loved ones. Children. Elders. Farmers who had only ever wanted to live in peace. The scene was unbearable — so brutal, so merciless, that even the hardest S-rank warriors had to turn away for a moment, jaws clenched, eyes burning with barely contained rage.
Every single adventurer's face darkened with fury. Their eyes blazed with anger directed straight at the five "blessed" heroes and the surviving soldiers who had used these innocent people as living shields and then fled.
No one spoke the words aloud, but the thought was clear in every heart:
The heroes did this.
For two full days they worked without rest.
Luo Feng helped carry every body with his own hands — gentle even in his grief. He personally laid Miya down in the earth beside the new pond she had once laughed beside, placing the silver lotus hairpin on her chest before covering her with soil. The adventurers dug grave after grave, marking each one with simple stones. They buried every last villager — two hundred souls — side by side under the same sky that had once watched their village grow green and hopeful.
On the evening of the second day, the last grave was filled.
The thirty-two adventurers stood in silence around the fresh burial ground, heads bowed. Their eyes still burned with the same cold fury.
Luo Feng stood at the front, face streaked with dirt and dried tears, staring at the rows of new graves. He said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
They walked back to the teleportation circle in heavy silence.
The Guild Master's magic activated with a flash of silver light.
In an instant, all thirty-three men vanished from the ruined village and reappeared in the stone courtyard behind the Adventurers Guild in the capital.
The teleport was over.
They had returned.