They had won. The war against the Mountain-Eaters was finally over.
Many soldiers shouted in victory, some cried with relief, while others stayed on guard, their weapons still raised in case another monster appeared.
Then, with a sharp crackle, the army's communication devices came back to life. A commanding voice cut through the noise.
"Attention, all soldiers. We are pulling out. Aid the wounded and recover the bodies of our brothers and sisters."
The victory cries stopped as reality set in.
The reminder of their fallen comrade was like cold water splashed over the ranks.
Without hesitation, the soldiers followed orders—lifting the injured onto makeshift stretchers, gathering the dead, and regrouping for departure.
The battlefield, once filled with screams and explosions, was now quiet.
Soldiers carried the wounded and the dead toward the waiting trucks.
The air reeked of blood and smoke, with poison mist still clinging in the air.
Broken weapons, armors, and monster corpses littered the ground as soldiers stepped carefully between them.
In the pale moonlight, the army moved in silence. Victory was theirs, but at a heavy cost.
By the time the last body was loaded, the trucks were ready.
With heavy hearts, the soldiers climbed aboard, leaving the battlefield behind.
***
The truck shook over the rough road, throwing the soldiers around with every bump.
Even with so many soldiers packed inside, no one spoke. The silence was broken only by heavy breathing and the wind slipping through the cracks.
The truck was filled with the wounded. Healers stood among them, supervising and relieving the soldiers' pain with magic.
Most of the soldiers sat slumped against the walls. The air was thick with sweat, blood, and silence.
Some stared at the floor like they had lost something. Others closed their eyes, murmuring names or prayers to themselves.
A few clutched small items—bracelets, torn crystals, or charms—holding them as if they were the most precious thing in the world.
William was among them, sitting in the corner with his head low, leaning against the wall.
His right leg, now a stump, was stretched out in front of him, wrapped in heavy bandages. The pain came in waves, never fully leaving.
He tried not to look at it, but his eyes always wandered back.
Still, compared to the others—their empty stares, shaking hands, and quiet sobs—his wound felt small. That thought hurt more than the pain itself.
The truck drove on for hours. They stopped once at the frontline camp for food and water, then kept moving.
Another few hours later.
Through a small window, William saw the scenery change. In the distance, tall steel walls rose into view.
As the trucks got closer, they slowed down. The soldiers inside sat up straighter. They are almost back home now.
Right below the steel walls, rows of military vehicles waited as Isaac's battalion approached.
Isaac came out personally to confirm the army's identity. With a respectful bow, the stationed guard let them through.
The steel gates opened. Isaac's command center vehicle entered first, followed by the trucks carrying the Eclipse Orchid, and then the trucks filled with injured soldiers.
There was no cheering when they returned. Only soldiers, medics, and scientists stood in silence, waiting.
The Orchid was taken away first, sealed in a massive magic barrier, and escorted by elite soldiers.
At the same time, the wounded soldiers were rushed to the medics.
With the help of gravity magic and stretchers, medics quickly carried the injured soldiers into ambulances.
It didn't look like heroes coming home. More like broken men returning from disaster.
When it was William's turn, he was easily lifted onto a stretcher. But that didn't free him from pain.
A sudden jerk of his leg sent a stream of agony through his body.
He bit down hard to keep himself from crying out.
Soon after, the ambulance sirens blared as all the soldiers were rushed to the army hospital.
After that, everything blurred—bright lights, busy halls, the sharp smell of medicine.
Fatigue finally won. William's last sight was a doctor checking his severed leg before he passed out.
When he woke, he was greeted by the infamous white ceiling again. This time, he felt nothing toward it.
He tried to sit up and felt something familiar. Pulling back the blanket, he saw his right leg—whole again, fully healed, in perfect condition.
He moved it around, touched it, and pulled it close.
"Huu…" William let out a sigh of relief, but he couldn't bring himself to feel happy.
Before he could process his emotions, a notification rang on his bracelet.
***
In a secluded part of the army base, the air was heavy with grief.
Families gathered, eyes red with tears as they held each other in sorrow.
A day had passed since Isaac's expedition returned. All the fallen soldiers had been identified, and their families notified.
Now, a memorial was being held to honor them.
Even wounded soldiers in hospital gowns attended, standing silently at the side, heads bowed.
Isaac arrived shortly after. Standing on the podium, facing the crowd, he spoke with resolve.
"Many soldiers died in this expedition. Many more will follow in the future. That is the reality of war—unforgiving, cruel, merciless, and unfair.
Yet knowing this, our soldiers still choose to fight. They fight knowing they may never return. They fight so that we may live.
So grieve for them, but do not pity them. For they did not fall in vain. They died to ensure our prosperity—the prosperity of Gorgon City.
And so, with my deepest prayer, may their souls find rest in the embrace of Nexus."
Isaac clasped his hands and prayed. The crowd followed.
When the memorial ended, people scattered—some to weep, some to stand by graves.
William lingered at the edge of the crowd. His empty eyes scanned the families until they fell on a mother and a boy.
It was Tonto's family.
The mother collapsed in grief, shoulders trembling as she tried to hold back tears. The boy stood silent, eyes red, face hard with resentment.
William took a step toward them but froze. Something inside him refused to let him take another.
His weary heart stirred, emotions crashing all at once—guilt, anger, regret, and shame.
Sweat broke across his forehead. He turned and slipped behind a wall, slumping down with ragged breaths.
"Damn it," he muttered.
Footsteps approached. William looked up and saw Isaac standing over him, arms folded.
"You look unwell, William. Not healed yet?"
Jumping up to his feet with a salute, William responded. "I'm healed… It's just—" William's eyes drifted back to Tonto's family.
Isaac followed his gaze. "Ah, yes. Tonto. He died saving you, didn't he?"
William shuddered at Isaac's blunt word.
Isaac continued. "He had only a mother and a younger brother. His father died in an earlier expedition. Now they're alone."
William's eyes widened. "Are they going to be okay?"
"Of course. What do you take this city for? Heartless monsters? When soldiers fall, their families are cared for—grants, food, housing, education. It's the least we can do.
Besides, his father still has some connections. They'll be fine, though it will be a hard time for them."
"…" William hung his head in silence.
For a brief moment, silence hung between them.
"Do you think it's my fault?" William asked, guilt heavy in his voice.
Isaac paused, then spoke, his tone sharp as a blade. "Yes. Yes, it is."
William froze, staring at him.
"If you were stronger, more experienced, and knew more spells, you wouldn't have been in that situation. Tonto wouldn't have needed to save you."
"But…" Isaac's tone softened. His eyes drifted to the graves. "The same can be said for all of us. If we were stronger, tougher, faster… so many good soldiers wouldn't have died." His fists clenched.
Isaac looked back at William. "Remember this. You are not guilty of Tonto's death. You are guilty for being weak—for relying on others to save you.
On the battlefield, weakness is a sin."
With those words, Isaac turned and left, moving into the crowd toward other families.
William stayed frozen, Isaac's words crashing against his mind. He could barely process them.
One last glance at Tonto's family, and he left the memorial with heavy, uncertain steps.
He wandered. Soldiers trained in the distance, shouting through the morning air. Trucks rumbled past. Tall buildings cast long shadows across his path.
Isaac's words echoed like a broken record. The more they replayed, the less sense they made. His mind felt broken.
Eventually, he found himself standing in front of the hospital—the place where everything had started.
And then he remembered. Zenith.
'How is she doing now?' he wondered.
With nothing else to do, William entered and headed straight for the cryostasis ward.
The room greeted him with rows of tall, metallic pods. He hadn't been here since everything began.
William approached Zenith's unit and peered through the small window. But frost covered the glass, hiding everything inside.
At the edge of his vision, something caught his eye, his own reflection in the metallic body of the pod.
But he barely recognized the face staring back.
Messy blue hair. An overly thin body. Pale skin. Red, swollen eyes. A permanent look of fear. A far cry from the boy he once was.
In a daze, William couldn't look away. He stared for a long time.
Memories surfaced one by one: Jack's torture. Becoming a medic. Isaac's test. His deployment. Tonto's death.
Every step had dragged him to this very moment.
After standing frozen for what felt like forever, William's eyes dimmed as he looked at his trembling hands.
A whisper slipped from his lips. "Why do I even care anymore?"