The gates of the central land groaned open.
The legions did not march; they walked with slow and heavy steps. Their banners were torn rags, their armour dented and scarred. No horns sounded their return. No songs were sung. The only sounds were the muffled thud of weary boots on stone, the creak of broken wagon wheels, and the faint, metallic smell of old blood that refused to leave their steel.
Behind the living came the silent procession. Wagon after wagon, each draped in solemn black, carried the true cost of victory. The fallen lay in rows, pale and still, dressed in clean formal clothes that could not hide the wounds beneath. Hands were folded on chests, some clutching shattered helmets, others wrapped in the torn cloaks of their comrades.
The citizens lining the streets fell utterly silent. Whispers died in throats. Mothers pulled children close, turning their faces away from the grim harvest. Shopkeepers and merchants removed their hats, their faces etched with a shared, profound grief. There were no cheers, only a heavy, respectful silence that was more powerful than any roar of acclaim.
Julie walked at the forefront, a faint crimson haze clinging to her like a shroud, her eyes fixed on some distant point, her expression carved from cold stone. Beside her, Amazel rode, her back straight, her head held high in a display of strength only she felt was not real. Her fingers trembled on the reins, and every few steps, her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the black-draped wagons. Each one was a weight of command and guilt that settled squarely on her soul. Even the wind seemed to still its voice in respect.
The procession halted before the great temple. At its entrance, Hades and Hectate stood waiting, their faces impassive monuments in the sea of grief. Amazel and Druvak stepped forward and knelt.
Druvak's voice broke the silence, steady but carrying the weight of countless losses. "My Lord, we have returned. We are victorious... but the price was 450 of our bravest brothers and sisters."
Hades nodded, his gaze sweeping over the wagons. "Their sacrifice will be remembered. Tomorrow, we will hold a funeral worthy of their valour. A pillar of black marble will be erected in the central square. Upon it, every single name will be etched in gold, so that their memory may never fade from this world."
That night, the bodies were returned to their families. Grief spread through the city like wildfire. Mothers clung to lifeless sons, fathers collapsed to their knees, and wives wailed until their throats gave out. Some fainted in shock, unable to bear the sight. The streets echoed with sobs.
Druvak sat beneath the shade of a tree, silent. Gobuka's laughter haunted him, the sharp grin during duels, the playful mocking, the spark in his eyes. He was not just a student. He was like a son to him. Druvak wanted to cry, but no tears came. Only silence.
Other commanders mourned too, but none so deeply as he.
---
At dawn, the temple bell tolled.
All the fallen were laid out in formal robes, their armour polished one last time. The square was filled with citizens, soldiers, and commanders, but all were silent and waiting.
Hades stepped forward, his shadow stretching long across the marble.
"Today," his voice echoed, deep and unshakable, "we stand on victory purchased by their sacrifice. Their names will not be forgotten. As god of death, I could restore them… but that would break the balance of the cosmos. Yet I will give them what I can: a brighter next life."
'Twilight Flame.' He raised his hands. Twilight Flame flared to life, shimmering with gold, red, and violet flames. He joined his palms, then lifted them high.
'Reincarnation's Festivity.'
The flames rose like a living firework, bursting without sound or heat. Golden sparks rained down, touching the fallen one by one. Their bodies dissolved into glowing orbs of light that floated skyward, drifting, rising, scattering into the cosmos.
Warmth brushed against the mourners' skin, easing their hearts. It was as though the dead whispered back: Do not cry. We move on.
When the last light faded, silence held. But it was softer now, touched by peace.
---
Later, inside the temple office, Amazel and Julie knocked.
"Come in," Hades' voice called.
They entered. Hades sat with reports stacked around him, Hectate at his side. He glanced up. "What brings you here?"
Amazel stepped forward and bowed her head. "Lord Hades… Lady Hectate… I am not fit to remain general."
Hectate's brows drew together. "What do you mean?"
Amazel swallowed hard. "I am too kind. Too soft-hearted. My emotions cloud my judgment. Enemies can exploit this weakness. My failures have already cost too many lives." Her voice was tight, the memory of the bombed refugees clear in her mind.
Hectate sighed softly, stood, and crossed to her. She brushed Amazel's hair back like a mother would a child and hugged her. "Foolish girl. You carry blame that is not yours. Any general would have bled in your place; many would have done far worse."
"But…" Amazel's voice cracked. "I can't carry it."
Ah crap! She is definitely after retirement, I can't afford to lose such a great asset. I have to pull her into something. Hectate held her in a gentle embrace. "Then you won't. If war breaks you, let peace hold you." She slipped a parchment onto the table.
Amazel picked it up and unrolled it. "Principal... of the Underworld Academy?"
"Yes," Hades stated. "We intend to establish an institution unlike any other. A school that will teach history, strategy, magic, and combat to the next generation. We need a leader of impeccable integrity and strength to shape it. We can think of no one better."
Hectate leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper only Amazel could hear. "The pay is excellent. The work is minimal and mostly administrative oversight. You'd simply manage the staff and occasionally inspire the students."
Amazel's despair visibly evaporated, replaced by a flicker of her old energy. Minimal work? Her eyes lit up. "I... yes. I accept!" She practically snatched the quill from Hades's desk and signed the scroll with a flourish.
From the corner, Julie watched, her inhuman calm momentarily broken by wide eyes. The General came for retirement and got caught in a headmaster role she doesn't even realise... Lady Hectate is terrifying.
Hades' eyes flickered toward Julie, as if he had heard her thoughts. "And you? Why are you here?"
Julie collected herself, the crimson haze around her tightening slightly. "Lord Hades. My awakening. I understand the need for a deep connection to a concept, but I have neither divine energy nor any divine bloodline. How can this be possible?"
Hades folded his hands. "Two things are needed to awaken godhood: first, understanding its concept. Second, enough energy to ignite it. Divine blood makes it easier, yes, because they can easily manipulate energy. One thing everyone misunderstands is that divine energy is not the only energy used to awaken." His gaze sharpened. "And in your case, you used demonic energy to awaken. And also, you are not a demon."
The room stilled. All eyes turned to Julie. Julie froze in place and murmured, "Not…a demon?"
"You are one-third demon. One-third dark dominus folk. And one-third…Titan. Your ancestry is vast."
A wave of uncertainty washed over Julie, leaving her momentarily speechless. Hectate noticed her distress and stepped closer, offering a comforting presence. "It doesn't matter. Even if you're not a demon, you're still you." Looking into Hectate's eyes, Julie began to find her footing. Yes, what truly matters is that I am still myself.
"You stand on equal footing with Amazel and Druvak in strength, and your feats speak for themselves," Hades said, his voice calm but commanding. "For that reason, I offer you Amazel's general role. Lead her legion."
Julie hesitated only a moment. She took a glance at Amazel. Amazel made an okay sign with her fingers and nodded. Julie nodded and knelt. "It would be my honour."
"Good," Hades said. "This is your first task. Tomorrow, gather all soldiers and citizens. Men to the right, women to the left. All must attend. Bring an extra-sized cloth. And give these to Mia and Druvak." He handed her two sealed parchments.
The two bowed and left.
Hectate leaned against Hades' shoulder, her voice low. "Her godhood… unusual."
"She holds the Godhood of Slaughter," Hades replied. "It is a subdomain, just below my Underworld authority. Equal in rank to Death and Magic. Her potential is immense. If she can control it, then everything is fine. If not, then the worst is waiting."
Hectate frowned. "Then let's hope she does not drown in it."