Phaethon leaned the weapon against his side for a moment. He looked at the children, their faces still damp with sweat and smudged with dust, but their eyes shining brightly. He continued to ask gently:
"Alright, I've received the weapon. Now, 'soldiers,' can you tell me where your parents are?"
The little boy immediately answered loudly, "My father is a Kremnoan warrior! He's fighting bravely on the front lines right now! My mother joined the Twilight Garden's medical corps and is treating the wounded!" His small face was filled with pride.
Hearing this, Phaethon's heart gave a violent lurch. He almost instinctively compared the little boy's face before him with the images in the newly created folders in his mind.
Thankfully, he found no match. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, but his palms felt slightly cold.
The other children also chimed in eagerly, voices filled with pride:
"My father is a scholar! That super big alchemical array on the defenses was set up by him and others!"
"My mother is a priestess! She knows lots and lots of spells!"
"My father is..."
Phaethon listened quietly, his gaze sweeping over the group of children. Among them were children of Okhema, of Castrum Kremnos, descendants of scholars from The Grove, even children of Janusopolis...
Their parents were fighting on this very battlefield in various ways, all for the same goal.
His hand gripping the hilt of the Judgment of Shamash unconsciously tightened, his knuckles turning slightly white.
The cold metal touch now seemed to carry a heavy warmth.
He stood up, his gaze becoming solemn and dignified as he addressed these lovely, brave children:
"Children! You did excellently today! You braved danger to deliver the most important weapon right into my hands when I needed it most! You are all remarkable little heroes!"
He shifted his tone, becoming even more serious. "Now, as an Elder, I have a very important mission for you: War is not a game. The front lines are extremely dangerous. I want you, as 'little heroes,' to promise me this: after this, no other children will use the Infinity Gate I established between Castrum kremnos and Okhema to come here. Can you... do that?"
"We can!" the children answered in unison, their little faces etched with the solemnity and honor of being entrusted with an important task.
"Good! I believe in you!" Phaethon gave them an encouraging smile. "Go now! Go tell your friends back in the Holy City—tell them that Elder Phaethon promises you, he will do everything in his power to protect the mothers and fathers fighting for you!"
"Yes, Elder Phaethon!" the children chorused, like little soldiers who had received their highest orders. They turned and ran off, eager to carry this important news and promise back.
Watching the children's figures disappear at the end of the street, the smile on Phaethon's face gradually faded.
He looked down at the greatsword named Judgment of Shamash in his hands, feeling the power and weight it contained, and also feeling the trust and expectation passed on by the children—a trust he must not betray.
He hesitated no longer. Lifting the tent flap, he strode inside with firm, steady steps.
Now was not the time for self-doubt. He needed to recover his strength quickly. The battle outside was not over. Everything he had promised to protect still awaited his efforts.
...
Several days later, the situation at Castrum Kremnos finally stabilized through the desperate efforts of the allied forces. Though the fierce clashes had turned into a war of attrition and stalemate, at least the city walls still stood.
It was a silent night. Only the occasional dull roar from the distant front line reminded people that the war had not gone far.
Phaethon sat alone on the broken battlements, holding the greatsword named Judgment of Shamash. The cold touch of the metal seeped through his clothes. The countless new fine scratches and energy burn marks on the blade silently testified to the ferocity of the recent battles.
His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, intermittently lit by firelight, but his eyes were somewhat vacant, as if looking past the battlefield, towards somewhere farther, more void.
Directly below him, right against the foot of the city wall, lay the newly consecrated ground—the resting place for the soldiers who had fallen in battle these past days. But most were merely cenotaphs, holding the belongings of the deceased and the grief of the living. Cold tombstones stood in silent rows under the thin moonlight.
Only now, in this brief, undisturbed silence, did Phaethon finally have the chance to once again confront the question that had lingered in his heart since the trial ended, a question he had deliberately suppressed:
*If I were the true Deliverer, if I were 'Kevin'... could I have saved everyone perfectly?*
He lowered his head, his fingers unconsciously tracing the complex patterns on the Judgment of Shamash's blade. His fingertips seemed to feel the faint colors and warmth reflected from the distant war flames.
He sat there quietly, thinking, for a long, long time.
His thoughts seemed trapped in a maze with no exit—thoughts of sacrifice, of responsibility, of the "perfect ending" he couldn't guarantee, all tangled together.
Until—
*Crunch.*
A very faint sound of a stone being stepped on abruptly shattered the dead silence of the area.
Phaethon instantly snapped out of his reverie, looking up alertly. However, when he saw the slender figure under the moonlight, who seemed to be holding something carefully, he couldn't help but pause, instinctively calling out the other's name:
"Castorice?"
The other person also seemed startled by his sudden voice, letting out a short, soft gasp. "Lord Phaethon?"
...
After a brief moment of awkward surprise, Castorice first gently placed the bundles of white flowers she was holding in front of one tombstone after another.
Only after finishing this did she walk over to Phaethon's side and, mimicking his posture, carefully sat down on the cold battlements, hugging her knees.
"Castorice," Phaethon said, watching her actions, his voice softening considerably, carrying a hint of emotion and self-mockery. "You came to pay respects to these brave fallen warriors... That's just like you, always so thoughtful and gentle. In comparison, I've just been lost in my own thoughts, not even remembering to do anything for them."
However, Castorice did not respond to his sentiment. She just sat silently hugging her knees, her gaze fixed on the distant graveyard, her profile somewhat hazy under the moonlight.
After a long while, she suddenly spoke. Her voice was very soft, but like a stone dropped into a calm lake, it struck precisely at the thoughts Phaethon was trying to hide.