The turmoil of Gundor, the irregular war waged by the former lord during the Unification War, ended in a narrow victory for the Archipelago Countries led by the Borgia Family.

Yet it was a victory devoid of honor, built on immense sacrifice. The number of confirmed dead and missing alone exceeded 50,000, with the wounded reaching 60,000.

The damage to the buildings that formed the foundation of daily life was severe. Logistics, the lifeblood of the city, had rotted and stagnated, teetering on the brink of complete dysfunction. The labyrinth facilities that supplied meat and resources had suffered damage and were forced to close until restoration could be completed, compounding the crisis. Even if the facilities themselves had remained intact, the adventurers who delved into them had seen their numbers drastically reduced by the fighting.

Three days after the end of the battle, the scars left by the sentient natural disaster that struck the city remained everywhere.

Corpses and scattered flesh left in collapsed houses had begun to rot, and the sanitary conditions within the city were deteriorating at an alarming rate. A sour stench clung stubbornly to the nose. For Walm, who had witnessed the fall of his homeland, it was a familiar and all-too-recognizable smell.

With the clearing of streets given priority, piles of rubble still lined the streets once filled with homes and shops. Every face that passed by was dark with despair. An old man sat in a daze upon the ashes of what had once been his house. A man dug frantically through rubble with his bare hands. A small child continued calling out the names of parents from whom they had surely been separated forever.

It had become an all-too-common sight in the Labyrinth City. Walm himself was not unrelated to it. In order to subjugate the Undead Dragon, he had used Demon Fire within the urban district. The blue flames that burned the dragon had violated the city no less cruelly. In the houses reduced to ash, charred corpses remained. There was no way he could look away.

Evacuation of the citizens had progressed, but not everyone had managed to flee. Walm could only pray that they had already died before the blue flames consumed them.

He walked along roads that should have been familiar, yet now felt entirely foreign.

The facilities attached to the labyrinth had also suffered tremendous damage. The once-polished stone pavement was chipped, stained by blood and pus that had dripped from the wounded carried across it. The orderly rows of stone pillars were bent and toppled upon the ground.

The guild branch building, once white in tone and meant to impress visitors with its grandeur and splendor was now dyed a dusty brown. Its doors and windows were shattered, shutters torn from their frames and leaning against the ground.

“Not even a shadow of what it was, huh.”

The interior of the facility now served as a shelter for citizens who had lost their homes. Those who could not fit inside spilled out onto the grounds. Many huddled together beneath makeshift tents fashioned from whatever materials could be found. White smoke from soup kitchens rose into the air, mingling with the foul stench and dulling the appetite.

Walm circled around to the back of the facility.

There stood the memorial stone where he had once spoken with Lizzy. Beyond it was another monument honoring those who had died in service to the guild.

Most of the dead had been transported to the outskirts of the city and buried in mass graves. It was common practice on the battlefield. If graves were dug leisurely for each individual, plagues would spread, or worse, the corpses would rise as undead.

On the other hand, guild personnel and certain soldiers, particularly those whose bodies remained relatively intact, were to be buried in a corner lined with the guild’s memorial stones.

Even in death, people were not equal. That said, Walm was hardly in a position to argue with such unfairness. If anything, he welcomed it.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Unlike the vast majority who were buried carelessly and collectively, Lizzy had been interred in a form that could at least be called a grave.

It had not been a dignified death by any means. Walm himself could not accept it. Even so, among the many who had perished, she had received comparatively favorable treatment.

“This is all I could manage. Forgive me.”

Accepting reality, Walm pressed his hands together before Lizzy’s grave.

With logistics paralyzed in the Labyrinth City, even obtaining flowers had been difficult. It had been sheer luck to find a single bloom growing amidst the rubble. Its pale red hue, caked in dust, reminded him faintly of the Deep Crimson Bloom, though its shape and color were far removed.

Offering the small tribute, Walm closed his eyes. Memories of his everyday interactions with Lizzy resurfaced. As though savoring them, he let each one rise to the surface.

“What a hopeless guy. Not even a single tear.”

Had he grown too accustomed to death? Had reality still failed to fully sink in? Or was he simply shallow by nature? Not a single tear fell from Walm’s eyes.

As he lingered before the grave marker, reluctant to leave, he noticed another visitor approaching Lizzy’s resting place. It was Lavinia, the receptionist who had worked alongside Lizzy. She too had come to offer her condolences to her friend who had crossed into the underworld. Lavinia moved her mouth as though deprived of oxygen, but no words emerged.

“I heard you arranged the grave. Thank you.”

Walm spoke from the heart.

For Lizzy, who had not been a high-ranking staff member, to receive a quiet burial owed much to Lavinia’s efforts. Alone, Walm would have lost track of her body amid the chaos following the war’s end, unable even to mourn her.

“…I’m sorry.”

To Walm’s words of gratitude, Lavinia replied with a plain, unadorned apology. There were no excuses, no embellishments. It undoubtedly stemmed from the things she had said while stricken by grief during the turmoil.

“It was that kind of disaster. It couldn’t be helped. And what you pointed out was true. I couldn’t choose between the two of them… I didn’t choose, and the result was Lizzy’s death. I can’t change that.”

“That’s not—”

Walm shook his head, cutting off her words.

“You’re kind. Lavinia, was it? I don’t resent you, I just regret my own choice. I pretended I would save her, and I lied to Lizzy. If I could go back to the past… I wonder what I would’ve done… Even now, I don’t know.”

Amid the unceasing clamor, silence settled between them.

Even if he laid bare a heart drowning in sentimentality, nothing productive would come of it.

“…Sorry, this isn’t something to talk about in front of a grave. I’ll be going now. Pray for Lizzy’s peace, and mourn her for me.”

Lavinia bowed her head and watched until Walm disappeared from sight.

Slipping through the waves of people, Walm headed deeper into the Guildhouse. A room had been assigned to the Three Magic Attack party, including Walm. After all, Merrill was now the hero who had forced the Undead Dragon to the ground.

The Republic’s army, which had gathered at the border, halted its movements the moment the Undead Dragon was slain. They must not have anticipated its return to the underworld so swiftly. Though the Labyrinth City had suffered tremendous damage and forces had been drawn away, the minimum border defense units remained intact. Moreover, the existence of an individual capable of defeating a dragon in such a short time forced the Republic to hesitate in declaring war.

“They didn’t get what they hoped for either.”

He had no intention of sympathizing with Faust’s twisted obsession. Yet in terms of results, the reinforcement the ghosts of the Gundor family had awaited never came, not even a century later in this renewed conflict.

Walm proceeded further down the corridor.

Those who passed him raised their hands or bowed their heads in greeting. Walm returned each gesture. In times of peace, he had been treated like something contagious, but after this crisis, their attitudes had changed completely.

It might have been simple opportunism, but those who had stood shoulder to shoulder in the face of death, who had shared the same battlefield, formed a strange bond.

Avoiding the supplies stacked along the hallway, Walm reached the reception room he had once used and threw open the door. With the transported belongings from his half-destroyed rented house, the room now resembled private quarters.

He lightly knocked on the door to the innermost room.

“Come in.”

After receiving a short reply from within, Walm stepped inside. Merrill, who had been lying in bed, raised her upper body.

“You should stay lying down.”

“Walm, you’re overprotective.”

Despite the smile on Merrill’s face, the movement of her left side was awkward.

Among dragonkind, the hydra possessed the most vicious poison. Even with the Three Sacred Treasures of Healing, the toxin that had ravaged Merrill’s body still had lasting aftereffects.

Sensing Walm’s concern, Merrill continued.

“You went to visit the grave, didn’t you? It’s true that the Hydra’s poison makes my body hard to move, but thanks to the Deep Crimson Bloom, my life was saved. Still, because I was struck by the poison, we couldn’t save Lizzy and your eyes weren’t healed either.”

Merrill too bore both physical and emotional wounds from the upheaval.

“It was a ceremony. A surprise attack no one could’ve predicted. If it hadn’t been you, they would’ve died instantly.”

In that brief span of time, Merrill had formed an ice wall while shielding her companions. Walm’s Demon Fire could do nothing but burn people and objects alike. Had their positions been reversed, the party would have been annihilated.

“Somehow, you’re kinder than usual.”

Merrill teased him.

“What, you think I’m some kind of demon or something?”

At Walm’s narrowed gaze, Merrill let out an innocent laugh.

“Hehe, just joking.”

Then Merrill’s expression tightened with resolve. Her heterochromatic eyes fixed firmly on Walm.

“…Hari and the guild’s healing mages say that if I continue therapeutic training, the paralysis in my half of my body should recover. So… I’ll definitely heal. And then I want to defeat a dragon with you again. And next time, I want the Deep Crimson Bloom to be used on you.”

Even in the dim light, the vividness of her eyes had not faded in the slightest.

It wasn’t light-hearted talk.

Drawn to their brilliance, Walm pushed aside stray thoughts and silently listened to Merrill’s feelings.

“Walm, I…”

The words went no further.

A knock echoed through the room.

The timing could not have been worse. Walm knew well that many visitors came to see Merrill, yet he could only sigh.

“I’ll get it.”

In place of the half-paralyzed Merrill, Walm opened the door.

A single man stood there.

Though well-maintained, the armor covering him from head to toe was etched with countless scars. Cloth and metal at the joints were worn from friction, their sheen discolored. He bore the unmistakable appearance of someone fresh from the battlefield. In the Archipelago Countries as they were now, such soldiers were not uncommon, and yet Walm’s heart leapt in shock.

“I’ve been searching for you, Guardian Chief Walm.”

The rank rang in his ears like a voice from the past.

Clad in familiar Highserk-made equipment stood a man who had once served under Walm at Dandurg Castle, when it was swallowed by the Great Rampage.

“…Company commander Friug.”

He had been the commander entrusted with the makeshift fortress’s defense while Walm dueled The Great Ogre Lord.

Faced with the arrival of someone who should not have been alive, Walm felt dizzy, his footing unsteady. Words caught in his throat, yet his heart continued to pound violently.

Translator – Lyxxna