“Wait… where is everyone going?”

  Shura looked around.

  The plaza was dispersing — but not randomly.

  People weren’t returning home.

  They were moving together.

  Toward the eastern district.

  Zenkyou didn’t answer.

  “You’ll see.”

  The Walk

  They walked for hours.

  No one joked.

  No one argued.

  The streets grew narrower.

  Then wider again.

  Stone gave way to white gravel.

  Black iron gates appeared ahead.

  Beyond them—

  Rows.

  Endless rows.

  Gravestones.

  Thousands of people were already gathered.

  No noise.

  Only wind.

  Shura’s steps slowed.

  “…A graveyard?”

  Zenkyou didn’t look at him.

  “Yes.”

  Valryn’s Home

  A lone messenger reached a modest house at the edge of the city.

  He knocked once.

  A mother opened the door.

  She already knew.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The messenger bowed.

  “Valryn of the Eleventh Expedition… has fallen.”

  Silence.

  No scream.

  No collapse.

  Just silence.

  Captain Rhydan arrived shortly after.

  He carried the body himself.

  Wrapped carefully.

  Preserved.

  The mother stepped forward.

  Her hands trembled — but her voice did not.

  “Thank you… for bringing my son home.”

  That was all she said.

  Then her fingers touched the cloth.

  And her strength broke.

  Her knees gave out.

  Her cry was not loud.

  It was small.

  And that made it worse.

  Valryn’s father stood behind her.

  Rigid.

  Still.

  Then he turned.

  And walked away.

  No one followed him.

  No one tried to stop him.

  He didn’t want witnesses.

  Rhydan

  As he handed the body over—

  A memory struck him.

  “Captain! Push!”

  A captain does not fall .

  He lifted the body again.

  “I will carry him to his rest.”

  The Graveyard

  Thousands waited.

  Shura arrived with the others.

  He saw Juro.

  Ren.

  Orin.

  Yura.

  Yua in Juro’s arms.

  No one spoke loudly.

  For the first time—

  Shura did not ask questions.

  He simply stood.

  He didn’t interrupt.

  He didn’t move.

  The Arrival

  Rain began to fall.

  Soft at first.

  Shura looked up.

  How…?

  But he didn’t question it.

  Some things didn’t need answers.

  Captain Rhydan walked in first.

  Valryn in his arms.

  Behind him—

  The mother.

  And then—

  The father.

  He had returned.

  No one had seen him arrive.

  But he was there.

  Walking straight.

  Unshaken.

  Uncrying.

  That was worse.

  The crowd parted.

  The coffin was prepared.

  The cloth unwrapped just enough to see his face.

  Young.

  Too young.

  The mother touched his hair.

  The father placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

  Just once.

  No words.

  Royal Presence

  Yun Shi and the Emperors forward.

  No speeches.

  No politics.

  The Emperor knelt beside the coffin.

  Not as a ruler.

  As a citizen.

  “Valryn of Aethelgard,” he said quietly.

  “Your name will not be forgotten.”

  That was all.

  Shura leaned toward Master Juro.

  “Master…”

  His voice was lower than usual.

  “Why doesn’t the Emperor have pride?”

  “In my old town… even minor officials acted arrogant.”

  Juro’s gaze stayed on the coffin.

  “Because pride that stands above sacrifice is ignorance.”

  A small pause.

  “A ruler who has never bowed… has never understood what he rules.”

  Shura absorbed that.

  Slowly.

  After the Burial

  People began to leave.

  One by one.

  Black against grey sky.

  Shura , Zenkyou, Juro

  Everyone

  Captain Rhydan remained.

  Alone beside the fresh grave.

  Footsteps approached.

  A girl.

  Young.

  Eyes red.

  She walked straight up to him.

  Then—

  She hit him.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Fists against armor.

  “You said you would protect him!”

  Her voice cracked.

  “You promised!”

  Her strikes grew weaker.

  “Why…?”

  Her hands gripped his chestplate.

  “Why didn’t you save him?”

  Rhydan didn’t defend himself.

  Didn’t stop her.

  Didn’t explain.

  Because there was no explanation that could win.

  Rain mixed with her tears.

  Finally—

  Her fists fell.

  She collapsed against him.

  Crying.

  He placed a shaking hand on her head.

  His voice barely audible.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Not Captain.

  Not leader.

  Just a man.

  Sorry.

  After Some Time

  Footsteps approached.

  Rhydan didn’t turn.

  Shura stopped a few steps behind him.

  “…Sorry for the interruption.”

  No response.

  Shura swallowed.

  “I just… wanted to say thank you.”

  Silence.

  “I know those words don’t fix anything.”

  “They don’t change what happened.”

  He looked at the grave.

  “But thank you… for fighting.”

  “For coming back.”

  The rain grew slightly heavier.

  Rhydan finally turned.

  His eyes were tired.

  “What’s your name Kid?” the captain asked.

  “Shura.”

  A brief pause.

  “Why are you thanking me?”

  Shura answered honestly.

  “Because someone has to.”

  That made the captain’s gaze shift slightly.

  Shura hesitated.

  “May I ask your name… Captain?”

  A long silence.

  Then—

  “Rhydan.”

  No title.

  Just his name.

  Shura nodded.

  “I won’t forget it.”

  Rhydan didn’t smile.

  But something in his shoulders eased.

  Shura stepped back.

  Turned.

  And walked away.

  He didn’t look back.

  Behind him—

  Rain fell over fresh soil.

  And for the first time—

  Shura understood that strength wasn’t about surpassing someone.

  It was about carrying what they left behind.