When the territory's non-combat players learned about the war that had broken out last night, it was already around noon.
There was no way to hide it, nor was there any need to.
The twelve dead were like thorns. If they were not pulled out, they would only sink deeper and cause more harm.
After all, among the twelve guards, the oldest was only just over forty, while the youngest was merely twenty-two.
Two of them had gotten married in the village not long ago. They had even planned to save enough points as soon as possible to buy a room in the Underground City, own a little world of their own, and live better lives.
But now, everything had come to nothing. All they could do was lie in cold boxes and await the day they could return home.
"Let us be grateful for what they gave to the territory. We will still keep our promise and take them home!"
Standing in the newly built Hall of Heroes behind Iron Stone Mountain, Su Mo finished reciting the eulogy in a sorrowful voice.
As the twelve urns were lowered through the opening, the simple funeral came to an end.
On the Wasteland, every victory in war came with a price, great or small.
But for residents who had not truly participated in the frontline fighting, they should not have to bear all that grief.
Today was the first day of Year Two on the Wasteland.
Yes, this had been an undeniable major victory!
After adjusting his expression, Su Mo raised his head and walked out of the Hall of Heroes. At a glance, he saw many residents who had come to mourn of their own accord, along with the families and friends of the fallen guards, waiting at the entrance.