Victory—what a beautiful word. So many people yearned for it that it could even hide the countless sorrows behind it.
But the price was still there. No matter how hard you pretended not to see it, it existed.
So better than defeat or Victory was the peace of nothing happening at all.
Different races viewed death differently. Elves believed it meant returning to the World Tree to begin a new life. The Vampire Clan saw it as a long sleep. Ratfolk saw it as the Gods' Curse upon the Holy Race. Orcs made vessels from the bones of enemies and comrades alike and wore them.
Even humans differed among themselves. The Empire, for instance, considered dying in battle a supreme honor. You could suffer a crushing defeat, but you could not retreat a single step.
Free City engraved the names of those killed in battle on stone monuments, so everyone would honor and remember them—and heed their warning.
In Free City, where every inch of land was precious, a vast cemetery stood.
The Heroic Spirits who had died for Free City rested there. And the one who watched over the cemetery was a Heroic Spirit himself.
The next day, beneath a slightly overcast afternoon sky, Free City held a memorial for those who had fallen in the war.
The Heroic Spirit stood before a newly erected stone Obelisk. It was taller and broader than the first, its surface crowded with the names of the dead.
Lame-Bar Bal, Darwin... and countless others whose names were unknown or unrecorded, represented only by slanted notches.
"They sacrificed themselves for the happiness of others. Was it worth it?"
The crowd filling the cemetery stood silent. Only crows circled overhead.
"Some will mock them as fools who didn't value their own lives. But I say