Under his leadership, the remnants of the Seven Kingdoms' army slowly marched out of Xuan City, receding into the wavering haze of firelight until they disappeared.
A sense of relief and ease spread through every knight's heart. The joy of victory was enough to wash away all their wounds and suffering. Their whispers gave way to laughter, cheers, and hearty slaps on the back, the sounds rising one after another until they enveloped all of Xuan City.
The next day, dawn broke through purple clouds. On a green hill outside Xuan City's north gate, simple wooden markers stood in the earth, each bearing a name traced in red blood. Those departed souls would rest here forever, undisturbed. They had been the bravest of knights, and the Holy Temple would remember their glory forever.
At the front of these wooden grave markers stood a small burial mound with a stone headstone planted at an angle. It belonged to Qin Zihui, and beneath his name, written clearly in black ink, was the time of his death.
Yetos and several dozen of his men knelt on one knee, closed their eyes, and paid their respects to the fallen knights in solemn silence.
The ceremony seemed to last a long time. Only when the sunlight grew hot against their faces and hair, and the wooden markers' shadows stretched long, did they open their eyes.
Yetos brought out the grain liquor he had carried with him and shared it among the men. Holding their cups, they poured it before the graves one by one.
"Have a taste of victory's wine," he said.
Once the libations were poured, the ceremony was over. Yetos glanced at the stone headstone at the front and said coldly, "Remember this: we buried you here not out of respect, but to