Chapter 16: Casualty Report
Personal System Calendar: Year 0009, Days 1-2 Month VI: The Imperium
Imperial Calendar: Year 6854, 6th month, 1st to 2nd Day
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Blood Price
A heavy price had been paid. The following days brought reports of additional casualties as injuries that had initially seemed survivable proved fatal. Complications from shadow corruption, internal bleeding that went undetected, and organ failure from the intense heat of the black flames all claimed additional lives.
The final tally was grim: eight villager deaths, five from the beastfolk camp, and ten from the Imperial soldiers. Each number represented not just a statistic but a person, a life, a collection of memories and relationships now severed.
Some of the lighter injuries had already healed, the affected individuals returning to limited duty or civilian activities. Approximately fifty wounded remained in the medical tents for further monitoring. Although they had been stabilized, the healers wanted to ensure no delayed complications emerged. Some bore injuries that would affect their future capabilities: cauterized limbs, severe scarring, or damaged organs that magical healing and potions could only partially repair.
Prosthetics existed, certainly, crafted through a combination of mechanical engineering and magical enchantment. However, such specialized devices were rare and expensive even in the Empire's heartland. In this remote location, acquiring them would be a lengthy and costly process. For many of the wounded, their lives as warriors or laborers had effectively ended, replaced by an uncertain future of adaptation and limitation.
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Divine Aftermath
August presented a unique challenge. He had been isolated in a separate section of the medical facility, placed in a room with reinforced walls and multiple layers of protective enchantments. The reason was simple: he was still radiating residual divinity, his body superheated by energies that refused to dissipate normally.
The most visible manifestation was the change in his mana channels. Where regular mana normally flowed, divine mana had taken its place. It appeared as a white, luminescent substance visible through his skin wherever major mana veins ran close to the surface. The effect was particularly pronounced along his arms, neck, and temples, creating an almost ethereal appearance.
Master Ben had conducted a thorough technical analysis, using diagnostic spells that had taken him decades to perfect. His findings provided some reassurance: the divine mana had not affected August's physical heart, the organ that pumped blood through his body. However, it had completely saturated his second heart, the mystical organ that circulated mana throughout a practitioner's system.
This was both a blessing and a concern. The physical heart remaining unaffected meant August would not die from cardiac failure. However, the complete saturation of his mana heart with divine energy raised questions about whether he would ever be able to use normal mana again, or if this transformation might be permanent.
August's team members had established a rotation, taking turns watching over him and spelling Angeline, who had insisted on being present as much as possible. Erik, Adam, Milo, Bren, Betty, and Isabel all made regular visits, sitting with their unconscious leader and speaking to him as if he could hear them. Perhaps he could; magical unconsciousness was different from ordinary sleep.
Their Imperial guests and observers also came to check on August's development periodically. Captain Commander Hilda visited daily, ostensibly to assess whether he posed any danger to the village in his current state, but her concern seemed genuine rather than merely procedural. The Imperial Intelligence officers were less subtle about their interest, taking detailed notes and asking probing questions. They would undoubtedly be filing extensive reports back to the capital.
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Honoring the Fallen
Life had to continue, but first, they needed to properly honor their dead. The village gathered for the funeral rites, a solemn ceremony that brought together humans, beastfolk, and Imperial soldiers in shared grief.
The casualties had come from across the community spectrum: established families who had been part of the village since its founding, and newer residents who had arrived within the past year. Everyone knew these people. They had spent countless hours hunting together, working the fields side by side, training in the practice yards, sharing meals and laughter in the common hall.
The first two villagers to perish in Wrathalios's initial fire breath attack were from prominent families. Daven Greenfield had been serving as part of the temporary militia, a farmer by trade who had taken up arms when the emergency called for it. He left behind a wife and three young children who now stood at the funeral with hollow eyes.
Gendry Archer had married only six months prior, a joyous celebration that the entire village had attended. Now his wife stood as a widow, one hand resting protectively on her swollen belly. Their child would be born in three months, never knowing the father who had died defending their future home.
The next six casualties came from the village's most recent residents, people who had arrived less than a year ago seeking a fresh start. They had received the same combat training but the experience was less than the veteran residents, but they had volunteered without hesitation to join the village Security Division even when the crisis began. They had been in the process of integrating into the community, starting to build the relationships and connections that would have made this place truly home.
Marlon Grey had been a carpenter, his skills invaluable for the village's constant construction and expansion. He had been courting one of the seamstresses, and they had spoken of marriage in the coming year.
Athena Rize had served as an assistant in the village informal school, helping to teach the youngest children their letters and numbers. The children who had been her students stood at the funeral with tear-streaked faces, struggling to understand why their gentle teacher would never return.
Gordon Ray had worked in the stables, possessing an almost supernatural gift for working with their draft six-legged horses and other animals. The village's mounts had responded to his death with unusual agitation, as if they could sense the loss.
Melli Hern had been training as a healer under Theressa's guidance, showing remarkable aptitude for herbalism and potion brewing. Her potential would now never be realized.
Antonnet Doz had served in the kitchen, where her skills at preparing preservation spells for food had significantly improved the village's food security.
Rick Shaw had been a hunter, still learning the local terrain but already proving his worth by bringing in consistent game.
All six lived in the village's new apartment-style housing, the recently opened building designed for single residents who had not yet established their own households. They had been starting to date, forming tentative relationships that might have blossomed into marriages and families. Now those futures were erased.
The cruelest detail, one that haunted everyone who knew the full story, was that these six had initially survived the fire breath. Daven Greenfield and Gendry Archer had physically shoved them out of the direct path of the attack at the cost of their own lives. The six had lived for hours, some for days, before succumbing to their injuries. The shadow corruption had worked its way through their systems despite all efforts to save them, and they had died in prolonged agony.
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Grief Across the Village
The Kotoko Clan grieved in their own way. They were a warrior tribe, yes, but that did not grant them immunity to emotional pain. If anything, their culture's emphasis on honor and courage made these losses cut even deeper. To die in battle defending others was glorious, but glory did not diminish the pain of absence.
Chief Tamba led the beastfolk funeral rites, a ceremony that involved ritual scarification and the burning of personal effects. The Kotoko believed that warriors needed their possessions in the afterlife, and so everything the deceased had owned was committed to flames while the clan chanted songs of remembrance.
The five fallen beastfolk warriors were honored with specific recitations of their deeds. Each had a story, achievements that would be remembered and passed down through oral tradition:
Makoa had been the first to spot the Shadow Demons' approach, his warning giving precious seconds of preparation time.
Kirana had held a breach in the wall single-handedly for nearly a minute, allowing civilians to evacuate before being overwhelmed.
Joro and Tala, bonded mates, had died back-to-back, protecting each other until the end.
Young Kenji, barely past his coming-of-age ceremony, had carried three wounded children to safety before collapsing from his own injuries.
The Imperial soldiers received their own honors. Their bodies were prepared according to Imperial military tradition, wrapped in banners bearing their unit insignia and personal heraldry if they possessed any. Captain Commander Hilda personally oversaw the preparations, ensuring each fallen soldier received the respect due to their sacrifice.
The ten dead Imperial soldiers would be transported back to their respective home regions for burial. Their families would receive full death benefits, pensions, and official recognition of their meritorious service. The Empire took care of its own, particularly those who died fulfilling their duty.
Hilda composed personal letters to each family, describing the circumstances of death and the courage each soldier had demonstrated. It was a commander's burden, one she had borne too many times before, but it never became easier.
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The Weight to Carry by Those who Remained
The village maintained a somber atmosphere in the days following the funeral. The Empire had temporarily assumed primary responsibility for the defenses, though many villagers continued manning the walls. It was their way of processing grief, finding purpose in the continuation of duty. Standing watch, maintaining vigilance, protecting those who remained, these actions provided structure when everything else felt chaotic.
The common sentiment, unspoken but understood by all, was gratitude for August's intervention. As horrifying as the casualty list was, everyone understood it could have been catastrophically worse. If August had not manifested that divine transformation, if Wrathalios had been allowed to continue its assault, the death toll might have reached into the hundreds or wiped out the village entirely.
But their young leader and savior now teetered on the edge of something none of them could fully comprehend. Baroness Hilda provided what context she could, explaining that August appeared to be one of the rare individuals in the world capable of breaking through the constraints of mortality.
"The Empire knows of such individuals," she explained during a council meeting. "The most prominent and powerful is His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Janus Cornwall. There are others, though few in number. Master Ben himself stands at this threshold."
What she did not know, could not know, was that Master Ben had already crossed that threshold in a sense. He had killed a deity, albeit one that had not fully manifested and had only been occupying a mortal vessel. That achievement had cracked the ceiling of his mortality, creating a small hole through which greater power could flow. He stood at the boundary, one foot in mortal limitations and one reaching toward something beyond.
Hilda described August's transformation as fully breaking through that ceiling, if only for a moment. However, Master Ben and Aetherwing offered a different perspective.
"What we witnessed was genuine," Master Ben said carefully, speaking to the assembled leadership. "August did break through his mortal constraints during that battle. However, from what Aetherwing and I can observe, whatever ceiling he shattered is now slowly reconstructing itself."
The Great Peregrine Eagle added his own thoughts, his mental voice reaching those present. "The power within him is working ceaselessly to repair that barrier. This is why his body still radiates divinity. The divine mana is being used as a construction material, reforming limitations that exist for his own protection."
"We can sense it vaguely," Master Ben continued. "There are processes occurring within August's body and soul that exist beyond our complete understanding. But we can feel the shape of them, the purpose. He is being rebuilt, reformed to sustain what he briefly became."
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The Hidden Truth's
What none of them knew, what they could not possibly know, was the deeper reality of August's situation. He was not merely unique but rather unprecedented in a way that defied the normal categories of power.
August was the sole prospect in their entire world who possessed a Personal System, a game-like interface that was not merely an aspect of the World System but something more. It was a unique, almost bug-like entity that existed in a category all its own.
Those individuals Hilda had mentioned, the ones who touched the boundaries of mortality, were not true World System champions or prospects. They were talented individuals who had achieved extraordinary things through their own merit, but they worked within the World System's normal parameters. Master Ben, for all his power, had touched divinity without being chosen by the System itself. Emperor Janus, despite his divine heritage, inherited his power through bloodline rather than System selection.
The first true World System Prospect was not August but rather someone on another continent entirely: Benny McTown. This information existed in records accessible only to the System administrators, hidden from the mortal realm.
August represented something different, an aberration, an unexpected variable. The World System, recognizing this irregularity, had ensured it possessed its own champion operating under its direct authority. There was yet another soon to be prospect on a different continent, Zahran Ishmar Noor, but that individual had not yet fully manifested their potential.
All of this constituted classified information, hidden from the mortal realm and visible only to the third-party observers who called themselves"The System." More accurately, they were servants of the natural laws of the universe, with the World System itself serving as their tool.
The gods, the divine entities, the cosmic powers had created the World System to circumnavigate the intricacies of natural law. These laws existed above even divine authority, and the gods had learned through painful experience that they could not simply ignore such fundamental forces.
The Heavenly God-King, the first deity to exist, had been the one to discover and partially comprehend these universal laws. His understanding was incomplete, a mere morsel of the totality, but it was sufficient to recognize the danger. If the gods intervened directly in mortal affairs without proper safeguards, they would violate natural law and face consequences even they could not withstand.
Thus the World System had been created, spanning universes and dimensions. Multiple subsidiary systems existed for each habitable world: systems like Centuury for this planet and Aerthe for another. The hierarchy was complex: Administrators like Magnus oversaw entire worlds, Managers like Dorothy handled regional operations, and Enforcers maintained compliance with universal law, holding even gods accountable.
The God-King had established this structure after creating the three levels of heaven: the High Heavens where the most powerful deities dwelt, the Middle Heavens for lesser divinities and ascended beings, and the Lower Heavens which bordered the mortal planes. He had discovered that the Lower Heavens were fragile, and direct divine intervention would kill the mortals it was meant to help. The World System provided a buffer, a way to influence events without catastrophic side effects.
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Rebuilding What has Been Destroyed
Back in the village, far removed from these cosmic considerations, practical concerns dominated. A section of the wall had been destroyed by Wrathalios's attack. Master Ben's intervention had minimized the damage, diverting most of the black flames away from critical structures. Only approximately three percent of the village had been completely destroyed, requiring significant reconstruction.
The surrounding forest had suffered again. Trees and saplings that had begun to grow back after previous battles had been consumed by fire. The ecosystem that August had worked so carefully to integrate with the village was being systematically destroyed. It would take years, perhaps decades, for full recovery.
But the village was resilient. August had built it with self-sufficiency as a core value, ensuring they could survive even if completely isolated from external support. This philosophy was being tested now, and so far, the village was proving equal to the challenge.
Construction teams were already assessing damage and planning repairs. Materials were being gathered, work shifts organized, and timelines established. The village would be rebuilt, stronger than before. Each attack, each setback, taught them something about their vulnerabilities. Each repair incorporated improvements based on lessons learned.
Although the community mourned those who had lost their lives, the village would carry on. They would survive and struggle against a world that had proven itself cruel and unforgiving. The recent losses had reminded everyone that even with powerful individuals protecting them, they were not immune to death's grip or the cruelty of life.
Children still played, though more quietly than before. Farmers still tended their fields. Craftspeople continued their work. Meals were prepared, clothes were mended, and lessons were taught. Life persisted because it had to, because the alternative was surrendering to those who wish to destroy them.
In the medical facility, August remained unconscious, his body slowly processing the divine energies that had nearly consumed him. His team kept their vigil, taking turns reading to him, describing the village's recovery efforts, and assuring him that his sacrifice had not been in vain.
Outside, the sun set over a village scarred but unbroken, mourning but not defeated. The forest war continued, but so did they. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but tonight, they remembered their fallen and drew strength from their memory.
The dead would not be forgotten. Their names would be inscribed in the memorial that was already being planned. Their stories would be told to children not yet born. Their sacrifice had purchased time and survival, and the village would honor that gift by refusing to give up, refusing to break, refusing to become just another forgotten settlement consumed by the wilderness.
They would endure. They had no other choice.