Kingdom Of The Weak 294 Leaving

Of course, it wasn't as simple as packing up and saying goodbye.

For instance, there was a very indignant Student Affairs Officer who rattled off something about required courses and a.s.signments and field work to complete…

Remian wasn't actually trying to become a qualified formation master, so he totally ignored all that from the beginning. Was it important? Maybe, but he was a lot more concerned with going home.

Not that he told that to Student Affairs.

There were other issues to settle. Dorm fees, exit permit, traveling rations, souvenirs that they wanted to buy…

Actually, no forget all that. Whatever would he need a permit for? What was the academy going to do, penalize his grades?

Remian simply slipped out with Xiao Yan that evening, summoned the pod from its hiding place, and set course for Scorched Earth City.

***

Meanwhile, George had all his allied forces retreat. With Tang Yin's group safely back at Dragon Lake, the battered veterans pulled back behind their fortifications and the warfront returned to a stand-off.

"Damage report." George called for it, and braced himself for the worst.

"The Flame Emperor has fallen." Mindy grimaced. "She's down to just little Chirpy mode and it would take her a very, very long time to recover. Years, maybe decades."

"We lost more than half the dragons. Almost two thirds." Darian grimaced. "The Pale Dragons are almost wiped out, and can no longer partic.i.p.ate in the war for fear of extinction. Kor'ag-dras is hurt badly, and all the Elder Dragons are injured. Mal'thor-dras is in better shape, but even he took some hits."

"I lost four gangs and two sub-clans of Lynxmice. Khar'al-dras is injured." Tim added. "He's exhausted and is already wanting to go back to sleep. He claims he shouldn't even have awoken this century based on the dragons' timetable and he's already woken up twice in this decade."

"Mal'thor could say the same, but you don't see him complaining." George grunted. "What of the Wind Emperor?"

"Lost two streaks of tigers and three times as many lesser cats. Also heavily injured." Mindy reported. "He's very grumpy about it, and already threatening to pull out. The Roc King and the other forces of the Flame Emperor all report heavy casualties. One third of the flyers, and roughly half the ground Wilds."

"Other than the dragons, the Wood Emperor and the Earth Emperor lost about one third. I guess casualties are lighter in the center, thanks to the Iron Legion's charge." Darian mused. "Speaking of which, how are they?"

George glanced about. "Someone call them in. Is that Marcus coming this way?"

"Marcus!" Mindy gaped. "Are… are you all right?"

The look on Marcus' face said he wasn't. The blood running down his armor said he wasn't. Why in the world did Mindy ask such a question, George couldn't even say.

But still, he had to ask. "How is the Iron Legion?"

Marcus wordlessly shook his head. "Broken. Almost entirely wiped out. Of those who charged out to battle today, only a handful returned alive. As for those who did not charge out… those are the ones in recovery in the medical tents."

George's face went pale. "And Max? Is he all right?"

Marcus' face grew even graver. "We lost Max."

"What… what do you mean, we lost him…?" George stared.

Marcus told it to him straight. "Max is dead."

***

It was very cliché of many tales of daring-do that a hero would charge out at the forefront of battle, achieve many great feats of glory through valor, and return into the warm arms of a waiting beauty or otherwise to fame and reward, or at the least, a hospital bed and a long period of rest and recuperation.

Alas, tales and truth had a disagreement on the outcome of such heroism.

That evening, a ma.s.s memorial was held for the dead. It was a brief one, and only those off-duty were able to attend, everyone else still on high alert and manning the defenses.

In the center of the rows and rows of boxes was one wreathed in iron.

This coffin was Max's.

Father Kairos cleared his throat. "The rites are usually held by an Iron Legion chaplain, but those who are here with us are lying in boxes, so… I have been asked to hold the rites for the Iron Legion in their place."

Next to him, Marcus stood silent, wordless. Slowly, he gazed from coffin to coffin.

Max, Gaius, Tiberius… those three were merely the nearest familiar officers at the very forefront of the rows and rows before him.

George was muttering, "I told them to turn back. I told them…"

But of course they would not. It was not the way of the Iron Legion to turn back before the job was finished. Every patrol they sent out would properly reach the end of the road before they considered their patrol complete. Either that, or it would end when they were dead.

Softly, Father Kairos raised a candle and began to sing a hymn shared by the Iron Legion and the Church of Light alike. "In articulo mortis…" (In the moment of death)

In the grave quietness of the memorial, his voice carried easily and was joined by the deep throated voices of the surviving men. "Caelitus mihe vires." (my strength comes from G.o.d)

"Deo adjuvante non timentum in perpetuum." (G.o.d helps me, no fear forever)

Like the rus.h.i.+ng of waves onto the beach, in low, rustling like a myriad of whispers held in secret, they sang. "Dirige nos domine, ad augusta per augusta." (Direct me, Lord, to glory upon glory)

"Sic itur ad astra." (Such is the way to the stars). Father Kairos ended. "Excelsior." (Ever upward)

And then there was silence. A deep and long silence.

Father Kairos covered Max's coffin with a cloth and began to do the same with coffin after coffin.

And thus was the funeral concluded.

George was there in his Frame. He laid one hand on Max's coffin and said only two words.

"Goodbye, Max."

And then his throat clenched tight and he could say no more.