The days following the tragedy passed in a blur of exhaustion and sorrow. The village, though spared from complete annihilation, bore deep scars.

  Just a day after the calamity, bandits greeted everyone's morning as they descended upon the weakened settlement, no doubt hoping to prey on its vulnerability.

  Screams echoed as the villagers scrambled for safety, but before Lucian could even step outside the church, the Paladin acted.

  The white-armored man was a blur of motion, his glowing blade cutting through the chaos with surgical precision.

  The bandits stood no chance. In minutes, their lifeless bodies lay strewn across the village's edge.

  Lucian watched from the doorway, his heart sinking further. Though they had been saved yet again, the weight of his responsibility gnawed at him.

  This village is too vulnerable.

  And the system... It hasn't appeared since the battle.

  ---

  The village men distracted themselves from the sorrows, devoting their time on rebuilding homes and fortifications.

  Hammers rang out as makeshift walls rose, and the shattered remnants of their homes were painstakingly restored.

  Meanwhile, the women prepared for the funerals. They worked quietly in tears, their hands trembling as they cleaned the bodies of their dead loved ones.

  Even the children helped, gathering flowers and smoothing the dirt in the cemetery behind the church.

  And yet, the silence was deafening. Except for the sounds of carpentry, the village was devoid of life.

  It wasn't the silence of peace but the heavy void left by the absence of laughter and chatter.

  Out of the 237 residents who had called this village home, only 181 remained. Fifty-six lives were lost—of which twenty-six were adults, and tragically, thirty were but childrens. Eight families had been entirely wiped out, their homes now hauntingly empty.

  ---

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  On the third day, the village gathered at the small cemetery behind the church for a mass funeral.

  Gray clouds hung low in the sky, the threat of rain adding to the somber atmosphere.

  Lucian stood at the head of the procession, his vestments freshly cleaned but still tattered at the edges from the battle.

  His body still ached, his vision occasionally blurred, but he refused to show weakness.

  This was his flock, and they needed him.

  As he stepped up to the makeshift podium—a simple wooden crate placed before rows of freshly dug graves—the crowd fell silent.

  He cleared his throat, feeling the weight of countless eyes on him.

  "Brothers and sisters," Lucian began, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest, "we gather here today to honor those we have lost."

  A hush swept over the crowd.

  Some clutched each other for comfort; others stared blankly at the ground.

  Children clung to their mothers, their faces pale and tear-streaked.

  Lucian paused, drawing in a deep breath.

  The words had to be perfect.

  "They were not just names on a list. They were fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, friends, and neighbors. They were the ones who shared our laughter, our burdens, and our dreams. They were a part of us, and now they are gone."

  A quiet sob broke the silence. Lucian glanced at Agnes, who clung to her husband's arm, her face buried in his shoulder.

  "But we must not let grief consume us," he continued, his voice firm yet gentle. "For while their bodies may rest beneath this soil, their legacy lives on in us. In the memories we hold. In the love we share. In the hope we carry forward."

  Lucian stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the crowd.

  "This tragedy has tested us in ways we could never have imagined. It has taken much from us—our homes, our loved ones, our peace. But it has also revealed something far greater: our strength.

  "Each of you stands here today because you refused to give up. You fought for your lives, for your families, for your community. And in doing so, you have shown that no darkness can extinguish the light within us."

  The crowd was visibly moved.

  Barret, the stoic blacksmith, wiped his eyes discreetly.

  Agnes openly wept, her frail hands clutching at her rosary.

  Even the children seemed to understand the weight of his words, their expressions somber and reflective.

  Lucian spread his arms, as if embracing them all.

  "We cannot undo what has been done. We cannot bring them back. But we can honor them by building something greater—a village not just of survival, but of unity and hope."

  "We will rebuild together."

  "We will heal together."

  "And we will live, not just for ourselves, but for those who no longer can."

  He stepped back, his voice softening.

  "Let us pray, not for the sorrow to leave us, but for the strength to carry it with grace. Let us pray for the courage to live each day with purpose, knowing they are watching over us. And let us pray for the wisdom to cherish one another, for life is a fragile, precious gift."

  Lucian bowed his head, and the villagers followed suit.

  Together, they prayed.

  The murmured words of the prayer mingled with the first drops of rain, which began to fall softly from the heavens.

  As the prayer ended, the rain grew heavier, drenching the mourners.

  But no one moved.

  The rain felt cleansing, almost sacred, washing away the dirt and blood of the past days.

  The villagers stood in silence, their tears mingling with the rain.

  Marcus, standing beside Lucian, reached out to tug on his sleeve. "Father," he whispered, his voice trembling, "do you think they're… at peace now?"

  Lucian placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I believe they are, Marcus. And they would want us to find peace too."

  Marcus nodded, wiping at his face with a sleeve.

  One by one, the villagers began to place flowers on the graves. Simple wildflowers, picked by trembling hands, yet each one was an offering of love and remembrance.

  The rain continued to fall, soaking Lucian's robes and the villagers' clothes, but no one cared. It felt as though the heavens themselves were mourning alongside them.

  As the last flower was laid, Lucian raised his hand in blessing.

  "May their souls find rest, and may we find the strength to carry on their memory. Go now, and let this rain cleanse your hearts, as it cleanses the earth."

  The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving Lucian standing alone before the graves. He stared at the rows of markers, his heart heavy but resolute.

  Fifty-six souls lost.

  I couldn't save them all.

  But I will not fail the rest.

  The rain continued to fall as Lucian turned and made his way back to the church, the weight of his responsibility pressing down on him like never before.