A few days had passed since the war finally settled into silence. The smoke had lifted, the blood had dried, and Nirvalen—bruised, tired, yet unbroken—slowly started to glow again. Children dared to play in the streets once more. Merchants reopened their stalls with hesitant smiles. But beneath all of this, a shadow of grief lingered, a reminder of the price paid for this fragile peace.
Today, the entire city gathered to face that price.
A grand ceremony was held in the central plaza, a place normally filled with vendors and laughter. Now it stood transformed—somber, dignified, draped in black banners that moved like mourning veils in the steady wind. Behind the stage stretched countless graves, freshly carved and marked with the insignia of the hunters who had fallen.
The scent of incense hung in the air.
Families stood close together. The older clutched the younger; the younger searched the faces of the S-Ranks with wide, uncertain eyes. Some carried framed photographs. Others held tokens left behind by the dead. Every person here had lost someone… or feared losing them.
The ceremony began quietly.
One by one, hunters walked to the stage, each holding a white flower. They placed their tributes before the memorial stone, bowed, and stepped aside. No words were spoken; the silence was heavier than any speech.
Behind them lay the sea of graves—too many, far too many.
Higher-ups, governors, ministers, and foreign observers came next. They laid flowers with polished composure, though even they could not disguise the fatigue in their expressions. War showed no favoritism; it crushed all the same.
Then the S-Rank hunters stepped forward.
The crowd's murmurs faded. These were the ones who had stood at the frontlines, the ones who walked through hell and returned carrying the weight of those who did not. Their presence alone grounded the ceremony.
They approached together, as one unit, and bowed deeply.
When they stepped away, Daiki took the stage.
His footsteps echoed across the stone platform. For a moment he simply stood there, looking at the vast crowd—thousands of faces, thousands of stories bound together by loss.
He inhaled slowly, then spoke.
"Today… we stand on ground bought with sacrifice."
His voice carried through the plaza, steady yet softened by grief.
"These hunters fought knowing the cost. They faced demons born from a realm that should never have touched ours. They stood even when fear clawed at their spines. They pushed forward when retreat would have been easier. And many of them… gave everything so Nirvalen could see another dawn."
People lowered their heads. Some wept quietly.
"Some of them I trained. Some I argued with. Some I barely knew.
But every one of them carried the same resolve:
'If we fall, let our fall protect someone else.'"
The wind rustled the black banners behind him.
"Their bravery did not vanish with their final breath.
It lives in the people they saved.
It lives in the quiet streets we walk today.
It lives in us—the ones who survived because they chose not to."
His voice wavered, but only slightly. His hands, however, trembled openly at his sides.
"We cannot repay them.
But we can remember them.
And we can carry forward what they fought to protect."
Daiki turned to the grieving families.
"No hunter dies forgotten.
And no sacrifice becomes meaningless.
To those who lost their lives… may your shadows guide us, and may your names echo longer than any war."
A solemn bell rang—once for each fallen hunter.
The sound rolled across the plaza like a slow heartbeat, each toll a reminder of a soul gone. People bowed their heads in complete silence.
When the bell went still, the S-Ranks stepped down and formed a dignified line near the front.
And then—
A single figure emerged from the crowd.
At first, no one reacted. But her presence shifted the atmosphere so subtly, so immediately, that every eye slowly turned toward her.
Yume walked forward alone.
Her steps were measured, graceful, and firm—neither hesitant nor seeking attention. The crowd parted instinctively, giving her room as though guided by something they couldn't fully understand.
She wore a tailored ceremonial suit crafted in deep black, its fabric catching faint glimmers of light. Silvery embroidery traced her cuffs like moonlit threads. The high collar framed her posture with quiet authority. Nothing about her attire was extravagant; everything was intentional—elegant, dignified, befitting the solemnity of the moment.
Her long hair was tied neatly back, allowing the wind to brush her face without softening her sharp, composed expression.
The S-Ranks straightened almost unconsciously when they saw her.
Daiki exhaled, relief unfurling in his posture.
Yume reached the front row of graves. There was no dramatic gesture, no spoken farewell. She only knelt, placing a single white flower on one of the resting places.
Her hand rested there—steady, controlled, unshaken.
A farewell from someone who had survived too much to express grief loudly.
The crowd recognized her. They knew she had vanished after the battle. They knew she had been at Ren's side. They knew how close she herself had come to death.
Seeing her now, composed and refined, was like witnessing someone reborn in the aftermath of war.
Reporters noticed her too.
Cameras flashed.
Questions rose.
Confusion sparked in the air—people wondered where she had been, what happened to her, who she had disappeared with.
But before any reporter could finish their intrusive question, a firm voice cut through the noise.
A foreign hunter stepped forward, irritation sharp in his tone.
"Are you people heartless or what? Look around you. People lost their loved ones. This is a memorial—show some respect. Don't ask nonsense here. Let her go."
A hush spread instantly.
Yume nodded slightly and stepped away from the reporters.
Far above, on a nearby building, two cloaked figures watched quietly—Ren and Althric.
Ren narrowed his eyes. "Who is this man?"
Althric crossed his arms. "Don't you remember? He's my grandchild as well. Arden."
Standing behind them, Kuro appeared without a sound.
"Hey, it's been a while, Ren."
Ren turned. "Master… how have you been? Are your injuries healed?"
Kuro nodded. "I'm fine. But I suppose you're wondering why Arden is here. He didn't participate because he had another duty."
"He had work and couldn't come, right?" Ren asked.
"Yes, but there's more to it," Althric replied. "He was undergoing a test—one approved by the Eight King."
Ren's brows furrowed. "A test? While I was gone to the abyss?"
Kuro stepped forward, standing beside him.
"To inherit the Fourth General."
Ren froze. "What…? Master, you're—"
Kuro gave a soft, sad smile. "Yes. I'm retiring as the Fourth General."
Ren's eyes widened. "But why? Your power—your guidance—"
"My role ended after training you," Kuro said quietly. "I stayed because I saw no one else worthy to stand by your side. Not until now. And now, my job is finished. Arden will take over. I'll be leaving soon. Take care of yourself, Ren."
He lowered his head and began to walk away.
"Wait! Master!"
Kuro stopped.
Ren's voice cracked—barely, but enough.
"Master… you're the reason I am who I am. When I had no one, you reached out. You trained me, protected me, stood with me. Are you leaving because you're retiring? I don't want you gone from my side."
Kuro turned slightly.
"I never said I wanted to leave you," he murmured.
"When my family died… you were the only one left. I looked at you as my grandfather—the one who wanted to see his grandchildren smile…"
Kuro froze. Something in his expression shattered.
"Please, Master. Don't leave me. I beg you."
Kuro's eyes trembled.
"I never knew you saw me… that way," he whispered. "But… I'm glad."
Ren stepped forward and embraced him tightly.
Kuro returned it, his voice low and frail.
"I thought I was slowing you down… becoming useless."
"You were never useless," Ren answered. "You're the wisest man I know. You guided me when no one else could."
Kuro nodded, wiping his eyes.
"Then I will stay. But the Fourth General's mantle must still pass on. When Arden makes the pact, he will surpass all who came before."
All three turned their gaze back toward the ceremony.
Meanwhile, down in the plaza, the reporters had dispersed. Arden approached Yume, his posture upright, aura sharp.
"You should avoid confronting situations like this during a memorial," he said calmly. "Have some dignity. For both the Akegami and Daizen clans."
Yume looked at him. "Thank you, Arden Daizen. New heir of the Daizen clan."
He stood beside her. "Grandfather told me you were severely injured."
"Yes," Yume replied softly. "I was. But—"
"But what? Did the Ninth King fail to protect his comrade?" Arden said bluntly. "I'll find out myself when I talk to him."
"Arden," Yume said, her voice firm and steady. "He is the reason we are all standing here. Don't insult him."
Arden fell silent.
He couldn't argue with her.
The sun dipped lower. Shadows grew longer. And slowly the people dispersed, leaving the graveyard in quiet twilight.
Hours later, when the last of the mourners had gone, two cloaked figures entered the graveyard—faces hidden, movements silent.
Ren and Althric.
They placed their flowers, bowed their heads, and whispered their own private prayers to the fallen.
From a distance, a few passersby noticed.
Two mysterious figures… entering the graveyard long after the ceremony ended.
Phones lifted.
Videos began.
And a new question stirred across Nirvalen—
Who were these cloaked figures paying tribute in silence?
And more importantly—
Why did they appear only after everyone had gone?
The city did not know the answer.
Not yet.
But the shadows knew.
The war was over.
The next chapter of destiny… was just beginning.