Chapter 217: Casualties

The room remained silent long after Sage regained consciousness, a stillness that felt heavy.

Sunlight streamed through the narrow window, casting light across the bed, the wooden floor, and the chairs where Boren and Lyana sat. Their bodies were tense despite their relief at his awakening.

Outside, faint sounds filtered in not chaos or battle cries, but purposeful movement, like a city slowly piecing itself back together after being torn apart. Sage lay still, breathing carefully as he let his eyes wander over the ceiling before shifting to gaze out the window.

The world felt heavier now. It wasn’t a physical burden, he was already familiar with that but something deeper settled behind his ribs; it was dense and quiet and had nothing to do with pain. He had survived. Mina had survived. The Guild still existed.

Yet the stillness in the room made it clear that survival came at a cost yet to be articulated. Boren noticed Sage’s change in focus and exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair before straightening again as if bracing himself for what was to come.

Lyana mirrored him, her hands tightening momentarily before relaxing. For a brief moment, neither spoke, it wasn’t hesitation born of uncertainty but rather an understanding that once they began discussing what needed to be said, their fragile calm would give way to something heavier and more final.

Sage turned slightly toward them; exhaustion etched on his face didn’t mask his composed expression. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steadier than before. “Give me a report on the current situation.”

His tone held no emotion on its surface, yet both Boren and Lyana felt the weight beneath it a shift from recovery to responsibility, from survivor to leader. Boren nodded once, jaw tightening as he took a breath.

“The battle lasted longer than we anticipated,” he began slowly, choosing each word with care, not to soften reality but to present it clearly.

“By the time the other Adventurers returned from outside missions, most fighting had already ceased because Valeria had slaughtered all all the enemies. What remained was containment… and survival.”

Sage listened intently without interruption; his gaze fixed on Boren’s face while maintaining an unreadable expression.

“We lost people,” Boren continued quietly. “Seventy-nine Adventurers confirmed dead.”

The number settled heavily into the room like an unwelcome presence.

Lyana’s gaze dropped briefly as she curled her fingers into her lap while Boren pressed on.

“Fifty more are permanently crippled, some have lost limbs, others suffered injuries that will end their ability to fight entirely. They’ll survive but not as Adventurers anymore.”

Silence enveloped them like a thick fog.

“Sixty-nine survivors are still undergoing treatment,” Lyana added softly. “Most will recover eventually; however, some might take months before they can even hold a weapon again.”

Sage remained still, his breathing slow and measured. His gaze was steady, yet something in his eyes dimmed slightly, as if a shadow had settled there.

He didn’t ask for clarification or demand details; he simply absorbed the information, each number sinking deep within him, where leadership resided and responsibility anchored itself like iron.

These were people who had laughed in the halls, debated contracts, trained until dawn in the courtyard, and believed in something fragile yet stubborn enough to be called a Guild.

Sage briefly closed his eyes. In that moment, the room felt smaller; the air grew heavier. When he opened them again, his expression was controlled and composed. Yet beneath that surface lay a depth, a quiet endurance that held grief inward rather than letting it spill outward.

“And the dead?” he asked softly.

Boren straightened slightly as if this part required a different kind of presence. “They were cremated,” he replied. “Individually, not as a group.”

Lyana nodded in agreement. “Their ashes were placed in specially crafted urns, each engraved with their name, rank, and the date of battle. Their weapons were cleaned and laid beside them.”

Sage’s gaze flickered faintly at that.

“We had portraits drawn for remembrance, every single one,” Lyana continued. “Families of the fallen were contacted immediately. Compensation has already been issued: gold, housing support, and protection rights under Guild authority.”

She hesitated for a moment before adding softly, “None of them will be left alone.”

Sage remained silent as tightness gripped his chest, a heavy weight pressing against his ribs. He imagined those urns lined up in quiet rows with weapons resting beside them like guardians; portraits capturing expressions that would never change again.

His gaze lowered slightly before he spoke with calm determination that settled into the air like stone:

“Those who died… are not victims,” he said slowly.

Both Boren and Lyana looked up at him.

“They are the pillars that held this Guild upright.”

His words didn’t rise in volume or demand attention; instead, they filled the room with an undeniable presence.

“They stood,” Sage continued steadily despite an underlying tremor in his voice, “when others would have fled. They fought when retreat would have been easier. This place… still stands because they chose not to fall.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it was full, full of acknowledgment and grief held with dignity by a leader refusing to let the dead be reduced to mere tragedy.

Boren bowed his head instinctively while Lyana’s eyes glistened faintly as her fingers tightened once more.

Sage took a slow, deep breath, then exhaled, trying to push the heavy weight inside him down where it could settle without breaking him.

“And what about the Guild?” he asked.

Lyana inhaled deeply, adjusting her posture as she straightened. “The damage is severe,” she replied.

“Almost the entire Guild Hall has been destroyed. The main structure collapsed during the later stages of the battle. The stable is completely gone. The training ground… it’s unrecognizable now. The Adventurer Restaurant, the courtyard, storage facilities, all of it is lost.”

Each word felt like another stone added to the quiet burden already weighing on him.

“The only major structures still standing,” she continued, “are the Adventurer Inn which we’re using as our temporary headquarters the Mana Cultivation Tower, and the Smithy. Everything else will need to be rebuilt.”

Sage’s gaze drifted back to the window; sunlight streamed in brighter and stronger, illuminating every corner of the room.

“Reconstruction started yesterday,” Boren chimed in. “Workers from the district volunteered their time. Some Adventurers who could still stand joined in too. Supplies are being gathered already. If we keep this pace up… we estimate it’ll take one to two months before the Guild is back to its former self.”

One to two months.

Sage absorbed that timeline without showing any reaction, but internally he measured it not just in days or labor but in endurance, morale, and belief.

Outside his window, movement caught his eye. He could see them now, figures moving across rubble, carrying beams and lifting stones with a determined rhythm while clearing debris.

Nearby sat injured Adventurers, bandaged and some barely able to stand yet still sharpening blades and practicing forms slowly and painfully as if refusing to let their purpose be buried beneath the wreckage.

The Guild had been shattered but not broken.

Sage watched in silence; his gaze steady and expression unreadable. No grand declarations formed in his mind, no dramatic speeches, only a quiet realization settled within him.

They were rebuilding not because they had to but because they believed this place was worth saving. This Guild represented more than just stone or contracts; it embodied opportunity, dignity, and belonging.

As he observed those figures moving through dust and sunlight, lifting broken pieces and shaping new ones, something deep inside him solidified, not peace or relief, but resolve.

The Guild hadn’t fallen. And as long as even one of them remained standing… it never would.

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