After Surviving the Apocalypse, I Built a City in Another World - Chapter 622

Chapter 622: Death Count
Gill had arrived, and they knew what this meant: The Death Count was here.

Although there were deaths during the war itself, there were more in critical conditions. They had to take them to the doctors and the healers, before they could be transferred back to Altera. However, they had lost Alterans both in Fargo and in Altera due to complications.

“A total of thirty-four Alterans died,” he said. “About twenty-seven died during the war, while the others passed due to the critical injuries later on.”

Almost all of these casualties were directly attributed to Fargo himself as well as the strongmen in his team like Sen, Uzon, and a few stronger mercenaries.

Although Altera had superior equipment and potions, they were still primarily civilians. How many could truly fight against well-trained terrorists?

The depressing atmosphere in the meeting room deepened.

Before the war, they had expected a lot of deaths—even more than this—but actually hearing the number of lives lost was still incredibly difficult to stomach.

Plus, this number was just the Alterans. There had been hundreds more deaths among the slaves, though their burial was left to Victor and the others.

As for the burial of the Alterans, it naturally had to be grand. The bell rang coinciding with the number of lives lost, each with several moments of silence dedicated.

The cremation was to be held in the park. For now, this was the only option as the space in the territory was limited. They were placed in separate areas so their ashes wouldn’t mix, protected by covers from the wind. The bereaved would have the option to either keep the ashes or place them in the cemetery park located at the edge of the territory.

Althea was also studying the Tree Pod Burial, where the body would be placed in a biodegradable pod that would nourish a seed. The tree, in turn, would be the person’s natural gravestone. There were still plenty of complications in this, however, and she still had a lot to study before they could use it as a formal way to bury the dead.

Almost every citizen came to see the funeral. Almost, as some superstitious old folks didn’t want to join and simply gave alms to the bereaved. There were also the children, who they didn’t want exposed to such an atmosphere just yet.

The Alterans bowed their heads as the bodies were cremated. People who didn’t know the dead felt pity for the loss of life, while their family and friends sobbed their hearts out.

Among these people were the Mauin villagers. At this time, they were standing near the burning corpses, sobbing for their lost comrade.

Meroun was among the people who perished after the war.

He was stabilized after defeating Sen, but he suffered a lot of internal injuries and broken ribs, which unfortunately punctured his heart. Everyone handled the injured with care, even using a carrying bed to make sure they were stable, but fate had its way of taking people away.

Mauin and the others mourned for another lost brother. In fact, he was the only one who perished—which should be a relief because they were expecting at least a third of them might not make it.

But… it was odd; they felt even sadder. Was it because he was the only casualty that made things more painful?

Maybe it was because they were actually given the chance to grieve this time—unlike in their old lives, where they were just forced to move forward head-on in order to survive.

Or perhaps… It was because they were living good life in Altera, even if they had only stayed a while. They finally found hope of living decently. Before, dying could be seen as the end of their struggle. They were humans; they get tired, too.

Now, it was different: Everyone wanted to live. And everyone wanted to live long, long, lives.

Meroun’s death ignited a renewed will inside of them.

“Brother,” Mauin mumbled, as if he could still talk to his cousin. “Please rest well.”

You will live well in our memory.

…

Somewhere at a distance from the pyre, Garan rubbed his wife’s small shoulders and she buried her head on his.

She didn’t want to feel too sad and blame herself—she knew she had done her best—but emotionally, she felt drained and guilty.

Althea pursed her lips, mind still swirling. Had she managed to make more powerful formulations, would the death count be even less?

The weight of these deaths felt heavier than the others. After all, she was the one who waged this war.

“If you were not here, hundreds or thousands more would’ve perished,” he whispered, gently comforting her. “You have already done so much.”

Althea still felt like crying as she buried her head on her husband’s chest.

Garan sighed and patted her back. “We will grow, but our enemies will also get stronger,” he said. “Please don’t put too much pressure on yourself, wife.”

“More,” she mumbled. “I want to do more.”

She felt that she could, but she had yet to tap on that potential.

A bright glint passed her eyes, then.

She and Altera had so much more room to grow—and she would be sure to achieve that, even for just the sake of her people and her family.

***

Behind the crowd were the aborigine visitors, watching the ceremony. It was a little novel to them, holding such a funeral for the commoners. In their knowledge, while nobles would indeed have grand funerals, the commoners usually didn’t bother.

At most, the family would send them off to be burned or buried, but nothing too grand.

As they waited, they observed the crowd. They saw the Alterans’ dark expressions, as well as the many people sobbing their hearts out.

“How many people died?” Jonathan asked his guard, who was always gathering information.

“Thirty-four.”

Only thirty-four? With how gloomy they were, he thought they’d lost half of the people who went through the array.

Of course, he had the tact not to say so out loud.

However, the atmosphere was extremely solemn and they couldn’t help but also feel heavy, despite not knowing these people—despite not really bothering with the lower class before.

At some point, an old woman stepped in front of the funeral pyre, facing the bodies that were slowly turning into ashes. It was Mathilda who, as before, had been asked to deliver a short speech in remembrance of the people they lost.

“Your sacrifice is not in vain, brothers and sisters,” she said. “You saved a lot of lives by losing your own and, for that, we are eternally grateful.”

She then looked at many of the people in the crowd, her eyes meeting with the bereaved, family, and friends of the fallen. “I hope you can be proud of these brave souls. Live well, and Altera will strive to do its part to protect you and make the lives of its citizens a bit better.”

The aborigines couldn’t help but be touched and also confused, their world views subtly being affected by what they were witnessing.

How many citizens died during their own wars? How many people have they left behind to fend for themselves?

Most of these people didn’t think about that. It wasn’t that they were bad people, it was just how the worldview was: People only cared for strength and riches—because that was the way to survive.

However, this was incredibly enlightening, especially for the lords like Jonathan. He couldn’t help but look at the crowd. The solidarity they exuded was something unprecedented to him.

A territory that placed so much importance on the lives of its people. How could it not garner such loyalty?