After a night, the Duke led his army to the west, recovering the previously lost Iron Sword City and Iron Forge, and presiding over the post-war reconstruction there. Pen, fun, pavilion www. biquge。 The Duchess of Info stayed behind to attend to the affairs of the Snow Fortress, and the previously busy Al was finally able to move around.

He first went to the cemetery of the sacrificed soldiers to pay respects, and in front of the newly built tombs, there were a pile of finger flowers for his thoughts. These purple flowers, which can only be found in distant pine forests, bloom in black and white, when the sun rises, and wither when the sun is blazing and when the sun is shining, and bloom only for an hour throughout the day. Every day, many people wait tirelessly in the pine forest, just to pick the most beautiful finger flowers and place them in front of the martyrs' tombs.

The flower language of the finger flower - deep longing.

Al stood silently in front of the tomb, surrounded by people, and no one noticed the ordinarily dressed child.

He had a lot to say to Victor, the great man who embraced him warmly, to Murat's bohemian, to Bertier, to Monce, to Joseph, to all the warriors who guarded, fought, and died.

It's just that a thousand words finally turned into one sentence: "The snow fortress is held, and everyone is safe." ”

He believes that no matter what kind of hymn or epitaph can compare with this sentence to make these soldiers walk more at ease and more freely. They did their duty while they were alive, they fought for the people of the city until the last moment as soldiers.

Now, let them rest well.

May all the fallen warriors rest in peace.

Al turned and walked out of the cemetery, slowly walking to the middle street of the city. He walked along the main road, not daring to approach Aunt Teresa's shop, and he did not dare to see the poor old woman, so he could only instruct the civil officials of the Snow Fortress to take care of these women who were widowed by the war.

Compared with before, the city is much more deserted, there is no usual shouting, vulgar scolding, unbridled talk and laughter, and even those fierce aunts are much more gentle. Yes, without those rude men, who can these aunts point at and scold at their noses?

The streets were filled with plainly dressed women, carrying heavy loads, driving wagons, buying and selling, and doing the usual work of men. The busy figure looked tired and helpless, the originally vigorous face was numb and dull by the pain and fatigue, and the straight waist could no longer be straightened when it was bent down.

The war is over, and life must go on.

These women were half the sky in the Snow Fortress, but now they have to carry the whole city on their backs, how can their waists be straight.

The surrounding liquor shops have long been closed, and I can no longer see the big men sweating and drinking, not seeing their drunken talk, and not hearing their ridiculous bragging. The only men you can see on the road are half-grown teenagers like Al or kids running around on the side of the road.

Al walked down the street, his steps heavy, he tightened his clothes, and he always felt that although it was spring, this unpopular city was cold.

The weather is cold, the city is cold, the people are cold, and the heart is cold.

At this time, a child next to him ran past Al, accidentally fell on his heels, and immediately pouted and hung up the oil bottle, and the golden bean fell down.

Al hurried to help the child up, but heard the child crying and calling for his father, and knew that he had not fallen and was in pain, but that he had not seen his father crying for days.

Facing the vicious orcs, Al was at a loss in the face of this child, and after thinking for a while, he could only comfort an old-fashioned lie: "Don't cry, your father has gone far away." ”

"You're a liar, you're all liars! Peter, Mary, Fagu, Big Gil, little slug, everybody's dad is gone, and I heard they're all dead on that wall. ”

A rooster's throat-like voice came, and when I heard it, I was in the stage of voice change. Al turned his head to see a thirteen or fourteen-year-old boy with messy hair who looked about the same age as Al running to the side and shouting at him, followed by several children, who looked like the child king in the neighborhood.

When the child who fell down heard that his father was dead, he cried again, and the young man may not understand the meaning of "death", but instinctively felt that it was not a good thing.

The leading young man had tears in his eyes, but his head was held high, and at first glance he was a rebellious and stubborn lord, and the children who followed him were sobbing, they had already understood the meaning of death at such an age.

"Don't talk nonsense, your dad may have gone somewhere else. Al barely managed to squeeze out a smile.

I learned from my mother and Mother Teresa, and she never lied. You're as old as us, and what do you know?"

Al was speechless, he looked into the eyes of the young man in front of him, the tears overflowing his eyes reflected the pain, but he stubbornly refused to fall.

It suddenly dawned on Al that these precocious children had known the truth, and perhaps their rebellious and perverse moments were just panic after the loss of their father.

Al hated his clumsy tongue at this point, and he tried to comfort the children, but he couldn't find the right words. Looking at the gray pupils of these children, he wanted to bring some light to this heavy gray.

"Your father died there as a warrior, and they were the heroes of the city. ”

As he spoke, Al nodded vigorously and repeated in a strengthened tone, "They are true heroes. ”

The word hero brought a hint of joy to the children, who couldn't help but straighten their chests and have life in their eyes.

"Really, you're not going to lie again, are you?" the boy was a little skeptical.

Al rolled up his sleeves and showed the wound on his arm to the children, the torn scar shocking them.

"I was on the wall that day. Seeing your fathers in battle, I promise they are true heroes. Al assured the children.

"I've heard that orcs are fierce and eat people, is this true?", "What happened that night?", "How did Dad fight?", the children asked all kinds of questions.

Al thought about it, and simply sat on the ground with his robe on his shoulder, and told these children that he meant to just say a few words casually, but he couldn't stop talking, talking, and crying.

He talked about the broken nobleman with white clothes and white horses and silver spears, and at the last moment he picked several orcs in a row and blocked the passage with his own corpses. The man's name was Joatham Murat.

He spoke of Claude Victor, who had resisted countless spells and finally jumped off the city wall with two orcs in his arms.

He spoke of the captains he hadn't seen with his own eyes, and had finally identified them in the pile of corpses. Jean-Jean Moncet, Alexandre Bertier, Charles Oudinot, Jacques Joseph, they fought until the last moment, until the death rested.

He said that there was a warrior who desperately tied the arm of an orc, helped his comrades finally kill the orc, and did not relax until he finally closed his eyes, and it was a pity that he did not know the name of this warrior.

He said that there were many nameless warriors, who exchanged their lives for names, and even exchanged their lives for injuries, and did everything to stop those orcs for a day and a night, leaving countless orcs dead at the head of the city and suffering heavy losses.

He spoke of a powerful witch who broke into the camp alone and guarded the city with one person, and that witch was Medea Merlin.

He talked about not only witches, but also the sturdy women of the West, who held high the banner, beat gongs and drums to frighten the orcs, and repelled the last attack of the orcs, and these women of the Westlands were also unsung heroes.

At first, it was just a few children listening, but slowly a crowd gathered around to listen to the teenager spilling tears as he narrated.

On this day, Al said a lot, he described a lot of heroes, and he mentioned a lot of names.

Only, there was no mention of a fourteen-year-old boy.

After people remembered it for a long time, they found that the boy had quietly left without a trace.

Only remember those heroes whose names are known, remember those who are nameless.

Remember that the city is full of heroes.