Jairziño Guzmán felt that his identity as a medical officer was being strangely challenged.

What? Where do the challenges come from?

This is where the challenge comes from examining a huge skeleton that has no vital signs, but can move freely and even speak.

"How?" The huge skeleton in the black robe asked, and there was a bit of relief in his voice that made Guzmán not know how to do it. "I hope my body has improved."

"Instructor, you-" Guzmán paused, taking a deep breath of air as he began to tell himself that this was up to you.

After all, no matter how you say it, it is too scary to come back from the dead. At least until Carlil Lohals' body is fully restored, Conrad Coz doesn't want too many people to know about it.

"—your body still doesn't have anything to do with it, I mean, at least our medical devices haven't been able to give me any relevant data." Guzmán said. "In other words, you're still a dead man, instructor."

The skeleton nodded calmly.

He had expected it.

The library aboard the Emperor Dream contains a lot of lost knowledge, memories that don't die, just waiting to be touched, read and remembered again. Words are magical, and what can be carried in them can sometimes be very large. For example, history, for example, the real cause of the death of a certain king, for example, some concepts.

The Eternal.

In that book, written by an anonymous person, the eternal ones are those who have the gift of God, and they all have immortal life.

But if that alone is not enough to be called 'immortal', they are not just not going to age. In fact, no method in the conventional sense of the word can kill an Eternal, and even if you throw him into lava, he will crawl out one day.

After reading the book, Carlil did not agree with the so-called 'gift of God', and the secret and origin of the Eternals is an unanswered secret for humanity and the universe as a whole, which is undoubtedly unanswered, even the emperor himself cannot answer this question.

But, both he and Carlil, they knew that the gods never sent down a gift.

The gods only ask for it.

And he himself is certainly not an immortal, and the reason why he can 'come alive' and walk in the material realm again is only because of a covenant.

It is essentially an anchor point and a precious testimony. But there is no doubt that he died, and the effects from behind the Veil still rage through his current body.

In Carlil's vision, he could see the constant burning flames of blood scorching his skeleton, trying to claim the body for himself.

Fortunately, they were already weak, and they could not escape the constraints of his power to influence others.

Those two weeks of fighting were worth it.

"Instructor?" Jairziño Guzmán asked softly, hiding his uneasiness about silence well, but not well enough. "Are we going to do it again? Perhaps this time the result will be different. ”

"No, I don't have to." Skeleton said. "Medically speaking, I'm dead. You're upset about this, and I'm sorry for that. ”

“.”

The medical officer nodded silently, but did not deny it.

Carlil smiled—Guzmán should have seen it if he still had muscle and skin on his face, but he didn't have it on his face. So he could only see the skeleton's jaw open slightly, and the blue light in its eye sockets flickered steadily.

"You're direct, Jairziño, that's good. So, if you don't mind, I have some questions for you about the current state of Nostramo, would you like to answer them for me? ”

Guzmán breathed a sigh of relief—he thought their instructor had changed his mind and was going to do it again, and he would rather stay in the dueling cage for eight hours before coming out than doing it.

"Of course I do, instructor, but what do you want to know?"

"It's just a few things about the basics of what happened after I left." Carlil said.

He could see the doctor's relief, and laughed silently again.

Carlil had to admit that he had come to enjoy the fact that he didn't have to put on a calm face all the time - while staying in skeleton form for long wouldn't be a good thing for anyone, he might be able to create a similar mask once he recovered.

It seemed a little sad to say this, but he had come to understand why the Emperor had remained horribly detached and calm for the most part.

——

With a certain reluctance to be seen by others, Karn lowered the company flag in his hand smoothly.

It was a huge flag, it was originally hoisted in the council chamber of the Steadfast Resolve, it belonged to the Eighth Company, old and bloody. It was sewn together from a number of different flags, derived from the dead Flag Bearer of the Eighth Company, which had crossed countless battlefields and stained with countless blood, and eventually, they were sewn together.

The War Dogs did this before they set out, and they were determined to leave everything to the Primordial to decide, so they sealed away their past honors.

And now, it's being covered in a cemetery, and no one thought it would be used for such a thing. Underneath the banner were a myriad of raised edges and corners, which Karn knew they were.

They were coffins made of iron, and inside lay the ashes of their brothers.

The bottom cabin of the Steadfast Resolve has been emptied, and it was once home to many civilians, and the war dogs have given them back their freedom, but have left behind a place where generations have lived together. And now, it's an empty space.

All the metal utensils, walls, and even pipes had been completely melted into coffins, and a vast area had been cleared of a vast area large enough for the war dogs to stand here, scattered into companies, covering the coffins of their dead brothers with the blood and honor of the past.

Their original body, Angeland, said that the protector should dwell in the protected object after death.

Karn agrees, but still feels irrepressibly sad.

The war hounds of the Twelfth Regiment now have only 53,213 men left, and the situation in Dalian is not the same, with the 1st, 3rd, and 8th companies being the most seriously damaged. The casualties of high-ranking officers and mid-level chains of command were even more terrible, almost one in ten, which was not unrelated to the sudden betrayal of half.

Karn closed his eyes and stopped his thoughts, he didn't want to think back to the horrible things he had done on his subspace voyage.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes again and heard the voices of their primordial bodies in the communication channel. He looked up and saw a giant on the iron platform not far away, with his back to everyone, the braided cables behind his head vibrating.

"Remember the dead, remember their names, their looks, their everything." Angron whispered.

The voice that had been devastated and made terrible sounded slow and calm now.

"Because if we don't remember, they're going to really die. We will be an extension of the dead, and we will carry their honor, their pain, every drop of their blood shed. We will hold their lost blades in their place."

"Then we will avenge them, war hounds."

After the funeral, Angeland slowly returned to his room, the pain from the Butcher's Nail still tormenting him, but it was this room that made Angrand feel a little more confused than them.

He could discern the care that the war dogs had put into arranging it, but because of that, he didn't want to live in this room.

They are dead, and there is no warmth in this room, only pain. Angron sat silently in a chair, everything here intact, and it was lucky to avoid all the bullets during the war aboard the Resolve.

But what about the others?

The question swirled in his mind, made him sigh, and made him unbearable. He began to meditate on names again, from Oinomouth, Akar, Milkan, Janio. Then to Jill Baldwin, Jagele, Kunner

With the memory of the original body, it is not difficult to remember the names of all people, but some people's appearance can never correspond to this name.

Angrand gently raised his hand, pressed his index and middle fingers under his eyes and face, and slowly stroked down. What he touched was a rough touch, and then, warm blood spilling from his fingertips.

He was thinking, the nail wouldn't allow it, and he started bleeding.

Or tears.

Say whatever you want - Angron doesn't care anymore, he remembers them and he will always remember.

Never forget.

Updated.

I've written almost 250,000 words this month, and at the end of the month, I want to be less, save up manuscripts, and prepare some more and so on.

Thank you all for your support.

(End of chapter)