Chapter 617: The Names Remain

In the public square, ordinary vendors argued over cabbage prices and stall boundaries with passionate, unfiltered stubbornness.

A cabbage seller handed change to a customer without glancing toward the old command tower, and the next buyer joined the argument.

The creepy, synchronized silence that previously smothered the municipal districts vanished completely with the destruction of the central core.

Hajin carried a bowl of hot broth through the clinic doorway, stepping carefully around several stacked supply crates.

Inside the recovery ward, dozens of former militia members rested on cots, whispering softly with visiting family members.

Vella sat on a stool in the corner, rubbing her temples while reviewing a stack of medical parchment.

"Eat some food before you collapse on the floor," he said, setting the bowl down on the nearby counter.

"I did not ask for room service, summoner," she murmured, glancing up with tired but remarkably steady eyes.

"Consider it part of my host contract duties," he replied with an easy, confident grin across his face.

"I need my chief healer in peak operational condition when the next campaign starts."

She picked up the spoon, blowing gently across the steaming broth before taking a slow, appreciative bite.

"The third patient in row four still suffers from minor sensory dissonance," she noted between slow spoonfuls.

"His speech is clear, but his left hand trembles whenever he tries to hold a wooden spoon."

"Will the tremor fade with rest, or does he need another spirit treatment?"

"In time, he will heal," she answered, setting down her spoon and leaning back against the plaster wall.

"Severing those psychic anchors leaves tiny scars along the spirit meridians that no potion can instantly stitch."

"You did miraculous work down there," he told her, his voice full of genuine, quiet respect.

"Over a thousand minds pulled back from oblivion without losing a single soul to the void."

"I merely did my job," she murmured, though a rare, genuine smile touched her lips for a fleeting moment.

"Do not let the praise go to your head either... you only held the anchor steady."

"Holding that link was like catching a runaway locomotive with one hand," he teased with a laugh.

"Next time, I will let you carry the psychic feedback yourself and see how much your ears ring!"

"I would rather drink poison," she shot back dryly, taking another warm spoonful of the hearty soup.

Across the sunlit courtyard, Didi and Sava oversaw the registration table where recovered memory plates were neatly cataloged.

Citizens lined up along the pathway, stepping forward one by one to inspect the etched bronze markers.

"Do I really have to take it back?" a young weaver asked, her fingers hovering hesitantly over a plate.

"Not if you choose to leave it here," Didi answered gently, holding up an open, reassuring hand.

"These records belong to you alone, and nobody in this district will force you to reclaim painful days."

"Some memories are best left buried in the past," the weaver whispered, stepping away from the table with visible relief.

Sava carefully cataloged the rejected plate into a storage chest, marking the entry with a neutral wax seal.

"Every choice is respected," she stated, glancing toward Hajin as he walked out into the courtyard.

"We do not erase their history, but we refuse to turn their grief into a public museum."

"That is exactly how it should be handled," he agreed, leaning against the sturdy railing of the veranda.

"A person deserves the right to set down a burden if it hurts too much to carry."

Rumi and Nari trotted down the clinic steps, their lynx ears twitching curiously as they approached the table.

"Look at all these shiny metal plates," she said, tilting her head with wide, inquisitive eyes.

"Do you think anyone would mind if we polished them until they sparkle like mirrors?"

"Leave the records alone, sister," Nari sighed, grabbing the back of her collar with practiced precision.

"Those are people’s personal memories, not shiny toys for you to bat across the courtyard!"

"I was only offering to help!" the elder twin protested, puffing out her cheeks in comical indignation.

"You always assume I want to turn everything into a game, even when my intentions are completely pure!"

"Ninety-nine percent of the time, you actually turn everything into a chaotic game!"

"Hey... that is a slanderous exaggeration and you know it!"

Hajin chuckled at the sisters’ familiar banter, feeling the tense exhaustion of the past week melt away.

A dusty scout rode through the city gates on a lathered mount, swinging down from the saddle with urgency.

"Summoner!" the scout shouted, hurrying across the square while clutching a sealed leather dispatch tube.

"Urgent movement report from the northern border watch along the high ridge!"

He stepped down from the veranda, taking the dispatch cylinder and breaking the wax seal with his thumb.

"Give me the short version," he commanded, scanning the detailed lines of the handwritten map.

"The Choral Incarnation withdrew its surviving officers toward the storm viaduct," the courier reported breathlessly.

"They are marshaling three reinforced regiments and seizing every civilian transport wagon along the mountain road!"

"They lost their psychic network, so now they are falling back on conventional steel and siege engines."

’They want to turn the viaduct into an impenetrable fortress before we can assemble our main offensive.’

’If they dig in with those supply lines intact, dislodging them will cost thousands of lives.’

"We hit them before they establish defensive trenches," he declared, turning to face his gathered companions.

"If we cut their supply columns on the road, their army starves before reaching the viaduct."

High above, the celestial broadcast screen flickered to life, showering the courtyard in luminous chat notifications.

[ Seoul_Tactician: "A preemptive strike on their logistics! Hajin always knows how to dictate the battlefield!" ]

[ StarlightScholar: "The Choral Incarnation is panicking because Vella shredded their mind-control toys!" ]

[ IronVanguard: "That memory plate is back in the square. People can finally see the names again!" ]

[ HearthKeeper: "Six hundred and seventy million EXP. I hope he gets a day to rest before he spends it!" ]

Taren emerged from the garrison office with quiet confidence, adjusting his sword belt with steady, practiced movements.

"You mentioned supply wagons?" the former champion asked, a dangerous glint in his sharp eyes.

"The mountain roads are treacherous, but an unmarked convoy cannot hide its wheel tracks from experienced trackers."

"I need you to locate their primary transport column," he instructed, handing the scout’s dispatch to the swordsman.

"Find where they change drivers and intercept them before they reach the high passes."

"Consider it done," the veteran replied with a grim nod, resting his hand against the pommel of his blade.

"Nobody moves illicit cargo through the border territories without paying my guild a visit."

Loccy trotted over with a roasted pastry in each hand, chewing happily as she listened in.

"Are we smashing giant wagons soon?" she asked through a mouthful of flaky crust.

"Not just wagons," he laughed, ruffling her hair affectionately as she beamed with pride.

"We are going to dismantle an entire invasion force piece by piece before they touch the viaduct."

"Just make sure we pack extra rations," she insisted with deadpan seriousness, "smashing wagons makes me starving!"

"We will pack enough sweet buns to feed an entire regiment," he promised, looking toward the northern peaks.

The battle for the minds of the Sixth was finished, but the war for the frontier only now began.