Leander worked on Antonia. He had undressed her to her underwear and was cleaning her with the water and cloth — now.  She had small cuts and bite marks on her, which looked postmortem. Her snapped neck was the hardest part about her.

It hung limp and Leander had to place it in a cast. For all the dead, he had done his best to hide the fact that they were dead. Going as far as to close bites and cuts.

He knew that it was a waste of mana, but he did not want to lay them on the pyre as anything less than whole. Leander finished cleaning her, and then dressed her in a white robe.

 They had taken white robes for each of the adventurers, but, back when he only needed to mention loot to get their blood pumping, people had joked that they didn't need to bring them.

Now, they were using them, and the joy that everyone had felt at the start of this expedition was long gone.

"Leander, you should rest," Jean sat next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"There are ten more," Leander reminded him. Many had come and tried to help him, but he had sent them all away.

"It wasn't your fault," Jean tried again, but Leander shook his head.

"What did I do to make the guild stronger? Did I enforce the training that I planned for? No. I let everyone go on at the level they were, with the strong carrying the weak. And, now, most of the strong ones are dead," the death count was mostly tanks, berserkers and healers. All A ranked and above. The wendigo was dead, the dungeon core crushed, but Leander felt like the real loser of the fight.

"You know, I felt much the same after Borik told me that the Firebolts were over," Jean began, lost in thought. "I felt like a failure. I was the leader, yet, Andors was crippled and Borik had nearly died. Twice by my hand."

Leander nodded, and he stood and went to a tank, the name of whom he didn't know. He felt shame, then. How could he not know his own guild mates?

"But, you know?" Jean continued as Leander began to undress the tank. The healer might not know the boy's name, but he was going to make him presentable for his funeral, all the same. "You taught me that, if I beat myself up, I will get lost in the past."

"When did I ever teach you that?" Leander murmured, and Jean chuckled.

"Well, when I first met you, you were still beating yourself up about your weight. Yes, it is not the same, but it was similar enough. Once you stopped beating yourself up, you became happier, and the people around you, too. I saw that change in you and wanted it for myself, so, I observed you," Jean spoke. He took the cloth from the bowl with the water and began to clean the face of Jerome, an SS ranked tank, without asking for permission.

"And you told yourself: look at that loser, sticking his head in the sand?" Leander asked, face grim.

"No, I said to myself: Look at lemon cake. He doesn't give up, even when goings get tough," Jean pointed at Jerome's face. "His name is Jerome. He liked to go on dog walking quests."

Jean did not say anything about the tank's rank. Rank did not matter once you were dead.

"Thanks. I... I don't know everyone, and it shames me," Leander spoke. He looked into Jerome's lifeless eyes, and ran a hand over them, closing them.

"I bet not even Alklair knows everyone," Jean spoke, his lips turned up in a faint smile. "But, you have not  been chained to the post for as long as him. Go and make bonds. Allow the next person who comes and tries to help to do so. Ask them about what they like. Their families. Show them that you care. I wish I have shown Borik and Andors that I cared. If I had, they might have responded to at least one of my letters."

"Once we go back to Huergaz, after this mess is over, we, the Try Hard Party, are going to their farm," Leander promised. "And we are going to knock on their door until they let us in."

"Borik will have kittens," Jean spoke, face more sullen — now. "But, Andors might give us some fruits for our troubles."

"We have to have something to look forward to," Leander told Jean, as he continued to undress Jerome. "Because life as we know it will change after we are done with all of this. And, we can live peacefully, after that."

"That is a nice dream," the two turned to see Alklair standing behind them. "Jerome was one of the few whom I evaluated personally. Do you both mind if I stand vigil for him?"

"You can help prepare him for the pyre, if you'd like," Jean offered, and Leander nodded. Alklair was the former guild master. The healer knew that he blamed himself for the guild's current power level just as much as everyone else.

The three worked and, once they placed Jerome in a white robe, they moved to the next corpse. Alklair then was tapped on the shoulder by the pixie of a girl who had tried to find comfort in Leander, back at the city of gold.

"Do you mind if I stay for this one? She was my mother," the girl's voice was tired and her eyes puffy. Leander's eyes softened.

"Help me undress her. Do you want to be the one to clean her?" The girl nodded and knelt down by the corpse of her mother.

"You did it, mom," she spoke, as she worked. "You saved lives. The guild will never forget you."

Leander nodded. They would not forget because he was going to make a stone slab with the names of everyone who had died. And he was not going to write their rank down, but the title those who they have left behind had given them.