Dimensional Merchant: Starting With 100 Stat Points-Chapter 129: Pyrrhic Victory

The next day dawned gray and cold, as if the world itself was mourning the souls that had passed into the afterlife these past few days.

Even with the drizzle of rain that had showed up that night, the smell of ash still clung to the air.

Rows upon rows of burned-out tents lined what remained of the camp, their tattered banners fluttering limply in the wind.

The surviving adventurers, barely four hundred of them, stood in a loose formation before the captain’s stand. Many were bandaged, limping, or leaning on spears to keep themselves upright.

There was no laughter or cheer that would be expected after a successful campaign. Only silence.

Captain Wells was dead. He’d died trying to protect the healing tents during the last wave.

One of the tents had collapsed after he crashed into it, then torched by a drake. By the time they’d quenched the fire and pulled the debris away, there had been nothing left to save.

In his place stood a guild officer from Hiving. One of the many administrators who never set foot on a battlefield until it was over. His robes were clean, and his boots unscuffed.

He spoke loudly, his voice echoing across the battered field.

"Adventurers of Hiving!" he began. "Raise your heads with pride!"

"Today, we honor the fallen who gave their lives for the city and for the kingdom. You have fought valiantly, and because of your courage, the Tyrant lies slain and the horde is scattered!"

A few weak cheers went up from the front, but most stood silent. Wade didn’t move.

He could see through the man’s speech for what it was. Propaganda, carefully crafted for whatever report the guild would send back to the capital.

The administrator’s words droned on about bravery, sacrifice, and duty. About how their actions had saved countless lives. But Wade’s mind kept drifting to the rows of wagons piled high with bodies.

What good was all that talk when so many were dead?

He looked around at the survivors. Most were too tired or broken to even react. Some stared at the ground, eyes vacant. Others clenched their fists, faces twisted in quiet anger.

These weren’t heroes. They were survivors. People who had barely escaped with their lives, bound by contracts to a system that saw them as tools.

If not for those magical contracts, Wade suspected half the adventurers would have run away the moment things started going bad.

But running meant breaking the contract, which would trigger a backlash that could tear through their bodies, shredding their nerves and blood vessels from the inside out.

And if by some miracle they survived that agony, they’d spend the rest of their lives hunted by the guild’s enforcers, men like Executive Ram.

So they stayed.

They stayed because they had no choice.

Wade clenched his jaw as he stared up at the administrator’s smiling face.

He could already picture the report that would be written about this day.

The Heroes of Hiving Triumph Against the Horde. A story about glory and unity, about brave adventurers giving their all for the kingdom.

But the truth was far uglier. The kingdom had won, but the adventurers had lost everything.

The speech dragged on, each word feeling emptier than the one that came before.

When the man finally finished, a weak applause rippled through the crowd. Wade didn’t bother clapping. He just turned and began walking away.

Behind him, the survivors began to disperse, some heading for the medical tents, others gathering around makeshift pyres to burn their dead.

He didn’t look back.

The only thing that mattered now was that the war was over.

But as Wade walked past the ruined barricades, past the trenches filled with ash and melted armor, a single bitter thought burned in his mind.

’If this is what victory looks like, what would defeat have been?’

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By midday, the engineers and recovery workers arrived, complete with rows of wagons pulled by sturdy oxen, and laden with tools, crates, and supplies.

They were not soldiers or adventurers, but they moved with grim purpose. Their job was to clean up what remained.

To burn the monster corpses, repair whatever could be salvaged, and mark the fallen.

The survivors watched them silently, a mix of relief and emptiness in their expressions. Their part was over. The newcomers would take over from here.

The next day, the orders came down from the guild officers and army command. The survivors would begin marching back to Hiving.

The camp bustled with the weary shuffle of people packing up. Tents were taken down and wagons were loaded. Those too wounded to walk were carried aboard carts. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

By midmorning, the column was on the move, a slow, limping caravan of soldiers, adventurers, and the hollow-eyed wounded heading home.

The march began in silence.

Wade walked beside Rowan, their pace steady but slow. Rowan’s arm was still in its sling. Having been regenerated, it was still a bit weak. His eyes, though less hollow than before, carried a deep weariness.

They didn’t speak for a while, just the rhythmic sound of boots crunching the gravel. Finally, Wade broke the silence.

"What happens to them?" he asked, nodding towards a wagon full of injured adventurers. Men and women missing arms, legs, or worse.

Rowan glanced at the wagon.

"The ones who can’t fight will petition the guild," he said quietly. "They’ll ask for reassignment. Something like clerical work, quartermaster duty, maybe training new recruits. If the guild approves, they’ll live out their days behind a desk."

"And if the guild doesn’t approve?" Wade asked, though he already dreaded the answer.

"Then..." Rowan sighed. "They’ll be deemed fit for combat duty. The guild decides who’s still useful. That means they’d have to keep delving dungeons, according to the contracts."

Wade’s expression darkened. "That’s cruel."

Rowan nodded. "It’s the guild’s way. If they release you from contract, you’re free, but penniless. Most can’t afford that. So they stay. Even the broken ones."

Silence filled the air between them.

For a time, the march continued uneventfully, the line stretching like a wounded snake across the plain.

All they could hear was their boots and the creaking of wagon wheels, until the shouts began.

"Boars! Iron-hide boars!" someone yelled from up ahead.

The column rippled with alarm. Wade’s hand went to Toothpick instinctively.

A moment later, he saw them cresting a nearby ridge, tusks glinting in the pale light. The ground trembled with their charge.

"Brace!" Rowan yelled.