CHAPTER 238: CHAPTER 196: HEROES’ CEMETERY_2

He planned to foster the Junior Militia from a young age. In just two or three years, these children would become the highest-quality source of soldiers, followed by a continuous stream of talent. Hamlet’s hope rested on them. For now, however, he needed to shoulder the responsibility and carry Hamlet through its most challenging period.

"To be honest, it’s tiring..."

The discussion on the development of the army was almost concluded when Lance’s sudden remark caught the others by surprise. Their gazes shifted to Lance, who was looking up and sighing, which prompted his rhetorical question. "What~ Is it so strange that I’m tired?"

No one spoke, but their expressions were mostly perplexed. Considering the toughness and decisiveness Lance had shown, there was no hint of fatigue; on the contrary, he seemed even more formidable.

"Do you really think I’m made of iron? Even oxen and horses get tired and need to rest, right?"

Lance’s joke somewhat eased the awkward atmosphere, but his next words made everyone grow serious once more. "But I haven’t forgotten my duty. You must remember who our enemy is. Corruption will exploit any weakness, so do not grow complacent. Hold fast to your beliefs. We are the world’s last hope; we are humanity’s spark. I will stand at the vanguard, and I hope you will stand by my side, not against me."

"Yes!"

"Then let’s go. Accompany me to witness the farewell ceremony."

When he arrived at the seaside, the bodies were already laid out on the constructed wooden pyres, adorned with fresh flowers. Many civilians had gathered, having come of their own accord—not to pay their respects, but merely to observe the situation.

Reynard and the others knew that the bodies had to be cremated, no matter what, to prevent them from strengthening the Evil God. But the common folk did not know this.

For most people, a body was consumed by fire in only two situations: an accidental blaze, or being judged a heretic by the Church and burned at the stake. Thus, they resisted fiercely. Either scenario was a disaster in their eyes, a sign that one could not return to the Holy Light.

They were resilient, growing like weeds, yet they were also stubbornly ignorant. Lance was now determined to shatter these feudal superstitions. This would also mean uprooting the Church and completely severing religious influence over the domain.

Lance took a torch and walked towards the bodies. At this sight, the relatives began to wail, their grief so heart-wrenching it made the onlookers uncomfortable.

But Lance did not waver. The dead are just dead. Once a person dies, all is gone. So what if the body remains? Ultimately, it will just be devoured by worms and ants underground, decaying into soil, becoming part of the ancestors’ power. Born of the earth, and finally returning to the earth. In a way, this truly echoed the ancestors’ saying: ’Return to the Creator’s side.’ And today, Lance was going to sever this very connection!

He stepped forward and, without hesitation, lit the pyre. The flames quickly engulfed the bodies. Only then did Lance turn to comfort the relatives.

"The flames will purify their bodies, ensuring they are not violated by evil demons. They will find peace."

"Sir, will the devil take my father’s soul?" a child, who had perhaps heard it from someone, suddenly asked Lance.

This question made the words Lance had prepared catch in his throat. His pause caused the hearts of the others to clench with unease.

"My people are my people, even in death. No one can take them away! If any devil dares to touch my people, I will make it stay in Hamlet forever!"

As he spoke, Lance suddenly reached his hand towards the child. The mother, noticing this, flinched and, forgetting her tears, hastily tried to pull her child away. "My Lord..."

But she was too slow. Lance’s hand was already resting on the child’s head. There was no violent act; he only left behind a question. "When I die, my body will also be burned, and my ashes scattered into the sea. At that time, will you let the devil take my soul?"

"No!" The child looked at the man before him and blurted out the word. Though he didn’t fully understand, he felt it was what he should say.

"Very good." Lance smiled, patted the child lightly, then withdrew his hand. His gaze fixed on the pyre, and he said nothing more, simply standing there until the flames died out.

Lance did not ask the relatives to do it themselves. Instead, he personally picked up a stone casket that had been prepared in advance and helped them collect the ashes.

This scene deeply moved both the families of the deceased and the surrounding crowd. When had anyone ever seen a Noble Lord personally collect the remains of a commoner?

But their astonishment didn’t end there. Lance personally lifted one of the stone caskets. "Come, let’s take them home!"

Lance called out and started walking. The relatives stopped crying and followed. More and more people joined the procession behind him, all silent, but the emotional storm within them grew ever stronger.

The beliefs they had held for centuries were shaken. Perhaps cremating the bodies wasn’t blasphemous after all. Any lingering resentment in the hearts of the families also vanished.

Reynard and the others walked with even firmer steps. Following him, they feared nothing. There was no place more reassuring than behind his back.

Just outside the town, beside the training camp, Lance had designated an area as the "Heroes’ Cemetery." Only those who had sacrificed themselves for Hamlet were qualified to be buried here.