The aftermath of the slaughter was complete.
One town had been forced to evacuate to Solmere.
The evacuation—
Technically—
Was a success.
In reality…
It was chaos.
Fear.
Panic.
Unruliness.
The War Room was simply relieved they hadn't had to manage it directly.
It had been the last town Jax reached.
By the time he arrived, the evacuation had already begun.
And when he brought Dante and Rootzilla with him—
They realized something immediately.
They had been too hasty.
The villagers weren't just leaving because of the Empire anymore.
They were running from everything.
Including him.
But the damage had already been done.
Jax stayed.
He didn't leave early.
He didn't delegate.
He remained until the last soldier was dead.
Until the battlefield was silent.
Only then—
Did he return.
War Room
When Jax appeared—
He took the place of the shadow standing silently in the corner.
Several people recoiled.
The smell hit first.
Blood.
Burned flesh.
Death.
His armor…
His coat…
Covered.
Some in the room instinctively raised hands to their faces.
Others simply stared.
Lexi hovered near the center of the room, her tiny form trembling slightly as she tried to listen for news of her queen… and her king.
Then she saw him.
"CLEAN."
Her voice rang out—sharp and commanding.
In an instant—
The blood vanished.
The gore disappeared.
Jax stood there—
Pristine.
But it didn't matter.
Because the weight was still on him.
At first—
The room felt victorious.
Relieved.
Then they saw his face.
And everything changed.
"What happened?" Jax asked quietly.
"Where did we go wrong?"
The Vixens had returned.
Victory in hand.
Energy still high from battle.
But now—
That energy faded.
No one answered.
Some believed the loss was… acceptable.
A pro-Empire town.
A place that would never have truly joined them.
A necessary sacrifice.
But no one said it.
Because Jax was standing in front of them.
And he was not celebrating.
Vaelrith stepped forward.
Measured.
Calm.
"We believe it was intentional," he said.
"An easy target. One we would not expect."
A pause.
"They slaughtered their own people… to meet a quota."
Silence.
Jax didn't respond immediately.
For a man who had helped destroy nearly twenty thousand soldiers in a single day—
He looked…
Crushed.
Like the weight of the world had been dropped onto his back.
And he was trying—
Failing—
To lift it.
Thirty thousand lives.
Gone.
And in his mind—
It was his fault.
"I failed them."
His voice broke.
His knees gave slightly—
Not from exhaustion.
From weight.
The room shifted instantly.
Victory disappeared.
Replaced with something heavier.
Jax wasn't thinking about the armies they destroyed.
He was thinking about the people they didn't save.
Even the ones who would have hated him.
He looked at the King.
Then at Vaelrith.
And he didn't soften it.
Didn't dress it up.
Didn't show deference.
"The intelligence network was both exceptional…"
A breath.
"And a catastrophic failure."
No one interrupted him.
No one dared.
The Empire would spin this.
The United Kingdoms would spin it too.
Newspapers would tell their version of victory.
But Jax—
Jax took the blame.
He would say it was his failure.
That he should have known.
That he should have predicted it.
Those who understood strategy knew better.
Even the reports would reflect it.
But that didn't matter.
Because Jax had already decided.
This was his.
To carry.
Solmere
They returned home to cheers.
Crowds lined the streets.
Shouting.
Celebrating.
Victory.
The Vixens walked through it.
Some smiling.
Some waving.
But not all.
Bunny didn't hear any of it.
She still heard the screams.
Jax didn't respond.
He walked beside them—
Silent.
Heavy.
When they reached the house, the group entered together.
Nyxian clapped her hands together.
"We need to celebrate this!"
She moved toward the wine—
Already reaching for bottles.
But Jax didn't stop.
Neither did Bunny.
They went straight to the bedroom.
The door shut.
And Bunny broke.
She collapsed into him—
Sobbing.
Not quietly.
Not controlled.
Raw.
The sounds she had heard—
Still echoing.
Jax held her.
Tight.
His jaw clenched.
His mind spiraling.
He should have known.
He should have predicted it.
Why didn't he?
Too arrogant?
Too confident?
Too blind?
Thirty thousand people were dead.
And in his mind—
It was because of him.
Bunny cried into his chest.
Into his shoulder.
And he didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just held her.
For hours.
Two broken people—
Sitting in the aftermath of victory.
And feeling none of it.
But something changed.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
But deeply.
The anger.
The guilt.
The failure.
It didn't fade.
It hardened.
And Jax made a promise—
Not out loud.
Not to anyone else.
But to himself.
This would never happen again.