Bab 62: The Rebuild
The city was alive with motion, a symphony of labor and resilience. The morning sun bathed the streets in a golden glow, illuminating the rubble-strewn avenues and fractured buildings. Smoke still lingered in the air, a faint reminder of the chaos that had engulfed the Free World hours earlier. Yet, amidst the destruction, the sound of hammers striking nails echoed across the city—a steady rhythm of determination.
Hundreds of workers moved with purpose, carrying beams of wood and stacks of bricks on their shoulders. The creak of pulleys and the groan of scaffolding filled the air as teams hoisted materials into place, patching the gaping holes in rooftops and rebuilding shattered walls. Conversations buzzed among the laborers, their voices carrying a mix of exhaustion and hope.
"Pass me those nails," a foreman barked, his voice cutting through the cacophony. "We need to get this wall up before sundown."
Near the markets, merchants worked to reassemble their stalls, salvaging what they could from the wreckage. Crates of fruits and spices were stacked neatly, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the ashen streets. A baker swept the remnants of his shop into a pile, muttering to himself before flashing a tired smile at a passing child who offered to help.
The reconstruction of the king's palace was a monumental task. Scaffolding enveloped the damaged structure, and workers climbed its heights like ants swarming over a broken anthill. The rhythmic pounding of hammers reverberated through the air as carpenters replaced shattered beams and masons patched cracks in the marble walls.
Inside the palace, the once-grand hall was a hub of activity. Medical Sentinels moved quickly, their boots clicking against the marble floor as they carried the wounded on stretchers. The groans of the injured mixed with the quiet murmurs of healers, who worked tirelessly to stabilize their patients.
"Hold still," a Sentinel healer said gently to a young boy with a gash on his arm. Her hands glowed faintly as she closed the wound with practiced precision. "You're going to be fine."
For those who didn't require intensive care, makeshift healing stations had been set up in the palace courtyard. Citizens sat on wooden benches, their injuries being tended to by overworked staff. A sense of urgency hung in the air, as if the city itself was racing against time to heal its wounds.
The streets were a chaotic orchestra of rebuilding efforts. Carpenters hammered planks into place, their tools clinking and clattering with every motion. Children darted through the crowds, delivering messages and water to the workers. The clinking of hammers, the creak of wagons loaded with supplies, and the hum of saws cutting through wood created a symphony of industry.
At one corner, a group of women worked together to rebuild a small bakery, their laughter a bright note in the symphony. "Careful with that," one of them said, pointing at a precarious stack of bricks. "We don't need more accidents today."
Nearby, a group of men dug trenches to lay new foundations for a row of shops. The scrape of shovels against dirt was punctuated by the occasional cheer as they hit a milestone. "That's it! We're making progress," one of them exclaimed, wiping sweat from his brow.
The scent of fresh paint mixed with the earthy aroma of sawdust, creating an oddly comforting atmosphere. Even amidst the ruins, there was a sense of purpose and unity.
As the day wore on, the frantic energy of the city began to shift. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets. Workers paused briefly to admire their progress—buildings that had been reduced to rubble now stood tall once more, their facades gleaming in the warm evening light.
Away from the commotion, Jin sat quietly on the outskirts of the city, leaning against a tree. His eyes were closed, but his mind was restless, replaying the events of the battle. Suddenly, a faint flicker passed through his vision, and his eyes snapped open.
A faint glow danced in his irises, and he exhaled slowly. The world around him seemed sharper, every detail more vivid. He clenched his fist, testing the limits of his regained ability, before allowing a small, satisfied smile to cross his lips. The fight wasn't over, but he was ready for what came next.
Inside the palace chambers, Shenlog moved with purpose. His boots echoed against the polished stone floors as he passed one door after another, his expression hard and focused. He finally arrived at a modest room, its door slightly ajar. Stepping inside, he found Jingwei lying on a simple bed, his face pale but his breathing steady.
"Jingwei," Shenlog called softly.
The younger man stirred, his eyes fluttering open. "Father…" he murmured, his voice weak but steady.
Shenlog's stern expression softened, a rare flicker of relief crossing his face. "You're alive," he said, his voice quieter now. "Good."
Before either could say more, the door creaked open behind them. Seiji stood in the doorway, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. "You should be proud of your son," he said, stepping into the room. "Word has it he took down two of the bad guys. Not bad for someone still learning the ropes."
Shenlog crossed his arms, his tone gruff. "Jingwei is stronger than that. He could've done more."
Seiji chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Always the critic, aren't you?" He gestured for Shenlog to follow him as he stepped back into the hall. "Walk with me."
Reluctantly, Shenlog complied, glancing back at Jingwei before closing the door behind him. The two men strolled through the palace, the sounds of reconstruction echoing faintly around them.
"Where were you during all this?" Shenlog asked sharply, his eyes narrowing. "You could've helped."
"I told you—I'm retired," Seiji replied with a casual shrug. "Probably sipping tea and observing the Forbidden. You know how it is."
Shenlog frowned, his steps faltering slightly. "The Forbidden…"
Seiji's tone grew uncharacteristically serious as he turned to Shenlog. "We don't have much time left. You know that, don't you?"
Shenlog's jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. The two men continued walking in silence, their footsteps fading into the distance.
By the time the sun set, the city had transformed. Where rubble once stood, buildings now reached skyward, their fresh coats of paint glowing in the soft light of the evening. The streets, though not yet bustling with their former energy, carried the promise of renewal. Markets had reopened, their vibrant stalls filled with goods, and the faint aroma of baked bread wafted through the air.
Medical Sentinels worked tirelessly, attending to the last of the injured. Crates of food and supplies were distributed to the outskirts, and families gathered in small groups, sharing meals and stories.
The Free World had suffered, but its spirit remained unbroken.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone