There was a time not long ago when things felt like they made sense. When the sun was warm, smiles were wide, and strangers always kind. If only paradise told us that we couldn't come back on the day we left, we would've stayed forever. The only thing we can do today is imagine what we've lost.

"Hey... Do you think humans are born evil?"

The illusion fades away, broken by the strained voice. The question rings out as a young man turns his head away from a less injured soldier to his side. He looks with hazy eyes beyond the mangled corpse laying atop him, towards the darkening sky. He waits for a moment, but when an answer isn't given, he continues.

"I think that maybe we are. I hope so. At least then, I could think that I was sent off by a hideous monster."

He smiles as a tear, polluted with blood and dirt, rolls down his pale face to the mud below. The kneeling soldier keeps silent.

"But... I think I need some advice. What'll I do if I'm asked how the beast managed to sink its fangs? I felt no fear, so why'd I hesitate? Hey Clyde..."

The dying soldier chokes and sputters, though whether the cause is blood or tears cannot be known.

"What if he's in the great hall too? They say the light accepts all who believe. The gods couldn't have had a chance to test his faith."

The sound of weak sobs joins the quiet chorus of groans and drumbeat of carrion birds flapping their wings in the distance. The fallen soldier grasps towards the kneeling one, who catches the trembling hand by reflex before it falls. Between shaky breaths, the young man asks:

"If this was my test... Do you think I passed?"

...

"I'm scared, Clyde."

The kneeling soldier tries to respond, but the words get caught in his throat. The flickering flame in the fallen boy's eyes reluctantly fades. The vacant glassy orbs reflect the sky above, finally exhausted from trying to repaint the hazy red of early dusk with the brilliant blue that shone just moments before.

While his heart twisted in his chest, tears refused to fall from the kneeling soldier. Maybe they had all dried long ago, save the ones he'd prepared for his own death. Maybe he was simply overwhelmed by the shock of an intense battle. As his hands raised to cover his face, the tears appeared only at a single realization:

He was smiling. Relieved that he survived again. That this day was not his last. That there was still more life left for him. He could only be all the more disgusted with himself.

The rush of contradicting emotions eventually start to settle, and Clyde begins to compose himself. As the chaos in his head quiets, one thought refuses to leave his mind.

... What was his name? The boy who had once inhabited the meat in front of him. He called out to Clyde by name, and through the blood and grime he can still recognize the face. Clyde remembered talking to him a few times in the dining hall. He always stuck around the noisy cobbler from the first platoon who seemed to know Ben from his hometown.

He must've been fresh. Damn near dropped his sword mid-swing when he saw that the enemy looked too much like him - too young. Clyde was surprised anyone naive enough to expect otherwise was still left. He heard that all of the prior wave of support had been rotated in by this point, but looks like there were a lucky few. There's a good chance none are 'left' by now.

The fighting had been bad for weeks, but something was different this time. The enemy force had gotten larger, more desperate, and less predictable. While it might be a second wind, Clyde prayed that it was the sign of a final struggle. This hope had precious little support, as news from back home was rare due to the distance and few were in the know on the bigger picture, but it was one of the only things dragging most soldiers to their next day. All Clyde was given was his orders, and he knew the value of what he could see carrying them out. But the big picture wasn't his concern right now.

'I'll have to ask Ben.'

The soldier thought as he heaved himself upward to his feet, struggling through exhaustion and the gash on his left thigh from some stray steel in the battle. He glanced around the mud and human debris, trying to find his sword glinting in the setting sun. It was agonizing to keep upright, and he didn't have strength to spare if he wanted to make it back to the Barracks. At this point any sword would be enough.

Clyde was sure he had dropped it not long ago, but little memory remained of the chaos. With exhaustion dulled senses, mud and sweat filling his eyes, and light fading, he wasn't hopeful as he scanned the ground. After a moment of this, his eyes settled on the sword lodged in the enemy soldier next to him, its upwards point the most eye catching of the dulled metal on the field. Clyde wasn't wealthy enough to keep a replacement, and there was only one he could find in the quickly setting sunlight. He'd take it, despite the bad taste doing so would leave.

After flipping the enemy over, off of his nameless comrade, Clyde noticed the metalwork of the freshly uncovered hilt. Looking closely, the sword was worth well more than just a drak or two. While not overly flashy, he had enough experience with a blade in his hand to recognize high quality craftsmanship.

In contrast, the corpse it was buried in was likely disheveled before the battle even began. He wore no armor, which explained the partial bisection despite a halfhearted swing. Still, the kid clearly wanted to live. Even while being cut in half, the enemy took the moment made by hesitation to deliver a fatal blow with a broken spear. The splintered shaft, barely as long as Clyde's forearm, is still sticking out from the greenhorn's left armpit. It was a lucky shot, most anywhere else would've been protected.

It didn't take much for Clyde to connect the dots for a vague guess at a story. Such-and-Such's son couldn't be kept from service any longer, so he was sent out with high quality equipment. The family was cautious, and made sure the craftsmanship wasn't obvious to avoid painting a target. The powers that be kept him from combat as long as possible, hoping things would calm down. On the other side, So-and-So values pride over lives, and instead of acknowledging that conscription was harming more than helping, they decided to ship as many kids as possible straight from cradle to crater.

Over the years, Clyde had become an expert in justification. When he joined up, it was for glory and honor. After his first few real battles, it was to hold back the horrors and protect the innocent. After the first few years, it was to ensure his future safety. After the first decade... it was for money and status. To gain enough power to be above it all and escape. The simple peace of mind of finally knowing for a fact he'd never have to return. He looked down to the bodies at his feet. A peasant who's only sin was having been born unlucky, and a noble who's luck finally ran out. In the end, Clyde envied neither. And he was tired.

"First Ben... then home."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.