My opponent was not an idiot. My opponent was not hot-headed.

My opponent this time was just very, very confident.

If I had to say which opponent I liked the best, I would say the prideful ones are the best. There is something about the way their face looks while they're wallowing in defeat that just makes you want to chuckle and pat them on the head at the same time.

The board was spread, the pieces set, and everything was ready. Everything was set up as if straight out of a book, with the wooden swordsmen lined up in front and crudely carved horsemen backing them up. Right in the back, standing behind the crowned figurine, was my opponent. The poor crowned one...it doesn't know how it is carelessly used. It was just a puppet, after all.

The pieces began to move, first one, then all of them at once. It seems my opponent was tired of waiting. The poor thing...without patience, nothing except for mistakes can be made.

I jittered my wooden playing pieces, making them move about in uncertain circle. With increased confidence, the opponents wooden figures marched up to within a couple centimeters of my crooked line, still shifting restlessly due to my slightly twitching fingers.

With great fanfare, the wooden swordsmen charged the tiny distance to close with mine.

Strike one.

I pulled the swordsmen in the middle back, more and more panicked as the opponent closed in. My figures to the sides ran at a slight angle, away from the middle in order to spread out. I then pulled two of my figures in the very center to the side, making a passage.

With the eagerness of victory, the wooden horsemen of my enemy charged through the middle, aiming for my own crowned figure.

Strike two.

It would take about fifteen for the horsemen to arrive at their target, and while the opponents back was cleared of all except those guarding the crown, I prepared my final card.

Without hesitation, I cheated. I pulled wooden archers from under the table, and pushed them forward, towards the crown. When the figures surrounding the crown gave chase, I once again hid the archers underneath the table, causing the guards to follow.

Strike three.

The wooden horsemen came thundering toward my crown, and I smiled as I drew another figure from under the table, this time armed with long spears. They halted the confused figures, and while the horsemen were milling in panic, I launched my trap.

From all around, my own wooden horses charged in between the gaps of the swordsmen, catching the enemy unprepared. The second the momentum of their charge depleted, they reversed and ran out, only to be replaced by the previously fleeing swordsmen, who hit a confused and off-guard enemy. the horses then circled around and hit them from behind, which sealed the deal.

The crown started to fall-back, only for me to once again cheat. Three figures of men holding daggers came upon the crown, and took care of it.

I pulled the archers back out from under the table, and set them back down on the outskirts of the board. They were finished with their work.

However, the opponent was not defeated. The enemy that used to hide behind the crown has now cast of the cloak of a leader and taken to fleeing with the remnants of the wooden swordsmen. Meanwhile, the enemy's horses were being annoying. They refused to surrender, and had started to disrupt the square of spears. I just shook my head.

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I took my own horses and ran them over. When they arrived, the opponents horses finally gave up.

Perhaps I could just let it go? Maybe I don't have to finish it once and for all?

I chuckled quietly. Sometimes, telling myself jokes makes me feel better. This was not one of those times.

I placed the archers on the hills on either side of the fleeing column of wooden figures. I didn't have to give an order.

You're dead.

I stood up from the board, cracked my knuckles and my back, and walked out of the canvas tent. At the doorway I took a large black coat and placed it on my shoulders. When I stepped out of my tent, I looked over the board.

Lines of disarmed and humiliated men filed past, escorted by silent guards. Way back in the distance I could see the many wooden sticks stuck in the ground.

I placed my hand over my heart in a fist, and bent at the waist.

Speaking slowly and somberly, I said "To say you were a worthy opponent would be a lie. However, thank you for dying so quickly. This way, my lieges name will not be tarnished."

Then I straightened and put my hands behind my back, in parade rest. Feet shoulder-length apart, back straight, knees slightly bent.

Then I opened my eyes, and my nose, and my ears.

A hot, orange sun lying low in the sky and bloody, sweaty bodies. Moaning and screaming, the metallic scent of blood, all of those hollow looks sent from hopeless faces sent to me, not knowing what their fate will be.

I leisurely walked over to the nearby sight of the brave, but stupid, horses.

The spearmen stood at attention, and cleared a pathway through the middle, stepping smartly to the side. As I walked, I heard the murmurs of praise and wonder. I stepped up to the front of the formation, and turned over the first dead man I saw.

I used a thumb to open his eyes. Clear blue, like a sea of saphire. He probably didn't need to shave more than once a week at this age. He still had that open look on his face of innocence.

I reached down, and coated my finger in the blood gushing from his maimed neck that still gurgled up from the frantic beats of his heart.

I examined the blood closely. Then I licked it. No reason, just habit.

Because, as a general, I might as well drink the blood of innocents. It is in my job description to send men to die and to kill, some even younger than this strapping young knight.

He had died with a disappointed look on his face. He had come for the glory. A shame battle wasn't a book.

I would feel oh so much better about killing so many people if I at least knew they would go to whatever paradise they believe in.

Paradise is for the innocent. Reality is for the practical.

The battlefield is for me and my kind, us demons who might as well drink the lifeblood of men, the rate at which we reduce the population.

I stood up, and straightened my shoulders. I then replaced my hands behind my back and walked back through the path made by my pieces.

Even if I killed people with a twitch of my fingers, even if I condemned thousands to a lifetime of labor, I would not stop.

With a smile, I nodded to the men. Even if I might feel like throwing up, no matter how many times I'd seen it, I refused to let the men believe anything except the best of me.

I'm the general, after all.