“Ugh... Demon... You demon! Mindless beast!” screams the young soldier in front of me, his golden hair, blood tainted, falling from his cracked helmet.

“How could you… How could you… Ughhh… Damn it, damn it… Garred… Thomas… Damn… Arrrgh, how could you…”

Tears of sadness rolls down his pale eyes, his face a mix of horror, pain, sorrow and hatred. I could sympathize with him, novice warriors getting crushed at the frontline, younger ones even, is not a pleasant sight. Such potential, wasted, i pity the future of your kingdom.

“I’ll kill you… Aghhhh! I will fucking kill you!”

He lifts his blade cutting the air upwards. It was already at the point of breaking, much like his brain.

If i let him live, he will end up being a broken person filled with thoughts of revenge burning in his heart, because that’s what he is right now, a shattered toy, an insignificant existence.

“It is sad that your last moments will be filled with struggle instead of peace.”

I destroy the blade with a sword of my own. The boy never stood a chance against it.

“Damn it… Damn it… You killed them… You killed all of them…”

He crouches and falls plump into the bodies of his allies, rows, rows and endless rows of them. The sky is orange and surrounded by crows, only pointy ends of spears, swords and banners to be found on the grass planes.

Finally, he reaches the limit. I swing my sword downwards without further notice, severing his head in a fell swoop.

“A son is supposed to bury his father. Not the opposite” i whisperer to myself as the blood washes off of my blade.

I walk away with my mind numb from serenity. Nothing good comes out of war, but i have no say in that matter.

No, not a man like me. I lack intellect, charisma, strength undoubtedly. Wisdom i have, what i don’t have is the gift of the word to make the best out of it.

Yes, i’m just a soldier, a hound dog held by its leashes. For a soldier, there’s only one thing that’s held dear and that’s his sword.

Mine is called The Diary. Strange name isn’t it? Well i can tell you it wasn’t my idea and even though i can secretly call it whatever i want, everyone calls it The Diary.

It’s one of the fifteen relic swords of the past, forged a long time ago, and it is an honor to hold it. At least it should be.

I can’t awake the potential they told me reside inside it. My superiors and the royal court think that just because we’re winning the war and that i’m getting all the merits and body counts that i am hot shit. Even a pawn like me understands that what lies underneath this sword is far beyond our expectations.

Today ends my campaign, and my life as a soldier. This sword will return to the vault, locked away for the next war.

That’s not going to happen.

I look at the body of some random man sprawled in the ground, muster all of the strength built in my arms and sink the sword inside his chest and into the earth. Ripping my cloak, i curl the remaining rags around it, making it almost unrecognizable.

We won the war, our pig of a king won’t care for a lost sword of tales.

- Hundreds of years later –

“… And so, Roderick lifted his sword, The Writer of History, a mighty weapon that led him to great battles and which could only be held by his hands, and taunted the bestial giant that roared towards him with its demonic blade in the air.

Roderick shattered the blade and cut the giant’s legs so he couldn’t stand up.

‘Worry not, giant, peace i will bring to your wretched existance’ shouted the honorable Roderick, skewing the giant’s heart with his sword.

At its death, the giant’s hearthturned into stone and embraced The Writer of History, sealing the sword for eternity.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Roderick punctured the air with his mighty fist, signaling his victory and the prevail of the people of Kamali”

I finish with a murmur, emphasizing Roderick’s tale, as i close the old book with a thump.

One, two, three seconds of silence. All of the little kids with glinted eyes shout in awe of Roderick’s bravery against the giant and chivalrous heart that never looked down upon anyone.

“Hey, sister, did Roderick actually exist?”

I don’t think Roderick existed in any point of the past, but oh well, they’re like eight year olds, so might as well tell ’em it’s true.

“Why, of course. Such a brave hero was destined to go down in history, much like his sword’s name implies”.

I’m quite happy they liked the story. When i was assigned as caretaker of these young cubs i thought it would be a pain in the ass. Thank God i read books on old myths and tales.

There’s just one thing that didn’t go right.

“Arthur, what is it? Didn’t you enjoy the story?” i ask the moping lad.

“No, no, Roderick is hella cool, it’s just… That sword’s name bugs me off. Like, The Writer of History?”

“Yeahhh, it ticked me that his sword is called that, too” claimed another child.

Soon after, the tiny attic was filled with complaints and discussions over why Roderick’s sword was named such, and what would be a fitting name.

“Since he killed a giant, it should be called The Giant Slayer!”

“I think a more nimble or swift name would be a better fit for Roderick, like Wind Cutter or Thunderous Wave”

“I like The Giant Slayer better”

“Me too”

“The Destroyer sounds more badass”

“Any idea is cooler than The Writer of History anyway”

“Hey sister, what would you name the sword after?”

The room went silent again. Every single boy held their breaths and pierced me with those puppy eyes begging for an answer.

That’s actually a good question and got me interested, what should it be called?

“Hmm, i think…”

“What, what did you think about?”

“Well… I think… It should be called…”

I make a slight pause and look at each of them, holding onto the mystery revolving around my answer.

“It should be called… The Diary”

All of them went dumbstruck by my words. Did I say anything wrong?

“The Diary… What the…”

“Sister, that name is soooo lame”

“Hey, that’s not lame! I thought about it and it makes complete sense!”

“Like what?”

“Think about it. On the tale, Roderick always mutters something to the sword and usually at keystones of the plot. It’s like the sword is proof of the existence of Roderick and in that point its name, The Writer of History, makes sense, as if the sword itself was telling us the tale. Though i think The Diary is better”

Another moment of silence, this one being much longer. Did i manage to convince them? Heh, I’m so smart, these kids don’t even realize.

“…Giant Slayer is still better.”

“Yup”

“Oh fuck you guys, story time is over, go home to your mommies and sleep early”

“But it’s not even nine in the morning!”

“Shut up! Scramble! H-o-m-e!”

“Hmph, you’re no fun”

“Stuuupiiiiid”

They all went to their respective homes. Hell, i didn’t think being a grown up lady was about staying home cooking and doing house chores, my brother is lucky that he got spotted by a local noble and is now being trained by a master swordsman.

I sigh in disappointment. I wasn’t made for this life, there’s no place for me here.

“I want more action, i want the power of choice, i want freedom!”

“Agatha lassie, we need your help down here!”

“Yes sir…”