Warrior Of the East (Under Editing and Revision) (Completed)

I. Worth of Peace

"I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion."

Alexander the Great

Edited and revised

Arrow

The world is massive, with a shocking number of different cultures and humans that I could barely imagine. With that, my heart longs to discover the expanse of the seas and sail towards the direction of the wind, but I doubt chance would come to me. Holding the sword tight on my hand while I watch the aftermath around me.

Bloodstained the ground, and I don't think the earth would ever be the same again from it. The bodies piled on top of the other, with casualties on both sides laying by my feet. Their blood is a crimson river seeping into the ground and overflowing, but the stench of it is worse than the image.

How many battles and wars have I participated in? And I still cannot get used to the smell of the blood staining my blades. It's as if the world has continued to curse me with irony because I for sure couldn't survive not going to war as my blood seems to crave it.

"Commander," Mason calls. My trusted bodyguard falls on to one knee beside me with his helmet tucked on his side with an arm. His brunette hair is tousled and damp with sweat. "We're ordered by the king to head back."

Snapping my gaze back to my blades, I see that the blood has dried, and I worry that it'll rust if I don't clean it quickly. Sheathing them both on my back, I made a note to clean them when I got off my feet and before I eat anything.

"When?" I ask him while turning my back from the dead. My own leather uniform feels tighter than normal at the sight of so many familiar faces lying on the ground. So many letters to write and too little time to do so.

"As soon as possible" Mason meets my gaze. His hazel eyes piercing back at mine, but it's devoid of any emotion like a blank canvas. It's the same look he has ever since he became my guard, and I don't mind it.

I smile at him, and if it's sad a one, it's because I can't control it anymore. The faces of the dead haunt me, and I know this would all continue till the war ends. This war battled the East and the West for years ago. "Shall we?"

Mason's expression doesn't change. He stands on his two feet, reminding me that he's taller than me by a foot, and lets me walk ahead of him. "Loupe is by the base, ready for you to mount her."

"Thank you"

"The King wishes to hear from you greatly." Was his reply.

Mason has been by me since I was young. He trained with me in what we call the gymnasium, where every one of us learned how to fight from a young age. My father's father thought that our only advantage against the West was that we had more people by accepting all genders as knights and warriors.

We're outstanding despite them having the best weapons on the battlefield. Though because of that, we're often called barbaric by them. Our culture and clothes simply didn't match with how the West lived. We're very communal in a way, while they relied on hierarchy. I did espionage on some of their border towns and villages, and I'm not impressed.

People ruled over each other with a foot down at the other's throat. That wasn't the way we lived, though we're not perfect, of course. We have our own faults and sacrifices for the country. Most of those who go to the gymnasium enter at the age of nine and leave till they're 14 to go to their homes and wait a couple of years before getting conscripted. It was our way of surviving, but we didn't proclaim ourselves as some sort of gods that ruled over the poor and weak. We didn't boast lavish parties in front of the weak and sick.