Lost on the battlefield

He saw the hate in the Spaniard's eyes. He saw every negative feelings the man had toward him, not knowing who he was still viscerally wanting to kill the man.

'That's right, they're following orders... They have to obey. They hated us even before I entered this camp anyway. What if I let him land his hit? Would he stop his struggle after achieving this little victory? I don't think so.'

As long as the hit would strike something else than his head, he wouldn't move and awaited for the hit.

Clank!

The sword was deviated from its trajectory by another sword.

"Soldier! The hell you're doing?" Asked his saviour, ending the soldier's life.

"I don't know, I need to think a little more..." He replied, lazily getting up before walking toward the battlefield as if it was desert.

But the hand that grabbed him back was enough to stop him. He felt weak, unable to understand what led him to inflict this much damage in one night.