Duty Or Humanity

As the warrior trudged towards his chamber, a portrait on the wall snagged his gaze, igniting a spark in his long-dormant heart. It was his wife, the Altinos princess, her beauty undimmed by time. He traced her features, feeling the echo of her warmth, and the weight of his choices. He was here, a weapon in a war, all to reclaim the woman he'd lost.

Suddenly, a voice startled him. "This portrait," it said, "holds my heart too." Stepping into the light was the princess he'd rescued, her youthful face mirroring his wife's in an unsettling way.

"You know her?" the warrior rasped, a flicker of hope battling the years of despair.

"Only from stories," the princess replied, her voice brimming with admiration. "They say she loved a Bevois general, defying everything for him. A love like that…" she sighed, lost in the tale.

Coldly, the warrior asked, "What do you think of her?"

The princess met his gaze, her eyes shining. "She followed her heart, a rare thing in our lineage. To give up so much for love… that takes incredible courage."

His wife's portrait blurred, taking on the princess' hopeful visage. "She seems… good," he mumbled, surprised by the unfamiliar warmth in his voice. "You remind me of her."

"Thank you," the princess said, "for saving us. You too, have chosen your path."

The warrior turned away, seeking solace in the shadows of his room. Sleep was elusive, haunted by whispers of the past and the princess' words.

Dawn painted the castle walls as he awoke, duty gnawing at his gut. He had to obey the King's decree and march towards the Bevois village, a village filled with his own people. His loyalty was a tangled web, duty entwined with a hidden agenda.

He rode out, a silent storm beside the King's men. The General guarded the castle, while this small company ventured into enemy territory. Though tasked with slaughter, the warrior's true target was closer – the King himself.

As the village loomed into view, a sick feeling twisted in his gut. But before he could act, his men descended, unleashing terror – looting, screaming, ripping families apart.

The warrior froze, caught between obligation and conscience. Then, his gaze snagged on a mother's heartbroken screams as a soldier tore her child from her arms. The child's cries pierced his cold heart, igniting a long-dormant rage.

Without a word, he drew his sword, a tempest unleashed. He moved with deadly precision, each blow a righteous fury against the injustice before him. His blade reaping chaos among the King's men.

The soldiers, unprepared for such savagery, fell one by one. The warrior fought with the frenzy of a cornered beast, his own anger mirroring the village's pain. The stench of blood and the cacophony of screams painted a grotesque scene, the dark side of a warrior reborn.

When the dust settled, he stood amidst the carnage, alone. Villagers emerged from hiding, fear still clinging to their eyes. His gaze swept over the destruction, the weight of his outburst crushing him. He had saved them, but at what cost?

Silence clung to him like a shroud as he surveyed the village. He had chosen mercy, torn free from the King's leash.