The Flute Swordsman

He was walking between the mounds of bodies strewn across the field lost in his own nightmare. The wounds were hurting and blood was oozing from beneath his chainmail sliding along his hand. His right leg was hurt from a spear that pierced it through and a piece of cloth wrapped tightly above the wound was helping stem the flow of blood. He was dragging his feet along his way, ignoring the flies and crows and ravens attracted by the bounty of free meals. The buzzing in his ears was getting louder. The sword was hanging heavy in his hand, blood still dripping from the blade onto the ground. He was exhausted and just wanted to let everything that happened until that day behind. To get a new start and try to forget everything he lost. Pride, honor, family and friends. Now everything he knew was consumed by flames or dead and waiting to rot in the scorching heat of the summer sun. Or even worse, to rise again to fight against them if the bodies weren't burned before the coming of the night.

He stopped to catch his breath while looking around with blank eyes. He passed his tongue over his parched lips. He frowned seeing a dog holding a severed arm with its paws and chewing on the fingers. He dry heaved because his stomach was already long since emptied. He laughed at himself. A deity warrior of his level still losing meals due to bloodshed. His raspy laughter sounded among the dead, scaring the dog, who ran dragging the arm, and the birds flew in the air before resettling on the corpses they earlier enjoyed.

He looked around and saw them at the edge of the forest. He started walking slowly towards them dragging his foot and sword after him. They were simply watching him approach, unmoving on top of their black horses. The flaming sun on their robes was glowing in the light. His dream of joining them in his youth now left him with a taste of ashes in his mouth. Year after year of stemming the tide of the invasion, fighting for the survival of humanity could erode the youthful ideals of one's mind. Millenia of constant battle and losses might do that.

The survivors were starting to trickle from the battlefield, every one of them with blood seeping from the wounds on their bodies. He turned his eyes scanning them one by one in the vain hope she still survived after he saw her falling under the tide of undead. But the face he was looking for was not among the survivors. The only one still alive since he joined the crusading order finally was no more there for him. He sighed. At the time, starting the cycle of rebirth might not seem such a bad idea. At least he could forget.

He bowed in front of the one standing on the black mare. He was an older man with long grey hair falling to his shoulders from beneath his rounded helm. His sword was at his side still in its scabbard. But he wouldn't be fooled by the apparent good mood showed by the benevolent smile currently on his lips. He witnessed his prowess in handling both sword and magic along the countless years he served under their banner. He also knew how swift that smile would disappear if something he disapproved of happened. And then hell would break loose.

"Holy Ancestor, another battle ended with our order as victorious."

The man nodded slowly while looking over his wounds and despondent mood. His smile started fading away.

"My child, I have the feeling that you have lost your heart during this particular battle. Is there a reason for that?"

"Holiness, as I have said before this campaign began, this would be my last one. I simply lost myself while chasing power and glory. I hope your holiness could grant me the opportunity to enter the cycle of rebirth."

The man's eyebrows jumped up in surprise and those who were beside him reacted in a similar surprised way. Then looking at him, his eyebrows started to furrow.

"Do you know what you are even asking? That is not an opportunity as you have said. That is plain and simple stupid of someone of your rank and level of cultivation. Millenia of hard work and struggles for achieving so many things at such a young age and you want to throw it all away?"

He snorted and turned his head looking at his companions.

"You, as my companions, what do you think? Isn't he too extreme in his choice?"

The ones at his side nodded and started clamoring at his choice of ending this cycle of life at the moment he was so close at attaining true immortality. After all, he was close to breaking through. A couple more centuries at most.

Finally the commander stooped down from his horse and looked him up and down.

"Boy, what is the real reason for your decision just now? You're a late stage Saint warrior! There's no such thing as waking up in the morning and deciding that you want to start over. How many years have you invested in your cultivation? Two? Three thousand years? And you want to throw it all away now by entering the cycle of rebirth? You know that for that you'll lose your current life and everything you achieved so far will be forgotten as your memories will be sealed. Until you reach at least Saint peak level, you will forget who you were. Is it really worth it? Consider it carefully."

"I simply lost the will to continue fighting in an endless war. I indeed achieved many things, but at what cost? My last friend died today while I was unable to come to her rescue. We began our journey together 1500 years ago with many others. Now, I'm the only one left standing. I'm sorry to go like this but I know I am no longer suited for fighting against The Tide."

The man looked at him rummaging his mind for what to say, but eventually he let it go. He nodded, acknowledging his request.

"Fine! You will get what you requested. You have until night descends to make peace with yourself. Come into my tent when you are ready."

He bowed once again and walked away surrounded by the silence of the others. He walked slowly back to where he last saw her. He dropped the sword on his way. He won't be needing it after today. He was at peace with what was to happen.

The wounds stopped hurting, starting the process of healing. By the nightfall, there would be no more traces on his body. He smiled while starting walking faster until he reached the mound of rotting bodies where he last saw her.

He started lifting them and throwing them to the side as he looked for her body. It took half an hour of perusing through bodies until he found her. It took a moment to recognize her. Her face was no more. Her body was covered in bloody wounds done by knives, swords, spears and even bare teeth and scratches. The armor was ruined. But she still had her sword inlaid in silver tight in her hands. Didn't help her that much in the face of The Tide.

Also, at her waist, by a miracle still was her flute. He took it with his hands trembling while trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Too many happier moments that turned sour now. Good thing he will forget soon.

He carried her in his arms. The guards at the camp gates tried stopping him, but he simply ignored them and kept walking until he reached his tent. Soon after, the mournful sound of the flute was heard from his tent.

At the edge of the forest the man followed him with his eyes, watching his every move. Seeing him carrying the body he sighed. He pondered in his mind for a time. Finally reaching a decision, he got down from the horse and started walking to the place he just left. The sword inlaid in silver was still there. He kneeled, closing his eyes while reaching his hand over it.

His companions frowned seeing him like that, but kept their silence. They knew what he was doing and knew the costs of his actions. And the backlash if he failed. If he were distracted, his soul might be attacked by the spirits nearby.

A yellow light finally showed up from the sword handle and started drifting through the air. The man reached his hands and the light finally stopped on his open palms. Taking out a cristal vial, he guided it in. The vial started glowing as the man put it back.

He sighed in relief as he stood up and wiped his forehead. It was harder than he thought. He had to search for her soul in the blood left in the hollow handle. But it was tainted with others and he had to clean the impure ones.

But he was satisfied now. His disciple will not be alone on his way. A last favor from his former teacher.