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The silence is the worst part. There is no peace while the battle rages. The clashing of swords, the arcane rustling of magic, the screams of dying men; all of these punctuate the air like thunderclaps. Once the last man lay dead, that unsettling calm consumes everything. The visions of those piles of bodies haunts me.
It is like a parasite, gnawing inside of me. We are meant to revel in combat, to thirst for the blood of our enemies. Seeking glory and mastery over oneself… these are the reasons we came to the Akademy. They said to me: “Knights are the most honourable men to walk this earth, Kennard.” I believed them too. If only I had known war would be like this, perhaps then I would have opted for the simpler life. The life of a farmer, toiling the land from sunrise to sunset, with nary a care in the world. No death. No destruction. Instead now I nurse wounds caused by blade and black magic alike, fearful of my own death while I dispense death unto others. We may march toward victory but I fear no fanfare will ever dispel the demons in my mind.
Lord Ramza shares my disdain for battle. I know it to be true. It is etched into every line on his face. He has no love for death, seeks no glory in battle. Yet he fights onwards, as if possessed by some sense of duty or divine purpose. He chooses words over weapons wherever it avails him; he does not seek to stain his hands with the blood of others. Unlike myself, he has no thoughts of flight, no delusions of an easier life. He has chosen his path and will walk it to the bitter end. There is a fire inside of him, granting him the strength to do what must be done. He strides forward, full of determination, and we follow loyally. Perhaps he himself has some arcane power. Would I have followed another man this far? I cannot say for certain, but know this: Lord Ramza is a true hero.
