The bloody war of iron and chainmail was coming to an end. A pyrrhic victory for the Yolsmen Duchy, the Battle of Blackbriar would go down in history as one of the bloodiest battles of the Yolsmen-Orneic Territory war. However, before that history was written, there stood a man on that field of red ichor.

  Falkreth was a foot soldier under his lord, Duke Yolsmen. Under orders to find and kill enemy stragglers that were missed in the battle. He was patrolling the corpses for survivors when a croaking voice called out to him. “Help me… plea-” the man's gargled coughs were silenced to all but Falkreth due to the crimson fog.

  Approaching the crackling voice, Falkreth found a man stuck underneath a horse. Fresh meat for any stray ravens or dogs. ‘Orniec colors…’ he thought. The enemy soldier's eyes latched onto Falkreth, “please! Me daughtah’s at home, an' me wife cannae keep her fed without me support! I need to go home!”

  Falkreth looked down upon the crying Orniec soldier. He knew his battle-brothers had returned to the war camp, he knew he could free this man. But doing that would be the same as giving the enemy knowledge of exactly what happened in this battle. Despite this, Falkreth wanted to help the poor Orniec, he also had family at home, he knew what the man was speaking of.

  Torn between the decision of mercy or murder, Falkreth closed his eyes and reflected on what his father had taught him. ‘Be kind and it will come back to help you. Show mercy and let yourself be surrounded by friends when you die. Be kind, Falk.’

  Falkreth stepped forward toward the man, who was still pleading for life and his family. His eyes locked with the trapped man, whose eyes were reddened from tears and terror. Falkreth curled his gloved hand under the emaciated horse and lifted. Shoving it to the side.

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  Falkreth glanced all around, looking for fellow soldiers that may accuse him of treason. He saw none. Fixing his eyes downward, he extended his hand to the relieved man. The man raised his hand and gripped Falkreth’s leathered hand weakly.

  "Are you ready?" Falkreth asked.

  "Y-yes sir" the freed soldier stammered

  "And, PULL-” A sharp pain seared through Falkreth's side, cutting him off. Looking down, he saw the handle of a broken claymore.

  “Why?” Falkreth asked in disbelief. The enemy man sniggered, then winced from his wounds. “Cuz’ yoor en enemiey!” pushing the broken blade deeper, the man continued through Falkreth’s cries. “An’ me Lordy will gimme’ a bonus! Du’ yu’ knew how much intel loick’ thes’ pays? Truely an imbecile, yu’ are!” The Orniec enemy was on the verge of cackling, such was his glee.

  ‘How could you do this to me? I was kind! Why did it have to be me, why did I do it…’ Falkreth thought desperately as he collapsed to the cruor-soaked ground.

  Sneering with delight, the Orniec soldier left the broken blade in Falkreth's gut, and walked away.

  Lying in the red mud, Falkreth’s vision blurred and dimmed. Time slowly lost its meaning as Falkreth bled out, his mind slowing. ‘I was so… kind…’

  In his final moments, Falkreth thought to the world, he thought to his family, and finally, he thought to the Orniec soldier.

  ‘Why…?’