Forgotten Dreams of Eternity: Lost Odyssey: Thousand Years of Dreams

(Short Story -XVI.) *The Hero*

"Here we go! One man down, two men down, flip the sword, three men down, fourth man slashed diagonally right through the shoulder, fifth man's head goes flying. Oof! Then three at once--sixth, seventh, and eighth man, what a bother! I'll just skewer you like this..."

The man thrust the sword though three imaginary opponents and the crowd went wild.

The general, too, broke a smile and applauded.

When he was through clapping, though, he stroked his beard again.

"I'm sure you can understand how I felt at the time, sitting up there on that stage," the old general says to Kaim before taking a sip of water from his leather pouch.

His magnificent beard is completely white, so distant are the past events he is recounting.

Kaim nods in silence, and the general continues, as if mulling over every word, "The more you know about war, the more likely you feel that way."

"I'm sure the villagers meant well. They just wanted to pay homage to their hometown hero."

"No, of course. They weren't being the least bit malicious. My village has the nicest people in the world, which is exactly why I found the whole thing so painful. I couldn't stand it after a while."

Hacking eighteen men to bits--

The deeds of a hero are related in numbers.

Surely the man who playfully swung the general's sword on stage that day could never have imagined the ones who lost their lives on the battlefield: the agonized expressions on their faces, the curse in their eyes as they stared into nothingness.

"But that's all right, too. People who live peaceful lives don't have to know about such things. That's what people like us are for: to keep their lives far away from the battlefields. Don't you agree? Thanks to us and our killing of enemies, the people we're supposed to protect don't have to know anything about the bloodiness of war.

Unless you believe that, what's the point of killing each other?"

Kaim says nothing in reply. Without either affirming or negating the old general's words, he stars vaguely at the general's troops.

"What'd you say your name is? Kaim? I suppose you've killed more enemies soldiers than you can begin to count."

"There is no way I could count them all."

"I thought so. You have a flawless build, the kind that can only be tempered on the battlefield. Only a man who has survived one battle after another can carry himself they way you do with complete naturalness."

How does a man like you find himself driving a horse cart over a mountain pass?

Kaim is ready to leave without answering if the old man asks him such a question.

But the general inquires no further into Kaim's background. Instead, there is a sense of relief in the smile he bestows on the sight of Kaim resting his horses at the pass.

"I was sixteen the first time I went into battle. After that, I just kept running from one fight to another until I made it all the way to general. At first, I remembered the faces of the men I crossed swords with and killed. Even if you don't try to remember them, they get carved into your memory. I had terrible nightmares. And try as I might, I could never seem to wash off the stench of the blood that splashed on my face and hands. That was a hallucination, of course, but it got so bad once that I spent a whole night in a river trying to wash myself off."

The general paused a moment to think about his story, then went on,

"But after a while you get used to it. You get used to fighting and killing over and over again. Your body, and your mind, and your heart: you just get used to it. That's how people are. So I stopped having nightmares. I killed all the enemy soldiers I could lay my hands on, and I forgot every one of their faces. It's the same for you now, too, Kaim, isn't it?"