I walked on the field dragging myself, pulling my heavy body. My armour clanked and clenched stiffly as I took my steps. The beautiful slender sword in my sheath was covered with dried and coagulated blood. I had been lucky. More than a couple of times. Being lucky in the battlefield meant living. It meant that I got the chance to continue my existence. A sword plunged in your soft gelatine flesh and in some time, you would cease to exist. Life is. It is. Ironic. In a beautiful way. But also in a terrible way. Death supplements life. And death is the ultimate destination. Life's only a journey. It is only a journey. My knees buckled, and I was on the ground. The blossom of the white fl