《The Diary》


 A meek start

    ¡°Ugh... Demon... You demon! Mindless beast!¡± screams the young soldier in front of me, his golden hair, blood tainted, falling from his cracked helmet.


    ¡°How could you¡­ How could you¡­ Ughhh¡­ Damn it, damn it¡­ Garred¡­ Thomas¡­ Damn¡­ Arrrgh, how could you¡­¡±


    Tears of sadness rolls down his pale eyes, his face a mix of horror, pain, sorrow and hatred. I could sympathize with him, novice warriors getting crushed at the frontline, younger ones even, is not a pleasant sight. Such potential, wasted, i pity the future of your kingdom.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you¡­ Aghhhh! I will fucking kill you!¡±


    He lifts his blade cutting the air upwards. It was already at the point of breaking, much like his brain.


    If i let him live, he will end up being a broken person filled with thoughts of revenge burning in his heart, because that¡¯s what he is right now, a shattered toy, an insignificant existence.


    ¡°It is sad that your last moments will be filled with struggle instead of peace.¡±


    I destroy the blade with a sword of my own. The boy never stood a chance against it.


    ¡°Damn it¡­ Damn it¡­ You killed them¡­ You killed all of them¡­¡±


    He crouches and falls plump into the bodies of his allies, rows, rows and endless rows of them. The sky is orange and surrounded by crows, only pointy ends of spears, swords and banners to be found on the grass planes.


    Finally, he reaches the limit. I swing my sword downwards without further notice, severing his head in a fell swoop.


    ¡°A son is supposed to bury his father. Not the opposite¡± i whisperer to myself as the blood washes off of my blade.


    I walk away with my mind numb from serenity. Nothing good comes out of war, but i have no say in that matter.


    No, not a man like me. I lack intellect, charisma, strength undoubtedly. Wisdom i have, what i don¡¯t have is the gift of the word to make the best out of it.


    Yes, i¡¯m just a soldier, a hound dog held by its leashes. For a soldier, there¡¯s only one thing that¡¯s held dear and that¡¯s his sword.


    Mine is called The Diary. Strange name isn¡¯t it? Well i can tell you it wasn¡¯t my idea and even though i can secretly call it whatever i want, everyone calls it The Diary.


    It¡¯s one of the fifteen relic swords of the past, forged a long time ago, and it is an honor to hold it. At least it should be.


    I can¡¯t awake the potential they told me reside inside it. My superiors and the royal court think that just because we¡¯re winning the war and that i¡¯m getting all the merits and body counts that i am hot shit. Even a pawn like me understands that what lies underneath this sword is far beyond our expectations.


    Today ends my campaign, and my life as a soldier. This sword will return to the vault, locked away for the next war.


    That¡¯s not going to happen.


    I look at the body of some random man sprawled in the ground, muster all of the strength built in my arms and sink the sword inside his chest and into the earth. Ripping my cloak, i curl the remaining rags around it, making it almost unrecognizable.


    We won the war, our pig of a king won¡¯t care for a lost sword of tales.


    - Hundreds of years later ¨C


    ¡°¡­ And so, Roderick lifted his sword, The Writer of History, a mighty weapon that led him to great battles and which could only be held by his hands, and taunted the bestial giant that roared towards him with its demonic blade in the air.


    Roderick shattered the blade and cut the giant¡¯s legs so he couldn¡¯t stand up.


    ¡®Worry not, giant, peace i will bring to your wretched existance¡¯ shouted the honorable Roderick, skewing the giant¡¯s heart with his sword.


    At its death, the giant¡¯s hearthturned into stone and embraced The Writer of History, sealing the sword for eternity.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.Roderick punctured the air with his mighty fist, signaling his victory and the prevail of the people of Kamali¡±


    I finish with a murmur, emphasizing Roderick¡¯s tale, as i close the old book with a thump.


    One, two, three seconds of silence. All of the little kids with glinted eyes shout in awe of Roderick¡¯s bravery against the giant and chivalrous heart that never looked down upon anyone.


    ¡°Hey, sister, did Roderick actually exist?¡±


    I don¡¯t think Roderick existed in any point of the past, but oh well, they¡¯re like eight year olds, so might as well tell ¡¯em it¡¯s true.


    ¡°Why, of course. Such a brave hero was destined to go down in history, much like his sword¡¯s name implies¡±.


    I¡¯m quite happy they liked the story. When i was assigned as caretaker of these young cubs i thought it would be a pain in the ass. Thank God i read books on old myths and tales.


    There¡¯s just one thing that didn¡¯t go right.


    ¡°Arthur, what is it? Didn¡¯t you enjoy the story?¡± i ask the moping lad.


    ¡°No, no, Roderick is hella cool, it¡¯s just¡­ That sword¡¯s name bugs me off. Like, The Writer of History?¡±


    ¡°Yeahhh, it ticked me that his sword is called that, too¡± claimed another child.


    Soon after, the tiny attic was filled with complaints and discussions over why Roderick¡¯s sword was named such, and what would be a fitting name.


    ¡°Since he killed a giant, it should be called The Giant Slayer!¡±


    ¡°I think a more nimble or swift name would be a better fit for Roderick, like Wind Cutter or Thunderous Wave¡±


    ¡°I like The Giant Slayer better¡±


    ¡°Me too¡±


    ¡°The Destroyer sounds more badass¡±


    ¡°Any idea is cooler than The Writer of History anyway¡±


    ¡°Hey sister, what would you name the sword after?¡±


    The room went silent again. Every single boy held their breaths and pierced me with those puppy eyes begging for an answer.


    That¡¯s actually a good question and got me interested, what should it be called?


    ¡°Hmm, i think¡­¡±


    ¡°What, what did you think about?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ I think¡­ It should be called¡­¡±


    I make a slight pause and look at each of them, holding onto the mystery revolving around my answer.


    ¡°It should be called¡­ The Diary¡±


    All of them went dumbstruck by my words. Did I say anything wrong?


    ¡°The Diary¡­ What the¡­¡±


    ¡°Sister, that name is soooo lame¡±


    ¡°Hey, that¡¯s not lame! I thought about it and it makes complete sense!¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Think about it. On the tale, Roderick always mutters something to the sword and usually at keystones of the plot. It¡¯s like the sword is proof of the existence of Roderick and in that point its name, The Writer of History, makes sense, as if the sword itself was telling us the tale. Though i think The Diary is better¡±


    Another moment of silence, this one being much longer. Did i manage to convince them? Heh, I¡¯m so smart, these kids don¡¯t even realize.


    ¡°¡­Giant Slayer is still better.¡±


    ¡°Yup¡±


    ¡°Oh fuck you guys, story time is over, go home to your mommies and sleep early¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s not even nine in the morning!¡±


    ¡°Shut up! Scramble! H-o-m-e!¡±


    ¡°Hmph, you¡¯re no fun¡±


    ¡°Stuuupiiiiid¡±


    They all went to their respective homes. Hell, i didn¡¯t think being a grown up lady was about staying home cooking and doing house chores, my brother is lucky that he got spotted by a local noble and is now being trained by a master swordsman.


    I sigh in disappointment. I wasn¡¯t made for this life, there¡¯s no place for me here.


    ¡°I want more action, i want the power of choice, i want freedom!¡±


    ¡°Agatha lassie, we need your help down here!¡±


    ¡°Yes sir¡­¡±

 Carry the cross

    ¡°Once upon a time¡­¡±


    ¡°Sis, you always begin with once upon a time, can¡¯t you do something different for a change?¡±


    ¡°Again¡­ Once upon a time, existed a palace that soared high in the skies, arches shining and gates golden, driven by a stair of clouds. Inside this palace lived individuals with strange powers that only appeared on our wildest thoughts. These people were called avanerii, or the ones who defy¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ So?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ That¡¯s it. The book was really old and the pages pretty messed up, i felt they would crumble just from a little swaying¡±.


    I keep brushing the floor with a piece of wet fabric while talking to my little brother. I¡¯m the only woman whom my mother gave birth to, and the oldest from all children, so they don¡¯t plan on marrying me anytime soon. I like that part quite a bit, but i¡¯ve gotta take care of all three of them and it sucks.


    ¡°Ehh¡­ That sounded like a good story¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah... It actually did.¡±


    He looks down from his chair and asks:


    ¡°What do you think those people were able to do?¡±


    I stop brushing for a moment and stare blankly into the honey pot.


    ¡°Having the house clean itself would be a useful power¡±


    ¡°Sis!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°That is not a power they would have at all!¡±


    ¡°Sigh¡­ The avanerii were people¡­¡±


    I tickle my imagination for a bit before saying.


    ¡°People who, with a single word, called out fire, ice and thunder raining from the skies¡±


    ¡°Ohh!¡±


    ¡°People who, with one whisper, raised the dead as an army and breathed strength into the living¡±


    ¡°Cool!¡±


    ¡°People who, with a mystifying glare, could hinder one¡¯s perception of reality and hide themselves in the shadows!¡±


    My brother laughed heartily at my strange ideas, flying at me with his arms wide open, ready for a hug.


    I receive his hug and spin his midget body in the air, sending him into a spiral while humming a cheerful song.


    ¡°Story time is over, kid, i gotta work¡±


    ¡°Okay, do you want some help, sis?¡±


    ¡°Nah, you can go out and play with the other boys¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Just do it!¡±


    ¡°O-Okay!¡±


    He rushes to the front door and sprints outside.


    It¡¯s not his fault that i¡¯m stuck doing this, and i don¡¯t want no brother of mine cursed to this boring lifestyle. All the more so when he¡¯s just a brat.


    I finish the housework as fast as I can before dropping flat on the floor. How much time has passed by now? Out of the window the sun shines with a pale bluish glow, so it must be dark soon.


    ¡°Agatha, aren¡¯t you coming to the city gates?¡±


    ¡°Wait, is it that time already?¡±


    ¡°Why yes, honey, the knights of Sir William are here for the Spring Festival, and I think Ericson may be here, at last!¡±


    ¡°My brother, huh¡­ I wouldn¡¯t be so sure of it¡±


    ¡°Shush, are you coming or not?¡±


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯m in for it¡±


    ¡°Good. Lock the house before going, we¡¯ll meet there¡±


    Every year, Sir William starts a recruitment campaign for the Red Guard, an order of knights serving the crown. My brother went with them two years ago and hasn¡¯t showed since then.


    I shut the windows, lock the doors and, after checking everything is closed, turn the key and take it away.


    ¡°Huh¡­ The sky is orange, how come?¡±


    Walking around the rice fields, i notice how the wind blew in strong gusts and bands of crows soared low, looking for something¡­ Waiting for something, maybe? I don¡¯t know, they don¡¯t usually appear around these parts.


    Whatever, no time to worry about it.


    Our village is made of houses and farms scattered through a circular area. A city gate is just a bundle of three large rocks that serve the purpose of a referral point. There are nine of them, in total, but when someone says city gates without specifying, he¡¯s talking about the one at the north.


    Nights here aren¡¯t much interesting, the Spring Festival being one of the few occasions where I have time to enjoy myself, and the newcomers will make it more exciting for sure.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    While wondering myself with images of the food, the decoration, the music, the dancing and the seasonal games, I stumble upon the view of a man.


    That man is sitting alongside a strange cross covered in raw cloth full of stitches and aged colors, he lays immobile with his hands one on top of another. There isn¡¯t much I can make of him, as his face is bent low as if sleeping and he wears a beautiful black cloak adorned with golden and purple symbols I¡¯ve never seen before.


    I would just ignore him, but I don''t remember seeing him around these parts. A stranger is an extremely rare sight in this village, and he¡¯s near our house, so I have to at least ask him what¡¯s his business here ¨C can¡¯t be cautious enough these days.


    ¡°Hey, you!¡±, I whisper.


    ¡°Psst, you there!¡±


    ¡°Wake up!¡± I shout, seeing my failed attempts of catching his attention.


    The man lifts his head very slowly. He seems to be in a daze, like a marionette being pulled by mechanical strings.


    His appearance shocks me to such a degree that no words come out of my mouth.


    His skin is of a glowing black color touched by ashes, with twin tattoos of triangular spirals on his cheeks and even darker short hair.


    The most appalling, however, are his deep purple eyes with specs of sea blue and a strong wine, making three cones tressed like a leaf, or a locket.


    ¡°Hello¡±


    I try saying a meek hi, but all i let out is an array of sounds that don¡¯t connect with each other to build the word.


    ¡°I¡¯m a wanderer¡±


    ¡°¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the talking type, huh?¡±


    ¡°I-I¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, I understand your surprise¡±


    ¡°Is-Is that so¡­¡± I must have looked really nervous, but I couldn¡¯t help it. Considering his unusual appearance, this reaction must be normal for him. I should take it more lightly.


    ¡°What¡¯re you looking for?¡±


    ¡°As I said, I¡¯m a wanderer. I just drift between places while looking for someone to take care of this¡±


    ¡°By this, do you mean the cross?¡±


    ¡°Haha, this is a sword. But that¡¯s fine, they often mistake it for a cross¡±


    ¡°¡­ Sorry but, I don¡¯t really think it is a sword. It¡¯s way too big and doesn¡¯t seem to have an edge. It also looks quite rusty.¡±


    ¡°It is a sword. Would you like to take a look?¡±


    I¡¯m starting to think this guy is trying to scam me.


    ¡°Sure, why not?¡±


    He gets up and plucks the cross out of the ground. I¡¯m surprised he managed to hold it with one hand and wave it off as nothing.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure it is a cross¡±


    ¡°Like I said, it is a sword, haha¡­ Try holding it and you¡¯ll see¡±


    ¡°Nah, I don''t have the strenght to¡±


    ¡°For this sword, strength you won¡¯t need to use¡±


    ¡°Ha! You¡¯re a funny guy... Okay, I¡¯ll try it¡±


    Might as well give it a shot. He tries handing me the cross right away, but I wave him a no as it would fall immediately upon my feet.


    ¡°Put it down, are you crazy or what?¡±


    He smirks at my words. I think he¡¯s just looking for some fun. We both are.


    ¡°Watch me heave this thing in one go!¡±


    ¡°I have no doubts about it!¡±


    ¡°Pft, you know I¡¯m just kidding!¡±


    I hold the cross¡¯s top side with both of my hands, prepare myself for the great muscular pains I¡¯ll have to endure and, in a single motion, eyes closed, put all of my strength into that pull.


    Seconds pass by and I feel no muscular pain, no overbearing weight, no feeling on the cross.


    ¡°Haha, I said you could do it!¡±


    I open my eyelids and, to my surprise, the cross, no, the sword, lays upright on my two hands with the weight of a feather pen.


    ¡°That¡­ That doesn¡¯t make sense¡­¡±


    I feel it, looking for a soft spot, but it''s undoubtedly metal.


    ¡°Ok, you beat me to it. What is the trick?¡± I ask, hoping for an explanation.


    The man is gone, vanished like thin air.


    I scratch my head wondering what to do with the sword, but then I remember about the Spring Festival.


    I quickly return home and hide it in my room. I¡¯ll think about what to do latter, a lot of time has been lost talking to that shady man.