In a desolate plain.
A lone samurai stood still in front of a river of corpses. Blood dyed the plains crimson and the rotting smell of bodies created a nauseating revulsion.
The samurai, possessing a cold expression on his face and having his long purple hair flutter with the breeze, breathed heavily as he stared in the distance.
A sense of ruthlessness was in his slanted eyes, but a hint of confusion and frustration could also be felt from them.
The samurai's sword was pointed at the side, blood still dripping from its end. The marks were fresh and hinted that the battle had just been over.
"Why…" The samurai questioned in his deep voice.
For as long as he had consciousness, the samurai found himself at the bay of conflicts. There never was once a time when he had been truly free and without any problems.
'Never?' Thought the samurai.
Was there really never a time?
