War, combat, conquest, victory, defeat.
One of the most basic concepts to humankind.
Victory was achieved over the animals in ancient times, by taming them, subduing them, and hunting them.
Humanity waged wars for many things, resources, land, and the simple satisfaction of knowing that you are stronger than someone, over arrogance, it did not matter, war was waged, and from war, came the victorious and the defeated.
I have been to a war, no, I have been to many wars. I started wars for the good of the people, I have ended wars for the good of the troops, I toppled kingdoms, and built them anew, only to watch them fall again in my absence.
Peace was not everlasting, no matter how many times I tried, no matter how many times I started again. The malice inside the human heart didn't allow the world to remain tranquil.
I got used to it and learned to live with it, tried to do the opposite but life didn't allow there to be an absence of violence.
It seemed appropriate, as someone who has mastered the art of combat to be reborn as the child of a god that was war personified.
I held a spartan helmet in my hands. Two rectangular holes and an opening that came down to the mouth, leaving the chin revealed, no doubt, it would look imposing on a fully grown man, but on a twelve-year-old child, it just looked idiotic.
Sighing, I leaned back waiting for the horn that would start everything that I came too accustomed to.
A round shield lay propped up on my leg.
Wasn't this a little bit too much? Even I, a king who has ruled many kingdoms for thousands of years, never stooped as low as to arm children with a sword.
The horn sounded. A long, stretched-out call that reverberated across the forest.
With a sigh, I put the helmet on my head and grabbed the shield. Taking a few steps forward as I positioned the shield correctly, I sent a glance at a boy a few years older who was holding out a spear to me.
Clenching the strap, I grabbed the spear, nodding a thinks.
Glancing back at the kids from the ages of twelve to eighteen, sucking in a lung full of air through my teeth, I turned back to the woods.
We had an objective, we would get there and back.
With a roar, followed by a louder wave of sound from behind me, we all charged. leaving eight of our troops behind to guard the flag.
The trees were a blur as the sound of feet hitting the dirt filled my ears. I pointed my spear to my right, and getting the signal, a dozen split off from the charge to head in a different direction.
A minute later, I pointed the spear to my left, and now, the charge was split into three parts. We would be crushed in a frontal attack, but that wasn't my intention at all.
The minutes passed, with the small group marching forward, waiting for our signal, or an opportunity to signal the other groups in return.
Two horns, both coming from right and left respectively, reached my ears one after another.
"Split!"
Without complaint, everyone behind me moved to provide reinforcements to both groups while I continued doing the job that fell upon me.
My eyes narrowed as I got closer to my destination and my left hand that was holding the shield tensed in preparation.
The sound of something cutting through the air reached my ears and my shield came up in response. Two impacts indicated two archers, however, judging from the fact that one was aimed at my head and another wound missed, I deduced that one of the two attackers didn't specialize in ranged combat.
Taking advantage of the recharge period of bows, which wasn't long enough normally, I changed my direction abruptly, avoiding another arrow that would have hit my shoulder.
Confirming my suspicions, I didn't even change my direction as another arrow whizzed behind me. Blocking another arrow that would have hit my helmet with my shield, I dashed in the direction that the arrows came from.
Passing the treeline and exiting in a clear area, I surveyed my surroundings. I could see the flag, but no one was defending it.
Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I glanced at the trees just as the faint sound of a string being flicked reached my ears.
Ducking, I placed my left leg forward, stabilizing myself and giving me a proper footing to retaliate.
Twirling the spear in my hand, I held it in a reverse grip and pulled my hand back. With a grunt of exertion, the spear left my hand, heading in the same direction the arrow came from.
A south of pain resounded and I ran to the blue flag that was hanging limply in the center. This would have worked if there were more protectors.
A war cry came from my right as a bigger kid ran toward me with a Greek sword held in his hand. As soon as he got close enough to swing, I leaned in the direction the swing came from, dodging the strike and using the edge of my curved shield to slam it into the helmet of my opponent.
Walking over to the flag, I grabbed it, taking it out of the ground.
We won.