A Thousand Years of Stories

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost Odyssey. I'm not doing this for any monetary gain or personal advance beyond the improvement of my personal writing abilities.


Area between Uhran and Khentese lines

Highlands of Whol

Kaim Argonar spent most of his waking moments wearing a mask. Not a physical one per say, not one that actually covered the face, but a mask in the sense of a facial expression. A grim line of a mouth, a stern stare, and little else was the mask the immortal warrior donned every morning. It kept people out, allowed him to face his own demons on his own terms, safe from the prying of others.

It was this sort of mask that he wore now, as he grasped his longsword.

The mountainous Highlands of Whol were embroiled in bloody chaos as the Khentese and Uhran armies smashed into one another with all the finesse of two bull elephants. The Khentese were better armed and armored, so the Uhrans had inevitably fallen back on the strategy of overcoming a foe by sheer bull headed stubbornness reinforced by a numerical advantage.

It was an infuriatingly lazy and moronic choice. One that led to an abhorrent waste of human life.

The broken bodies of the dead and dying were spread about Kaim as if they were shoots of wheat in a particularly macabre farm. Crimson life blood mixed with the mud and gravel underfoot, turning into a hellish rocky slush.

Kaim's expression did not change.

He'd seen this sort of thing before. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of times in his unnaturally long life. At best, he could dredge up the feeling of regret at the monumental scenes of death about him, when a part of him desperately wanted to break down and weep at the sight. Such a feeling was not forthcoming.

Instead, Kaim did what he had been hired to do. What he had done for centuries: he fought and ended lives. He had been a mercenary, a warrior who killed for coin, not politics or ideals for a very long time. Even if he was a proper soldier of Uhra now, the mercenary side of him prevailed in combat and it served him well. A mercenary held true to their appointed missions, so long as payment had been given. Kaim had already been paid.

And right now, he wasn't doing his job.

Despite whatever feelings which lingered in the back of his mind, that wouldn't do.

Kaim freshened the grip on his blade and charged into the looming, armored shadows that made up a line of Khentese soldiers. Thin, glaring red eyes peeked from the top of each of their tall helmets, and they raised their large swords and shields.

They were prepared to meet him as a threat, and the part of him that wanted to weep at the battle was suddenly disappointed.

He tried putting on another mask, the fiercest expression he could manage, with narrowed eyes and teeth bared. The Khentese did not falter, did not recoil at this charge from what they must have thought to be an absolute madman. The first came as him, blade raised overhand, and Kaim dispatched him with a single swing to the waist. The blade went right in between the warrior's armored chest and groin coverings, one of the few places nobody could be properly armored without a great sacrifice in movement ability. The Khent fell with an agonized howl.

Killing the soldier hadn't made Kaim loose a single step, only a fraction of his forward momentum. Still, the Khentese raised swords and met his charge with one of their own. They were unafraid of this one man, however skilled he might be, and would do their duty.

Disappointment sparked to life in Kaim once again, alongside a sad sort of respect.

He'd put on this newest mask in the hopes that they might be given pause. An optimistic part of the immortal even hoped that they would flee, or even surrender. That they would do something to spare their lives and spare Kaim himself from ending more lives unnecessarily.

But they were committed to their country and people. They would not sully their honor by doing anything less than using their weapons as they were taught to, and dying if necessary.

Kaim could respect that conviction. But it also made the outcome of this fight clear.

First Lieutenant Kaim Argonar of Uhra would kill these soldiers. He too might die, but it would not be permanent. He would rise again, like some undead abomination, and enter this fight anew.

He considered it a sad fate, not being able to die, and knowing that he would be used to kill those who could.

But truly, what else was there?