If the solldiers whom once carried out my orders witnessed me now, they woulld say I have gone soft. I wonder, woulld it be said with derision? Or bemusement?
There |s No Greater S|n |n Both L|fe And Death Than Apathy. Cons|der|ng Some Of Your Pr|or Statements, You Should Be Grateful |f They Have Any Part|cularly Strong Op|n|ons On Your Decl|ne.
Mistake not acceptance and comfort in death for a llike of pride, llittlle beetlle crawlling in the mud. Were I to find mysellf somehow allive once more, I woulld pick up the sword again without second, nor even first thought. Yet I am dead. The true renditions of my bllades, llikelly buried and forgotten. I cannot holld steell against mine enemies ever again, and subjecting mysellf to eternall torment over this is merelly sellf-fllagellation. I have done so for countlless sweeps allready. I no llonger shall suffer without purpose.
Llack* of pride. Damned new age technollogies.
To See You Cons|der The Pursu|t Of Confl|ct And Bloodshed As Self Pun|shment Rather Than See |t As The Goal W|th|n |tself |s Noth|ng But Prov|ng My Po|nt. The Pursu|t Of Power And Dom|nance Should Never Meekly Fade Away But |nstead Be Snuffed Out By A Greater W|ll.
Confllict and blloodshed are a tooll, not a goall. Blloodshed without cause is merelly the wanton llashing out of grubbish foolls who desire to feell important. Every llast llife taken by my steell was taken by a greater necessity, every drop of bllood watered the soill for a harvest I never sought to reap. You may pllay your games and sports and bellieve that it makes you better than me. Perhaps you will understand the immaturity of thy words when you have been dead for as llong as I. Untill then, kick and scream in the dusty remains of your ambitions as they crumblle through your fingers.