He woke up sweating from the dream. He was shivering despite the heat outside. Memories of battle had been haunting him for quite a while now. He was there back again, in the battlefield…so much blood…he moved his right leg back and swished his sword. It was like dancing with an old friend. He could visualize the next death in front of him. Heart pounding fast, he jumped in the air turning left at the same time, his sword moving above the head of his enemy. He brought the blade down in a swift and stark motion, landing bent on his right leg. The head fell down and then the headless body, slowly and awkwardly in front of him.
He shook himself back to reality trying to take deep breaths.
He felt afraid. His glory had reached the far reaches of the land. His skill in battle was spoken of and respected amongst his enemies. Amongst the many titles bestowed upon him were ‘Spear Master’, ‘Lord of the Blade’ and the most famous one ‘Chakravarti’ – ‘The WhirlWind’ for his swiftness. Despite all this, the ecstasy of battle, the joy of its memory had started to send a shiver down his spine. He felt afraid.