So how should I begin? Well, let's just write the basics for now. It happened in the sixth week of the war. Castela was at its peak, victory seemed to be in your hands, we conquered a new city every day. That meant, of course, the slaughter of the other side. War is a brutal means taken when people enter in despair. Soldiers become nothing more than assassins, Kings become Tyrants. But for some reason, we kept marching, as if we were still humans. And someday, we will hopefully forget this once happened. In one of these attacks, we found a deplorable village. Houses made of dirty covered the landscape, but no one was there to bock our passage. An hour before the attack, as a pious act, we sounded the trumpets. The people ran away without thinking twice. Poor, rich, soldiers, there was no one left to fight. It was not cowardice, we were tired to fight too. It eased your conscience when we managed to enter without taking any lives. Even so, everyone stayed alert. It could be
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