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Chronicles of the Sword
"If a prerequisite of desire was purpose and motive, then it could be said that I was a person without desire.
If pleasure was defined as an emotion that was charged by desire, then I might be a person that cannot feel pleasure."
He pondered such thoughts next to a corpse that was human a few seconds ago.
Duels, gambling, fraud, murder, women, nothing seemed to satisfy him.
At times he felt satisfied, but the feeling was always immediately followed by emptiness.
The only moment he could feel life was when his life was on the line, the final moment between black and white.
He had stopped having a purpose, having desires.
Even if he fulfilled those purposes to satisfy his desires, they would all turn to emptiness.
He was able to, more or less, obtain everything he wanted. But it all got old too quickly.
...Was it right after the war?
As he prowled town where flames were kindled, he saw a child with a doll crying.
He remembered how he used to play with dolls when he was young.
Dolls have no soul and could be controlled to one's every whim.
At times, there were dolls that would not move exactly how he wanted.
But the dull sound which resulted from applying more pressure satisfied him just as well.
It was these moments, perhaps, that he enjoyed more.
If he was going to have fun, why not do it with live dolls.
If he was going to have fun, why not have a stage as big as this continent.
Why not make them act out an epic drama full of life and death, tears and inspiration.
He started humming.
He closed his eyes and delightfully waved his knife like a conductor's wand.
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