England

3,926 years since initial death
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What is the purpose of life?

What was the point of living, only for certain death to follow? How long can one man endure eternal suffering before enough has been had?

None of it made any sense. With all that has occurred and the events that truly changed his life, Milton lost his sanity. In all fairness, he had already lost it hundreds of years ago, but his mentality only worsened after each century. The death of Violet was the final straw.

Despite several prior attempts, suicide never worked. He knew it wasn't the answer, it never was. By now however, he continued to try it but not in hopes of ending his life. Rather, he used it as a way to pass the time. There were no consequences for doing so, he would always survive.

Upon his return to England, it was London that he sought. His first instinct wanted him to scale a significant landmark in the city, just to satisfy his inner self. To stare at the horizon from the top of the world. Initially, he considered Westminster Abbey, but he soon changed his mind, it just wasn't high enough.

Instead, he set his eyes on the Cathedral Church of St Paul the Apostle. Its extended spire in the center was high enough to overlook the entire city, even beyond the ruins of the old Roman walls. It was perfect.

He entered the church and proceeded to the second story. It was closed to the public, but that didn't deter him from the task at hand. A few English guards noticed him and tried to stop him, but he simply shoved them back. Even when they unsheathed their blades to threaten him, nothing was enough to stop Milton and his admirable determination.

There were no casualties. He wasn't interested in taking anyone's life today, only his own. Every guard that approached him was disarmed and left immobile on the floor.

Milton was quick to spot a staircase that led to the upper floor of the cathedral; it was as high as he was going to get. But it still wasn't enough. While he was already trespassing on a restricted floor, he walked towards one of the many windows surrounding the room. More guards were on their way to stop him, so he had to act fast.

He wasted no time in attempting to open one of the windows, but it wouldn't budge. With no other choice, he grabbed the nearest wooden chair from the edge of the room and hurled it towards the window with all his might.

The window was shattered and the way was clear. Upon poking his head outside, he realized the fall from here would be fatal. But he had to get higher. By the time the guards had reached him, Milton had stepped outside the window. There was only one way he was going to reach the top of the spire. He had to manually climb the cathedral with his hands.

Using nothing but his bare hands, he grabbed on to the ledge and slowly climbed upwards. The guards below noticed his ascent, but they couldn't do anything to stop him. Furthermore, civilians in the streets began to take notice and a crowd had already started to form below.

Milton's hands were aching. Through the pain, he still persisted. While the spire itself seemed smooth and impossible to climb, it offered several small seams for him to hold on to. Eventually, he reached a point where the next seam was too high for him to reach, rendering him stuck on the side of the spire.

This wasn't the end for him. Positioning his feet against the spire, he immediately released his grip and leapt straight up into the air with his arms spread out. His hands barely reached the upper crease as he miraculously caught it. With one final climbing effort, he made it to the very top of the gothic cathedral.

His past self in Madrid surely would have been jealous of his abilities now. No longer has he grown reckless, rather his concentration has grown significantly.

The view was amazing, and the wind easily blew against him. It felt stunning, in a way he couldn't explain. He felt as if he was the king of the world, reigning over everyone. Standing on one side of the thin cross, he held on to the center with one hand to keep himself from falling over. It was hard enough as it is to keep his balance, yet he persisted. From here, he could see everything.

There was only one structure taller than this point, the Lincoln Cathedral. Milton was fine with it, he still accomplished his goal and had reached the top. While many would question his reasoning for attempting this in the first place, the simplest answer was that the world had become his easel. When there was absolutely nothing left for him to achieve in life, boredom takes full control. Although he had committed a crime by damaging the windows and illegally climbing the structure, it was for his own amusement.

He just had enough.

Milton remained expressionless as he stared in silence. Every impactful memory he had experienced before haunted his mind during this moment. However, he quickly erased those thoughts. Now was not the time to become emotional remembering the past. He knew exactly what would happen next and still decided to proceed. Taking one final look at the city and the distant horizon, he took a deep breath. The birds above him chirped, giving him a chance to clear his mind and come to peace.

Then, he heard it. The screech of a nearby hawk. It soared directly above him. He knew it was time. Spreading his arms out, he started to lean forward. There was no turning back. Using his feet, he gave himself an added boost ahead. Then came the fall.

Barely making it over the cathedral, his demise had finally arrived on the cold, hard ground of London's streets. Dead on impact, but not for long. The time it took for him to recover always varied. Sometimes it would take a few minutes, an hour or even a whole day. He never knew what determined it, or why it took him over a thousand years to recover after his first death in Egypt.

Nonetheless he knew that whether he tried hanging himself, getting shot and stabbed, or jumping from the highest point of any structure; the results were always the same. The feeling of guilt was unbearable, why must he survive everything? Was eternal peace too much to ask for?

After the fall, he awoke inside the church laying over a bed. It had only been a few hours since the incident. Making sure nobody was looking, he escaped from the room leaving no trace behind. While some questioned his disappearance, everyone still believed he was dead, as no one could survive a fall of that altitude.

He lived in isolation for years, away from others. Moving to the far western of coast of Ireland, he returned to his home overlooking the beautiful green fields and blue shores of the ocean. It was considered ancient, having been there for centuries and left abandoned during his adventures. Resting there occasionally, he never minded about politics or national conflicts, his mind was focused on relaxation and quietness.

But the longer he stayed there, the worse his thoughts grew. Milton had spent almost four thousand years of his life losing friends and families. He has done nothing but fail every opportunity he was ever given. Living in sorrow away from humanity was a sign of weakness, or at least, that's what he convinced himself.

He needed to find a new purpose in life. And that's exactly what he'd find when he made the preparations to return to London.

By the time he made his return into the real world, he found himself caught in the crossfire of another war. It was one he thought was already over, as it has been ongoing for almost seventy-eight years now. The war between England and France for power, or as it would eventually be called, the Hundred Years War.

Milton's return to England had him immediately enlisted into the English military. As tensions grew between the two nations, more soldiers were needed. Despite wanting to stay away from any more battles, there was a rage inside of him that needed to be released.

With years of solitary confinement, he had enough time to regain his inner peace. But it also meant holding back his irresistible thirst for blood and war. He knew who he was meant to be. Everywhere he went, war followed. Instead of ignoring it, he had to embrace it in hopes of finally ending it.

One thought in his mind reminded him that perhaps he only fought in these new wars because of boredom and the desire to fulfill his own excitement. What else was there for him to do when he had already experienced everything?

His anger became uncontrollable as he willingly followed orders, just as long as it meant shedding blood. For most of his time, he refused to speak to anyone, or even make any friends. He became a ghost, nothing more than a deadly shadow that only strikes its target and disappears.

It has been a long time since Egypt, only ever attacking out of self-defense or for his family. A part of him still wished he could return to be the man he once was, but his wrath was unmatched. His mind was set on vengeance and war was the only method he knew that worked in fulfilling his very desire. It was against everything he ever stood far, and it broke him.

In 1415, Milton arrived in France by ship along with King Henry V and over ten thousand troops. Their assaults were overwhelming, and throughout the years, they conquered most of France. Starting from the beaches of Normandy and traveling south, most of the land had now fallen under English rule.

For years, they left nothing but a path of destruction, just for one man to rule with enormous power. Laying siege to each notable town and city along the way. The English held the advantage, with a greater number of soldiers and advanced weaponry such as the longbow. Crossbows have also become very common, allowing archers a safer and more effective approach at sniping their enemies. Additionally, cannons were hauled in a majority of conflicts.

The French fitted their defenses with stationary cannons in several towns in an attempt to stop the English from advancing. It was a conflict of superiority, one the English were decisively winning. Unfortunately for the French nation, they were exposed to the true destructive might of the English forces.

Their tactics in combat were fairly similar to the Crusaders, and just as before, Milton doubted he was on the right side. However, he was too blinded to see it. Instead of wanting to leave or defect, he stayed for the battles alone. It doesn't matter who will ultimately win this war, it was all pointless anyways. Each victory felt bland, there was no true meaning behind any of it.

The French city of of Harfleur fell to English control after an unexpectedly long siege. With the English holding the upper hand, they would later advance and take a risky offensive against the French at Agincourt. However, they were unprepared. The English army at the Battle of Agincourt was low on supplies, the soldiers were ill, outnumbered, and weakened.

It was quickly becoming a clear victory for the French, but it wouldn't end as expected. They had underestimated one Englishman's strength and undying wrath. Milton was single handedly responsible for slaughtering a majority of the enemy's forces, allowing the English to launch a powerful comeback. The French were massacred without mercy. It was a bloodbath.

His promise to Aisha was shattered. Now, Milton no longer found the time to mourn the death of every soldier he's killed. By now, he stopped caring.

By May of 1420, Queen Isabeau had signed the Treaty of Troyes. The treaty meant that King Charles would remain king of France, but King Henry V of England would be able to keep each French territory he conquered. Although the French people were against this treaty, their views were disregarded.

Queen Isabeau had practically signed away her own country to the enemy.

France was lost by a woman.

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Historical Notes:

Saint Paul's Cathedral today has a massive domed roof similar to the capitol building in Washington D.C. However, the domed roof was added to the cathedral in 1710 AD. Prior to this addition, the structure had a long spire with a cross located at the tip.

Saint Paul's Cathedral in London before the inclusion of the domed roof

London had a total population of 60,000 - 70,000 by the end of the 15th century. Because of the Bubonic Plague, it had wiped out tens of thousands of people from not just London, but all of England altogether. This explains the low population at the time, as the city used to house at least 10,000 more people.

The Battle of Agincourt in 1415 saw the English army at around 8,000 men. Meanwhile, the French had them severely outnumbered with nearly 25,000 men in total, including armed servants. Before the battle, King Henry V gave an inspirational speech to his soldiers and allowed them to confess before the Lord.

The English army's superior long bow helped in achieving their miraculous victory. French cavalry were struck from afar, as they were delivered a disastrous force to be reckoned with. Many of the French soldiers were forced to stand over the corpses of their own fallen men as they were brutally pushed back and inevitably defeated against all odds.

The Battle of Agincourt

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