England

3,932 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. Though he had already lost it hundreds of years ago, his mentality only worsened after each century. The death of Violet was the final straw.

After ravaging across Europe, his travels led him back to England, and London was the city he sought. But rather than continuing to take out his permanent frustration on whoever stood in his way, he had another idea instead. He stood in the center of a busy road, his staff supporting him as a cane. A smile crept across his face.

A few blocks down was the Cathedral Church of St Paul the Apostle. Its extended spire protruding from the roof's center reached towards the stars, high enough to overlook not just the vast city, but even beyond the ruins of the old Roman walls. It's perfect. 

He walked down the path with his eyes set forward. His raggedy cloak draped by the autumn wind that brushed against him. A few children played with a rubber ball, kicking it back and forth until one kid accidentally sent it towards Milton. He returned it by punting it as hard as he could. The ball soared past the child and struck the nearest wall, bouncing across the road and slamming against the side of a horse. 

Milton ignored the complaints as he continued to approach the cathedral. All his life, he's tried to blend in within every community he's ever visited. Either he isolated himself, or he lived a quiet life before war struck; he was never one to attract too much attention. But after you've lived for thousands of years, you tend to grow tired of the same routine. 

A charming lady in red leaned against a wall alongside a muscular man. No doubt it was her lover, but Milton focused on what was in her hand. She had a cup of milk rather than the usual ale. As he got closer, he eyed the man beside her who had an arm around her shoulders. Right ahead of them was a single market stand containing fruits.

Milton stepped past the man and snuck an arm to hold the woman's cup. He twisted his body around to push himself closer against her, his lips met with hers for a mere second. Securing a quick kiss and a free beverage, he made his escape without any haste. There was a gasp behind him and an insult thrown his way. Heavy footsteps approached him, and he chugged the milk in one motion before tossing it aside. 

Just before he could get assaulted, he swiped an orange off the nearby stand and dropped it to the ground. He positioned it right in front of the strong gentleman that was no doubt trying to smack his head off his shoulders. The orange did its job and caused him to slip, providing Milton enough comfort to continue his leisurely pace towards the cathedral. 

He chuckled to himself, enjoying the chaos. Someone behind yelled 'thief' but he simply ignored it. When more footsteps beside him rapidly increased, he regretted pulling this stunt in front of so many bystanders. Of course someone here had to be the hero. But Milton underestimated the lengths some people would go to. The moment he turned his head, he was given no time to react as a larger man tackled into him and pummeled his head against a window. 

Milton's vision faded again until he awoke in the back of a carriage. The blow he suffered must have killed him. Fortunately, the driver operating the carriage paid no attention to him, and he tumbled off of it unscathed. St Paul's Cathedral was still in the distant horizon, and judging by the sun's current placement, only a few hours must have pissed since his death.

For his second attempt, he returned to the same road as before. A few soldiers stood by a broken window and splattered blood. His staff, Rio, was present at the scene, laying on the ground beside his blood stains. 

One guard warned Milton not to approach too close. Many of the civilians nearby had already left the scene, but he recognized a few that lingered. It was useless to discuss anything with anyone, and his eyes continued to focus on his fallen staff. He pouted in the guard's face, then he threw a fist against his exposed nose. 

Milton sprinted for his staff and snatched it just as several screams behind him warned him to halt. He made no such effort to follow their instructions and ran for the cathedral. But it was never that easy. A sudden jolt launched him forward with enough momentum to knock him down, a searing pain in his back that he unfortunately recognized hindered his plans. He forgot that some guards carried longbows now. 

He tossed his staff to the side, aiming for a pile of trash and wooden scraps by a nearby alley. Then, he reached for a hidden knife tucked away in one of his pockets. One of the guards was right behind him. 

"You bastards!" Milton endured the pain and stood on his feet to slash his weapon. He was just short of the soldier. Milton's eyes widened just in time to watch as a sword was jabbed upwards against his chin and through his skull. 

He cursed the moment he awoke outside a cemetery. The sun was still up, though it was nearly about to set. A scream startled him, and a priest witnessed his resurrection. Milton's wrath erupted as he ran towards him. A tackle commenced, followed by another punch. He grew tired of this, and he left the poor unconscious priest alone. 

This time, he stole an unattended horse. He wanted to reach his destination before nightfall. Riding as fast as he could, he reached the street that saw two brutal deaths. Hopefully, there wouldn't be a third one. 

His first task was resecuring his staff. It was still in the same spot he previously tossed it to. But just as he grabbed it, a guard's voice called out to him from behind. "This road is now restricted, it's not safe." 

Milton slowly turned around, one hand tugging his cloak's hood to conceal his face. It was the same guard that drove a sword through his head. His best solution was to follow orders and walk away. He can infiltrate the cathedral without causing another scene. But it wasn't satisfying enough. Where was the fun in that? 

He pulled back his hood and revealed his unscarred face. Before the guard could react, he raised a hand and wiggled his middle finger. Then, he ran in full retreat. A chase always boosted his adrenaline, this was fun. 

"Hey!" Milton couldn't help but chuckle at the shouting as he continued to run. The guard's cries were amusing. "I swear I killed you! Impossible!" 

St Paul's Cathedral was right across the street, and two enforcers stood by the front gate. Milton charged towards them, his staff readied over his shoulder. The guard behind him yelled louder, and the two men ahead caught notice of it. 

Milton swung his staff at the closest one, securing the first attack. He jabbed the sharpened end of it at the second guard, poking his thigh. As he fought them both, he kept his eyes focused on the one that chased him here. He was yelling at the other two custodians. "Don't just slash him, sever his head!" 

It seemed one of them got the message as Milton missed one of his attacks. It left him vulnerable and wide open as one of the guards let out a roar and swung a sword against his neck. It was seamless and instant, and when he opened his eyes again, he was back in the previous cemetery. This time, no priest was there to force his hand.

In the pitch black of night, he returned to the scene of the crime. Much to his surprise and pleasure, three guards stood by the cathedral's entrance. Instead of attacking them again, he listened from afar and out of sight. 

"The pay must be well worth it though, ain't it?" One of them said. 

"It's twenty shillings a day, can't go wrong with that." The guard that initially chased Milton responded. 

"Oh Osmund, you poor saddle-goose. We make five gold nobles each, and all we do is stand here till sunrise." 

The one that beheaded him laughed along. "We should receive extra for handling that foolish fopdoodle. It baffles me how some idiot like him gets himself killed so easily. What a waste of life. Least he left behind a beautiful stick."

It only just occurred to Milton that this man was wielding his staff. This will not go unpunished.

"Careful, he may return." Osmund wisely remarked. "Stabbed that bastard through the skull with my sword and saw him get dragged away. Shortly thereafter, he reappears and mocks me. I swear it, I know I killed him."

"Mate, we're in London. I've seen a dozen suicidal sots like him in a day. I guarantee another lookalike will appear within the hour, and that'll be another bonus for us." 

Milton didn't appreciate being disregarded in such a low manner. 

"It's best I catch some sleep before my travels." Osmund took a few steps to the side. "I'm off to Francia, and if we win this war, I'm promised triple the amount of coin you make in a month." 

"Hope you know they're lying to ya. But best of luck, those Franks have already been weakened from what I've heard. I'll buy my girl a villa in Rouen once we capture it."

Milton hid behind a corner as Osmund walked past him and into the night. Despite the pain that man had caused him, Milton left him alone. He already found a new target. But first, judging by the moon's position, sunrise was approaching. 

He wasted no time in obtaining another horse illegally. Just as the crack of dawn was upon them, he returned to the cathedral. His horse neighed loudly, readying for the direct charge ahead. It galloped at full speed towards the front gate. Milton released a war cry and locked eyes with the one guard that held his staff. Right before impact, Milton leaped off his mount and collapsed over his target just as his horse rammed into the other enforcer. 

A brief wrestle ensued, which unceremoniously ended with another punch to the guard's face. Milton stood back up, his staff finally clenched in his hands once more. He took this moment to stretch his limbs, enduring the aching from the sudden collision. Before he could leave, he patted the guard down and stole his scabbard, plus a handy little key. The scabbard wasn't made for his back, so he'd have to settle with keeping his staff dangled by his waist. 

Upon turning around, he laughed childishly at the scene ahead. His horse had tripped and fallen over after that ram, laying over the other guard's legs and pinning him down. He walked over and rubbed the horse's head. "Good girl." 

Finally, he entered the church and proceeded to the second story. Many of the doors were locked, but the guard's key helped him advance further into the cathedral. A wooden staircase creaked under his weight, its steps leading to the upper floors. It's as high as he was going to get. But it still wasn't enough. He tried to find a way to potentially open one of the windows, but it was to no avail. 

He wasted enough time, so he gave up. A convenient chair rested beside him, and he didn't need to think it over. The window shattered upon impact as the chair tumbled down the church's walls. Being careful to avoid any sharp edges, he stepped onto the window's frame and looked up. There was only one way to the top, and it meant having to manually climb and scale the walls with his hands. 

It ached his hands to have to do this, but his persistence drove him higher as he pulled himself upwards with each ledge. While the spire itself seemed smooth and impossible to climb, it offered several small seams for him to hold on to. However, 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 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. 

Once he settled and leaned outwards with a hand against the spire's holy cross, he inhaled and admired the incredible view. He couldn't find the right words to explain the stunning serenity it provided. He just stared at his surroundings and took it all in.

One must wonder why he would go to such lengths to climb this cathedral. But the true answer couldn't be anymore simpler. He viewed this world as his easel. He did what brought him satisfaction and joy to alleviate the endless boredom. Even if it means breaking the rules of nature and the laws of man, he loved the freedom of living a non-consequential life outside of warfare.

It was just so amusing.

The sky brightened to welcome the dramatic entrance of the sun, its luminosity bathing the entire world in a warm embrace of light. Because of it, he could see the ancient Roman walls that once surrounded this great city standing on their last legs. Humanity awoke at the sight of dawn to pursue another day, and birds sung to soften the morning atmosphere. This was what Milton wanted all along. He loved every second of it.

The screech of a nearby hawk signaled the end of his fulfillment. He adored its flight and wanted to replicate it, even for just one second. First, his eyes scanned below to see if there was a safe way down. A haybale by the church's yard looked to be his best bet. Surely, a fall from this height will be softened by the hay. 

He spread his arms out and smiled, deeply gathering one last breath before leaping into the air like an eagle. He plummeted downwards, aimed right for the haybale. 

Unfortunately, he never learned if it would soften his fall. He struck the side of the cathedral, killing him on impact and severing a few of his limbs to scatter aimlessly in random directions while only the remnants of his upper torso landed in the hay. He could tell that's what happened based off of the blood that was left behind when he eventually regenerated. 

Now that he got what he wanted, he was left in another void. What's next? 

Well, what caught his attention the most upon walking the streets of London was listening to the news of Francia. It was most curious, considering he's heard about it for several years. He couldn't even believe the war between England and France was still ongoing. Violet was still alive when he first heard about it, and they continue to fight for power. This war, as he'd find out, would be called the Hundred Years War.

Seventy-seven years of a never ending war, it had to come to an end. Perhaps it was waiting for him to make him a move and join a side. War does tend to follow him, and just sometimes, he can follow it back.

He enlisted into the English military, knowing that both nations at war were exhausting enough troops. Nobody knew his face, and he blended in well with the rest of them underneath their white armor. 

In 1415, a year after enlisting, 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, every province they entered was soon forced 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 had 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. Nobody could withstand the full destructive force of the English military.

Milton on the other hand never cared about each victory they secured. He held no connection with any of his allies and only helped them end the war faster. Murder was nothing but a sport that he excelled at. 

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 were 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 foreigner'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 in a devastating bloodbath.

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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