I cinched the leather gauntlets, and tightened the breastplate until it fit nicely. I cautiously looked around the room. Hundreds of others were doing the same, sweat beading on their foreheads in anticipation. 

I could see scabbards with longswords, a few deadly spearheads propped against the wall, and even one or two bows; tall curved power, wrapped with leather castings. I grinned and slipped my short sword out of its sheath and my dagger out of the other. Covered in a bronze shine, they were dangerously sharp, no doubt weapons. My weapons.

We headed to the battlefield, five or so miles from the original camps. Soldiers complained over their heavy armor, but I said nothing. I could see the slick blood on the ground as we got close, smell the stench of death in the air. Comforting. It was a treaty meeting, but both sides knew it wouldn't last. 

An approaching army rode high on horses, geared for the same battle we were. No ambassadors then.  I shrugged. Battle was battle. 

Chaos erupted as they got close enough to shoot. Arrows took warriors down on both sides, arrows worth more than two men's swords. I charged ahead, not caring that I was already at the front of the line. Slashing, I cut people down around me left and right. The individual fights were quick, seconds before I overcame them. 

Once, I got stopped by an experienced swordsman, probably a captain. We fought blow for blow until I undercut with my dagger and hit between his ribs, a soft spot in the armor. It was a quick, bloody death, but it gave enough time for the lines to catch up behind me. I could hear the advancing men whistling at my work, admiring the circle of death around me. 

Their whistles, however, quickly turned to terror as I spun around and slit a person's throat, finding the weak chink in the finicky plates of metal with ease. I turned and kept cutting down lines, but this time it was "ours". Both sides stopped temporarily, confused.

I was the lead soldier on the advancing side. I had a red plume, cut down blue warriors. And now, I was killing my own team. I tugged off my helmet, tearing off my symbolism. It didn't take long for both sides to make a fatal mistake: they came at me. 

I kept fighting, collecting minor nicks and bruises, nothing bad. My adrenaline started pumping, and I fought the urge to tap into it. I didn't want the crash. 

More people around me died, more of them were blue. Blue was winning. I kept going, never stopping , barely moving anywhere as I let them advance. 

Eventually red crumbled and collapsed from the inside out. Blue stepped back, watching me warily. The pile around me had just as many red as blue. 

Some yelled at me, calling me "turncoat" and "traitor". I just grinned and turned around, heading back into the forest. It didn't matter the cause. 

War was war. I would be back.