The man knelt before the shrine, and, with hands trembling from exhaustion, dropped his sword. The nearby pilgrims nervously drew away from him, perhaps fearing for their safety, or perhaps just scared of God’s wrath, to have a weapon in this holy place, especially one stained with so much blood.

As he knelt, he thought of all those who had died, just to save this one wretched city. His friends, his brothers, men with whom he had been raised with, trained with. And all of them now dead, he the sole survivor, just to save a bunch of imbeciles who had turned to the worship of chaos.
He remembered the day that his regiment had received orders to move out to this place, or the “Holy Land” as it was called. They had been camping near Budapest, and with the news, they had moved out with the determination so typical of their breed. A single-minded desire to do the king’s work consumed them as before, yet that was exactly what was missing from his mind now.
From the day a man is inducted into knighthood, he is endowed with a certainty in his cause and a conviction that no other being can match. This is considered among the greatest of gifts that God can endow amongst his favored servants. With it, a knight never gives up, no matter the odds, even if he is alone against ten thousand. “....And they shall know no fear.” the words came unbidden to his mind, words that he used to repeat as if a mantra. Now he could no longer deny, he had felt fear, and he was corrupted.
As he knelt before the shrine, a nagging thought began to pervade his mind. What if he was no longer fit for action? What if he was now no longer capable of carrying out the king’s will? And, most disturbing of all: did he want to? What had the king done for him anyway? He followed orders from sycophantic bureaucrats who knew nothing of what true sacrifice was, men who had gained position not on merit but through connections.
And where had all of this led him? To this forsaken backwater of a country, with the corpses of those closest to him still littering the ground. He did not want to serve any longer, to live as some un-thinking wretch who keeps taking pain and disappointment without any hope of something better. No more, no longer, his destiny would not be one of eternal servitude to some rotting country and a home he had never been to.
A thought pervaded his mind once more, a thought of taking what should rightfully be his, what he deserved, of taking control of his own life, and forging a great destiny for himself. With a steely look to his eye, he slowly stood. To leave this sanctuary would be to face all of those leaderless, huddled masses, yearning for someone to guide them and help them. They needed a master, and he was just such a man.
He strode to the town square, amassing a crowd of followers, and, reaching the dais in the center, he stood to face them all. Now, he would find his own absolvement.