Riding this horse, wearing the flaming armor that bore glory, I can say that I have accomplished my dream. But I cannot stand killing people, and my conscience always asks me, bothers me, and torments me.

How many lives have you taken??

How many people had suffered on your hands??

How many dreams have you broken, Sir Dupont, Besieger of Fort St. Neval??

Fort St. Neval, that’s where it started. I was out fresh from a military academy, and was given charge of a squad of cavalry. We all wore cuirasses, giving us the distinction of cuirassiers. I led my men to Fort St. Neval as reinforcements to the faltering siege. There I had my first encounter with the putrid smell of blood.

During my days at the academy, I thought the training they gave me hardened me. I was wrong. Seeing all the dead bodies scattered around, some limbs disembodied… it made me sick. I did not know how horrible war is.

The siege of the fort went on, and I saw a pikeman with several arrows on his chest. He was looking at me, with pain and agony on his face. My conscience made me end his suffering ironically with my sword. Then I saw another one; he was paralyzed, staring at me, and dropping his weapon. I stared at him until they were given orders to retreat. He didn’t move; another pikeman pulled him and fled. It was my first battle, my first victory, yet it took away my peace of mind.

The only assurance that I had was that the Sire told me I have a big chance to be given the distinction of a heavy hussar. When it was mentioned I could recall my grandfather telling me stories about his time as a heavy hussar. Everyone was looking at him with awe, as his horse would jump through the flames, with wings blazing, and gave hope anew to his comrades. I was breathless at that time.

My conscience again spoke loud when I saw the pikeman again, now carrying a musket, aiming at me with another when a falconet aimed at the two and fired. It was overkill!! Only one got hit, his leg blasted off. I never dared to look at the other man, and fled the area.

I could not sleep. I could not eat. I could not even think. The memory of the encounters with him, with them, it haunted me. They were too young to fight; too young to die.

Now that I wear this armor, I had mixed feelings about this. It was euphoria, and at the same time remorse and guilt. What happiness I had today is partially schadenfreude. This joy I feel is the effect of harm done to others. I could not accept that within me.

Leading my men to besiege the new fort, I can see the defensive line. Grenadiers in their mitre caps fusing grenades. My horse went faster. The grenadiers threw grenades at me, but none were able to injure me. My horse jumped out of the flames, like how my grandfather always talked about, and in mid-air all seemed to slow down. There I see that man again, aiming a musket straight at my chest. I have to defend myself, but killing him would haunt me. I have to make a decision, and a wrong one would cost me my life. I drew my sword and prepared to thrust. I was ready to be haunted again, for I could not let go of my dream. He fired and hit through my armor, I could feel my blood coming out of the hole. My vision is starting to blur, and I fell off my horse. Mixed feelings rushed to me, and the anger I felt gave me strength to stab him. My sword went easily through him. This is the end for both of us.

So this is how it feels to have your dream broken. My life was not enough to pay for the lives I have taken. I laughed until everything faded.