“Nothing here is sacred, nothing is safe.”

The man approached the group of pious monks and gave them this warning. They quickly exchanged glances and smiled to one another. The chief among them stepped toward the man and addressed him “If it is God’s will that we are to be blotted out, then so be it.”

“You apparently don’t understand; they are not coming to just kill you, they are coming to desecrate the land which you work. The least you can do is escape with your lives.”

“We will not flee.”

“Then you will die. I cannot let that happen.”

The monk’s face dropped and he said dejectedly “If we cannot stop you, then please do as you will. You will receive no help from us, as it were.”

“Why will you not help yourself? Surely God doesn’t intent for you to just accept your fate without fighting for your lives?”

“We do not pretend to know His will for us, but we make a practice of not interfering with it.”

“Then maybe it is His will that I am here to defend you from those who would do you harm,” the man offered, coming to a realization that he did not know the will of God either.

“Perhaps.”

Anger seethed within his soul as he turned away from the faces of those pious monks and stood at the door of their convent. The storm was coming, whether they were prepared or not; whether HE was prepared or not. He honed his blade against a small whetstone which he produced from his pack and examined the edge before sheathing it and drawing the next weapon. He still stood in the threshold as the first of the brigands came into view.

“Well,” he said aloud to himself, “here we are at the brink, at last.” The man slid his helmet into place and hefted his shield and spear. “Perhaps it is indeed God’s will that I defend the defenseless.”

With that word, he lunged at the first of the attackers with a shout on his lips and boiling blood in his veins.