“The warrior who is impelled by love is a far greater warrior than one who is driven by anger.”
A long time ago, a warrior lay injured on the battlefield, watching his last breaths slip away while he wept in deep pain. Blood poured steadily from his wounded arm, arrows were buried deep in his chest, and his body felt more exhausted than ever before. A slow, shallow darkness began to spread over his eyes as the wild chaos of battle faded into a heavy, monotonous silence. In that blur, the random image of a girl began to appear in his mind, and he remembered the last time he met her.
Two months earlier, after fighting a war for the Snuka dynasty, Ivanka had realized that he had killed people for nothing. To him, he was no hero, only a murderer who took lives to earn the king’s grace. Regret gnashed at him for his choices and for becoming a warrior at all. The guilt felt like a pitch-black night closing in on him from every side, and at last he decided to return to his village.
The village rested on the slope of Vazu Hill, wrapped in greenery, wavering slopes, zigzag lanes, and a peaceful way of life. When Ivanka reached home, he saw his house crumbling from years of neglect. The ceiling had collapsed, fragments of broken window glass lay scattered on the ground, and the whole place looked as if it was breathing its final days.
Ivanka was the only one left from his family now. A year earlier, after his mother’s death, he had never turned back to look at this house. Yet fear and guilt finally dragged him home. He opened the door and stepped onto a thick layer of dust that had settled in his absence. Spider webs hung in every corner, and everything was strewn about like fallen leaves in autumn. As Ivanka remembered his childhood, he slowly sank into old memories.
Then, unexpectedly, a sharp scream rang out from outside. He turned and saw a beautiful girl, dressed in a blue full gown with a bun at the back of her head, standing in the doorway with fury on her face and a stick clutched in her left hand.
Ivanka’s eyes widened as if a long‑lost shooting star had just crossed his sky again. Her blazing eyes fixed on his face without blinking. He somehow managed to say, “Hi, Suzume.”
Her silent lips trembled with rage as if shouting, “How dare you?” He stepped toward her with a faint smile. Suzume tightened her grip on the stick and raised it between them as a warning not to come any closer. He gently held the other end and asked, “How are you?”
She yanked the stick back with force and walked away from the house. Ivanka understood she was deeply hurt and that he needed to make things right. He followed her, but without turning around she declared, “Don’t act over‑smart, warrior. The princess is no longer interested in your vulgar innocence.”
He stopped and said softly, “Do you know I’m no longer a warrior?” In her anger she realized she had missed something important. She turned and saw a pair of eyes filled with agony. The stick slipped from her hand as he stepped closer. Ivanka took her right hand in his, trying to calm her and offer comfort. “I am back,” he said. “To relive my life.”
She simply blinked, as if ready to trade an entire kingdom for a single drop of healing. Tightening her grip around his palm with a new sense of hope, she led him back into the broken house.
The rest of the day vanished into sweeping, clearing, throwing out old “residents” from corners, and coughing through clouds of dust that rose with every movement. Little by little, the dead house began to feel alive again.
That evening, they sat side by side on the edge of the hill slope, watching the reddish sun sink into a painted sky. Suzume finally asked, “What happened?”
Ivanka stared at the sky as his heart prepared to unlock a buried secret. “There was a tragic day,” he began. “We defeated our mighty enemy, and on the way back to the palace I saw a girl crying in front of her house. She wept in deep grief, uncaring of anyone’s judgment. Her eyes were swollen, her hair uncombed, and tears had dried in thick coatings on her cheeks. In between sobs, she whispered a name over and over. Her faint green dress no longer cared about the dirt from the floor. When I asked a man nearby, he told me her lover had been part of the enemy brigade and had died on the battlefield. She was shattered.”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know why, but I felt like I was her culprit. I had cut down every enemy in my path.”
Suzume squeezed his hand to steady him. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” she said. “You are a warrior. A warrior lives for his king and for the people of the kingdom. Whatever you did, you did as your duty.”
He replied quietly, “I saw you in her place.”
She tightened her grip on his hand. “I will never cry for your sacrifice,” she said. “I will be the one who feels honoured that I loved a true warrior.”
He smiled and asked, “How did you know I came back?”
“I have spies all over the Shuka dynasty,” she answered, winking playfully.
“Hey, Suzume, I am no longer a warrior. Even then, you still love me?” he asked.
She said, “I like it when you stay here with me, but I would love it even more if you make the right choices and save other lives. True love is never chained by selfishness.”
“Should I return?” he asked.
“Only if the decision comes from deep within,” she replied. They both smiled and gazed at the mesmerizing sky as a gentle breeze wrapped them in a quiet, romantic calm. Birds drifted back toward their nests.
One morning, Ivanka realized he was living the same day over and over, and every tomorrow would look exactly like today. The mornings were beautiful, but the warrior in him missed the thrill of dangerous sunrises. Boredom gnawed at him by day, and the nights felt hollow between the stars. He understood that he no longer belonged to an ordinary life. At last, he decided to return to the battlefield.
While he was packing his things, Suzume walked into the room. She saw the bundle and froze near the doorway like a statue. Without turning, he said, “Suzume, I’ve decided to go back to my real place. My vacation is over now...” He kept talking, but she remained silent, staring at him as if the world around her had turned to fog.
After a moment, he stood in front of her and pulled her into a tight embrace. Her tears burst free, flowing down her face as she wrapped her arms around him. He felt her trembling sobs but didn’t say a word. For them, time stopped, as if the earth had forgotten to rotate.
In a hoarse voice she said, “Whatever happens, you will come back to me. Promise me.” He kissed her forehead and answered, “I promise.”
“I will wait for you,” she whispered. He murmured “yes” and closed his eyes.
Ivanka opened his eyes again and found himself in the soldiers’ medical tent. His arms were wrapped in thick bandages soaked with herbs, and a heavy cotton cloth was tied around his chest. A sharp smell of medicines filled the air.
A man entered and said, “Hello, warrior.” Ivanka turned his head. It was his senior officer. Ivanka gave him a tired smile and, with great effort, spoke only two words: “Promise kept...”