There stands the soldier of truth. At his feet lies his foe, ever elusive, deceptive, but now with nowhere to hide. The soldier's sword glimmers in his hand, his feet firmly planted and his banner held high, as he gazes round the battlefield. His heart fills with sorrow as he sees the innocent dead, the wounded and dying, all who have perished in the struggle.
"You've killed them." The liar says, as he yet cowers on the ground. "There, the blood is still wet on your sword -- you, in your rash zeal for this 'truth,' you've destroyed these, and look at the others...at him, he has deserted because of you -- this pain needs to stop. Come, let's stop the hurting, stop breaking relationships. Is it really such an enormity? It should never have come to this; should we not stop now, while there is yet time?"
Can such an one ever rest from guile and subtilty in his contriving to cover his sin of former time with smooth words and a twisted truth? Ah, it is a hard thing -- nigh impossible.
"No." The soldier says softly, as his eyes well with tears. "For me to lay down my sword and banner, and allow you to stand is to betray my King and His trust in me, to betray my brotherhood, and to exalt the very enemy of the crown and throne and sceptre of the Kingdom for which I stand."
His voice a little stronger, "The blood of all these people may drip from the sword of truth, but it is on your hands, and the King will require it of you...in full."
...
Why, why must the victory of truth stand atop the graves of honest men, women, and children? Why must the triumph of truth come at the cost of honest and innocent souls?
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