To tell you the truth, I never really understood why honor needed codes. Every single detail of it had always been crystal clear to me. By its very nature, a guide to acting honorably can't be written in words. Each situation requires sharp, unbiased judgment.
People who read about honor in a book are wrong.
People who have a list of special rules are wrong.
Not being able to describe it is the essence of understanding it. Unless you don't understand it, that is.
But to me, it's always been crystal clear. So why exactly am I in this situation? Blood is everywhere in droplets, staining the pure white walls. they looked like rose petals. Blood was pooled on the floor everywhere, some of the pools were accompanied by bodies, and everyone had a sword.
It was like a scene that you might find in the darkest kinds of poetry. The kind you find children singing about in the street.

Drake the dragon ate all the soldiers
Burned their bones and let them smolder
When their ashes stopped a-glowing
It was their neighbors blood a-flowing

Or something of that sort.
It's strange, at a moment like this I felt an unreasonably strong urge to stay statue still, as if disturbing the scene would be disturbing a piece of great art that could never be seen again. Painted mostly with blood, but also with a bit of every-day reality, It was me, crouched dynamically, depicted at the very end of the final swing, My blood covered sword weighed so much it was making my arm shake.
With a sigh I let it down, erasing the moment forever, moving forward. The scene also depicted a pool of blood I myself was standing in, though I'd hardly noticed it before. I was too hopelessly soaked in blood to possibly be able to tell if any of it was mine, but I didn't feel any pain. I didn't feel much of anything.
The doors open, and bright light burst into the room. The light that had seemed adequate before was exposed for the shadow that it really was. Speaking of shadows, there were six of them. Not shadows. there is a thing that a shadow is called when it is cast directly in-front of something that has light on all other sides of it. The stark contrast makes the shadow completely black, though you would think it wouldn't be, surrounded by all that light.
A silhouette.
Six of them were standing in the doorway, their void-black figures becoming more human as my eyes adjusted to the bright. They were just standing there, looking at me like I was the only man standing in a room full of corpses, Which is exactly what I was.
But they were also looking at me like the worst of murderers. Like the murderer king. But I wasn't that. I had had to kill them all.
I would be, though. The Murderer king, that is. If things kept going the way they were going right now.

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