“Why? What is my purpose?” A question men and women have been asking themselves probably since the birth of the human race. A question I had recently started asking myself. I suppose it was a logical transition. The first step had been to come to accept the facts of what I was and what I am now.

What I was ... a Japanese samurai who sold my soul to a devil in order to get the power for revenge on the people who had massacred my village and my entire family. Who then went on a one-man mission to get that revenge. Once the revenge was complete the mission was complete. But the life wasn’t over, nor the knowledge gone that my soul had been sold. The first step towards retention was hanging my blades up, giving up the life of a samurai and becoming a Shinto priest.

The next 30 years spent in service of people. The service hadn’t been enough, at least not fully. Upon my death bed I had a visitation. The God of War Hachiman showed up in a vision, stating that while yes I had sold my soul, as a god of war he understood the desire and reason. I hadn’t earned my salvation through my deeds, but I had earned a stay of execution so to speak. A second chance. He told me I would be reborn many centuries later into a time of great chaos and war in a far away land. I would be destined to live the life of a warrior and to have the chance to potentially do enough good to save my soul. But that new incarnation wouldn’t know what was at stake nor what benefits existed in the new body, at least not until later in life. Risks to save others wouldn’t carry the same weight if I knew what powers I had. How hard it would actually be for me to fall in battle.

What I am now ... a 45 year old retired SpecOps soldier. One that had lived my entire Army career just knowing I was lucky and good. 23 years in the service saving lives, taking lives, and hoping to make a difference. Yet not knowing that my soul was at stake. Now though at 45 I did know. That my body had abilities that made me nearly unbeatable in regular combat. That made me realize I’d survived countless situations that would have killed me but for the unknown times my combat reflexes saved me.

It was enough to make me wonder: Had I done enough in my past life and now what I’d lived to have saved my soul? Or was I still doomed once this life ended? While Hachiman had paid one visit, I had not seen Him in the centuries since. I hadn’t heard his voice either. Lives saved in battle, lives saved through teaching self defense and martial arts. I’d made a difference, even as humble as I tried to think of myself I had to acknowledge that. But in case it wasn’t enough, I had to stay ready.

So it was that I was leaving my room tonight. Unlike typical nights, this time I wore my plate carrier with magazine pouches, combat boots, pants, M4 carried at the low ready and 1911 pistol holstered at my right hip. All were a familiar and practiced setup, comfortable enough that magazines could be reached without taking eyes off targets. The transition from rifle to pistol mags a mere half inch but it may as well have been a mile for the seperation it gave.