So it would be in the XXth that absolute war would take place. The Master of Time was already there. He had placed his temporal traps. History would not easily turn its pages. The barbarians were there too. They maneuvered their plan in the utmost secrecy. They hadn’t yet become the assassins of memory, but they were actively preparing for it. For them all imaginary measures would not suffice. They already needed the most unimaginable. And it was against these that the Master of Time and his disciples had to struggle for. This is why the knight without armor was to meet the blind troubadour. He was the only one able to lead him into the secret part of the country of the massacres. He lived alone in the dead street. His eyes had seen the first misfortunes of his own people, and he had punctured them to bear life in death. With time, his groans had become a song and his family called him the troubadour without knowing that it was his old job when he met for the first time the knight without armor. He was one of the first to write ballads on courtly love. Only these times had passed, long ago. His meeting with the master of time had been decisive and he had agreed to wait for him in the century of crimes. For he could no longer bear to love man like the humanists. It was necessary to love humanity, if not what would have been the meaning of man? Yet, how does one bear the unbearable? How does one describe the unspeakable? The whole country was sinking into oblivion and no one knew it. People of good faith considered massacres as reforms. In their beliefs everything was reformed. But how does one reform humans? There was only one way. They had to be exterminated. This approach gradually became a reason of state. The latter evoked the security as a pretext. He ordered order to ensure peace. The iron letters dared to not write the nightmare of a wandering spirit yet, and were satisfied with the silence of the cries. When the knight without armor met again the blind troubadour he couldn’t help crying out. His friend had had his head planted on a stake. His body had been literally crushed by a secret militia. With eyes closed, he waited for his friend as he had promised. He had revealed nothing about him despite the inhuman tortures he had suffered. Tired by his incomprehensible resistance, the militia had cut off his head openly and publicly. The Master of the Time tore off the stake and detached his friend’s head. He kissed his forehead as within time. He climbed the hill which was above the town quarter. He dug the ground with his bare hands until he could place his friend’s head. Barbarity had wanted to set an example. Only this example would be that of resistance. His friend had his body in his land and he would contemplate his mountains until they were liberated. Thus began the storm of fire.