He laughed out loud as he hewed off his opponents head. It rolled over the sandy ground and ended in a puddle of blood. Savagely, Juan turned around, and he leered at the motionless bodies on the battlefield.
The enemies had fled. They had dropped their green banners and ran away to their fortress. Juan picked up a javelin and threw it after their retreating ranks.
" Cowards!", he shouted.
Then he kicked against one of the corpses and he searched for the skull of his last victim. The man had been wearing nice earrings. Juan grabbed its curly hair and cut the jewelry from his lobes. He wiped off the blood and bit on one of them. Gold, pure gold! The thief had been wearing golden earrings.
He scanned the plain for more loot, and harvested necklaces and bangles, a few daggers and a silver plated helmet. Then he spotted Rayo, his beloved horse. He knelt down and touched its remains, made the sign of the cross and said a prayer. They could say what they wanted about animals having no soul. His Rayo was in heaven, a martyr fallen for a good cause.

He rose and walked towards the camp, a horseless rider. Perhaps the booty was enough to buy a new one, but no horse could ever replace Rayo. He shook his head. War demanded victims...

As he reached the tents, he noticed that the men had gathered in front of the priest's shelter. He pushed his way through the crowd, until he reached the centre of the circle. There, three men were sitting on their knees, bound and staring at the angry mob. The priest sprinkled water on their heads and muttered his prayer. Juan snorted.
" What's this?", he shouted.
" Prisoners", said one of his lieutenants, " Don Pedro wants to convert them to the just faith."
Juan frowned.
" They're heretics. They can't be converted. Burn them!"
A rumour broke out behind him and soon he heard some men repeat his words.
" Burn them! At the stake! Death, death, death!"

But Don Pedro gestured them to be quiet.
" These men cannot help it that they were born as infidels. We must guide them back to the right path", he said and he bowed forward to one of the men.
" Say the prayer."
The man just stared at him.
" A heathen dog!", shouted Juan," what did you expect? He only knows a corrupted version of the true word."
" Please...", Don Pedro insisted, but the man stared at Juan defiantly and muttered words in a strange language.

Juan took off his gauntlet and struck him across the mouth, and again, until his teeth were broken and blood gushed over his lips.
" I don't want to hear that language in my camp", he said, and he gestured at the soldiers behind him.
" Prepare the stake. He has had enough chances. Send him back to his master in hell."

Don Pedro folded his hands and looked up at the sky.

Juan went to his tent and knelt down before the statue of his patron saint. He bowed his head and prayed. Today he had done as the Lord demanded. He had slain many followers of that corrupted cult, and tomorrow they would take their city. He promissed that he would tear it down, stone by stone or burn it, until it would be naught but ashes and dust. Within a hundred years, the memory of their settlement would be wiped out.

Someone entered his tent, and as he looked up, he saw it was Don Pedro. Juan finished his prayer and then rose again.
" Reverend, what can I do for you?"
" Spare the lives of those men."
" Why?"
" Because they have not chosen to be heathens. Their souls can still be saved."
Juan smirked.
" Heretics have no soul..."