A Demon and a Dragon

by Virlyce

  Sera snorted. “I’m going to find Leila. There’s nothing that can’t be fixed by sending in a dragonsworth of holy cleansing magic into someone.”

  “Leila’s busy taking care of her egg,” Vernon said.

  “Then I’ll find Kondra.”

  Vernon raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Your mother won’t be very happy about that. Neither will Nova.”

  Sera narrowed her eyes at her mate. “Then do you expect me to do nothing while my poor baby’s in distress?”

  “Is he in distress?” Vernon asked and nudged Vur, flipping him onto his back. A line of drool leaked out of the corner of his mouth, and a loud snore rang through the room. “He seems pretty satisfied with whatever dream he’s having.” His eyes lit up. “Ah. Dreams. Didn’t Grimmy’s little elf do a thing with dreams? We can ask her to check on Vur.”

  “Good news!” Mr. Skelly said. “Speaking of the mistress, I got in contact with her earlier, and she’s on her way over right now.”

  ***

  “Things really aren’t looking good right now,” Sheryl said. She was lying on the ground with her two coal-like eyes staring up at the ceiling. Her sticklike arms and legs were splayed out, and her rocky body seemed more like a composition of pebbles than a solid boulder. “I…, I don’t think we can win.”

  Stella’s gaze turned as cold as ice, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits. “You can’t give up so easily. Vur’s soul depends on us. His soul is our home! You’re going to let invaders waltz into your home and take everything you own?”

  “I really want to do something, I really do,” Sheryl said and bit down on her lower lip, “but I’ve already been shot four times! Look at me; I’m a pile of pebbles now. It’ll take weeks for me to recover.”

  Stella sighed and turned her head away from Sheryl towards the chunks of green rocks on the ground. “I understand Sheryl getting shot by arrows because she’s a giant sun in the sky, but what happened to you?”

  Zilphy tried to sit up, but more rocks fell off of her body, so she lay back down. “I overexerted myself,” she said. “There’s only so many punches and kicks I can do, you know? In the end, I’m just a gust elemental.”

  “How are Mistle and Deedee doing?” Stella asked. She flew towards the window and squinted at the plains outside. The faint sounds of shouting drifted in, but nothing could be seen except for a few dust clouds on the horizon.

  Mervin flew beside Stella, touching his shoulder against hers, and was slapped away without being able to say a word. But oddly, there was a smile on his face afterward. “Deedee’s still going strong, and Mistle’s really helping out. Those two make such a great team. Why aren’t they the ones who’re married?”

  “Hey! You take that back, you dumb beansprout,” Zilphy said. More clumps of rocks fell from her boulderlike body, but she tackled Mervin anyway and collapsed on top of him, preventing him from moving. “Deedee’s mine!”

  “Fairy,” a voice said, causing the group to stop squabbling. Stella turned around, and Breeze emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room. He sighed and sat down. “Since most of myself was already absorbed by that thing you call Chompy, I couldn’t do much. I possessed half of the army and had them fight each other. About half of them died, and the other half is on their way here. I’m too tired to do anything else.” And with that, he dissolved into a puddle of goop that crawled back into the corner.

  ***

  Ralph exhaled and raised his head up to look at the sky. He wiped at the imaginary sweat on his forehead and inhaled through his nose. Ever since he became a blood soldier, his sense of fatigue had disappeared. He didn’t get hungry or thirsty either. He could march to his death without complaint, so why was it? Just why did he feel like he couldn’t go on much longer? He was buried waist-deep in a swamp that had appeared out of nowhere. The army had just managed to stop killing each other and was marching along the plains when, without warning, the first line of soldiers sank into the ground. Now, everyone was marching waist-deep in a mixture of water and earth that was more solid than liquid, and they were sinking with every passing second. It was hard to call it marching. At what point did marching become swimming? As a villager, he never learned how to swim before dying and becoming a blood soldier.

  “Keep pressing forward, men!” Lord Briffault shouted. “Every person they slow, every area they transform, those elementals are using up tremendous amounts of mana. We all already know that we’re not the finest soldiers. There’s nothing special about many of us, and we all lived lives as noteworthy as grass, but when you can’t scrounge up the quality, you can overwhelm the enemy with quantity!”

  Ralph wasn’t sure if Lord Briffault’s speech was supposed to be motivating or not. The contents of the speech were depressing but sound. And the way he had shouted it was filled with an air that could only belong to nobility. However, words could only do so much for an army that had unlimited stamina. It’s not like they had any morale to lose or gain in the first place. They had a mission to do whether they liked it or not, and once it was done, they’d go back to being dead. He liked being dead. He didn’t have to do anything: didn’t have to march through swamps, didn’t have to murder innocent souls, didn’t have to wear underwear. Life was better than death when he still had a normal body, but now that he was like this, death was infinitely preferable. Were the soldiers who had been swallowed by the ground earlier already dead? Maybe he should let himself sink into the swamp. But what if they didn’t die? Were they stuck underground, unable to move, being pressed in from all sides, forever surrounded by darkness and their own thoughts?

  Ralph shuddered. Right, it’d be better to march on. As one of the soldiers near the front, he was one of the first to see the castle walls. They were ridiculously high, even higher than the lord’s of the previous territory he lived in while he was still alive. To scale something like that, one needed a siege machine. Or a really, really long ladder. The castle was still far away, but it towered in his sight like a mountain. Wait. Why was there a castle in someone’s soul in the first place? Did that even make any sense? He turned around while lifting his legs repeatedly to keep himself from sinking into the mire. “Lord Briffault, there’s a castle up ahead.”

  “A castle?” Lord Briffault’s face looked as dumbfounded as Ralph felt. This was the strangest soul that he had invaded yet. Normally, souls were an empty plane with a wide white floor and easy target in the center. He’d rush down the person with his fellow soldiers and taint the world red, and his mission would be over. But this soul was like another world, a world that wanted to kill him, that is. The sun, air, and ground wanted them dead, and now there was even a castle they had to conquer? Could they do it? Was there really no such thing as a soul magician? If a soul magician existed, then this would definitely be the kind of soul they’d have.

  “I want to go home,” Ralph murmured, and the few soldiers that heard him nodded in agreement. He raised his head and stared at the castle walls. They were covered in vines—or were those roots? They had thorns, so they were probably stems. A glint caught his eye, and he squinted at one of the windows of the castle’s guard tower. Was that where the genie lived? Did genies have wives? Ralph swallowed down his unease and willed his feet to march forward.

  It didn’t take long for the army to reach the castle walls despite the solid ground turning into a liquid slush underneath them. Any attacks were repelled by the mages’ barriers, so they managed to preserve their strength as well. Ralph stared up at the castle walls. Now that the castle lay right before him, he realized just how large it actually was. Even if he craned his neck back, he couldn’t see the top. If dragons had castles, then the castle would have to be at least this big to house them. Could the castle be housing a dragon? Ralph bit his lower lip and kicked his legs a few times, flinging muck off of them. He looked behind himself, awaiting orders from above. Lord Briffault was in discussion with the rest of the commanders, but it didn’t seem like they’d come up with a plan anytime
soon.

  “We should scale the walls,” the infantry commander said, glaring at Lord Briffault.

  Lord Briffault shook his head. “And what if the wall were to fall over and crush our men? That wall is so large that it seems like half our army could fit on it. Can we afford to lose half our army?”

  “If your only argument against my plan is that something impossible might happen, then that’s no argument at all,” the infantry commander said. “The castle walls will fall over? Nonsense! Castle walls are meant to be impenetrable. Why would it possibly fall over?”

  “The ground isn’t meant to move either,” Lord Briffault said. He pointed up at the sky. “And suns aren’t meant to attack people. If someone purposely made the wall collapse, then—”

  “Then it works out,” another man, the cavalry commander, said. The army didn’t have a cavalry, but it felt wrong to strip a man of his previous authority based on minor details like that. “If the castle walls don’t fall, our men will have entered. If the castle walls do fall, then we have another way in that doesn’t involve climbing the walls.”

  “Wait, hold on a second,” the infantry commander said. “The gate is opening.”

  “Huh?” Lord Briffault and the cavalry commander turned around. The metal of the castle was rising, and a lone man dressed in golden armor strode outside. He had a metal helmet, but a prominent mustache seemed to pass through the material as if it didn’t exist.

  “I am Sir Edward,” the golden man said. “To proceed beyond this point, you’ll have to defeat me in a one-on-one duel!”

  Ralph scratched his head. Was this the owner of the soul, or was it another man occupying another man’s soul? How would something like that happen in the first place? Ralph froze as a chill ran down his spine. Wasn’t he also another man inside of this man’s soul? What if … he became stuck here like this golden soldier? He couldn’t let that happen. “I’ll duel you!” Ralph shouted and stepped forward. His hands tightened on his short spear and shield.

  “A challenger appears,” Sir Edward said and drew his sword. “Excellent, lad. State your name and station. I am Sir Edward Baron, head of the Baron household, Marquis of the Baron territory.”

  Ralph pursed his lips. “I am Ralph.”

  Sir Edward paused. A moment later, he pointed his sword at Ralph. “And your surname? And your title of nobility?”

  “…I am Ralph,” Ralph said again.

  Sir Edward sighed and lowered his sword. “I can’t duel someone who isn’t nobility,” he said. “It wouldn’t be fair. As someone who’s trained since young, only others like me can compete.” He raised his head and looked around at the army. “Are there any others among you who’ve—what are you doing, young man!? Did you just stab me!?”

  Ralph pulled back his short spear and stabbed Sir Edward again. It bounced off the marquis’ armor, but Ralph wasn’t deterred. Like a woodpecker, his spear repeatedly knocked against Sir Edward until, finally, a hole appeared in the noble’s chest plate. Ralph deflected Sir Edward’s attempt at counterattacking with his shield and stabbed into the noble’s chest, burying his spear halfway into the man’s body. Sir Edward groaned, and Ralph placed the bottom of his foot against the noble’s stomach. He twisted and pulled with his hand while pushing with his foot. His spear flew out with a squelch as Sir Edward fell to the ground on his back.

  “Good work, soldier!” Lord Briffault said. “I knew I wasn’t wrong to praise you earlier.”

  Ralph looked around. “Do you think we’ll go insane again and start killing each other? Or does that only apply to genies?”

  Lord Briffault checked his hands. Once he made sure they were still red, he exhaled. “Everyone, check yourselves for signs of corruption! If you’re corrupted, don’t touch anyone, and don’t let them touch you!”

  A few minutes passed as the soldiers did a thorough check. Thankfully, it seemed like they’d only start killing each other after attacking a genie. Lord Briffault nodded as the men equipped their armor once again. He walked over to Sir Edward’s fallen body and crouched beside it. “For a noble, he was really weak.” Lord Briffault used his index and middle fingers to close the noble’s eyes before looking up at Ralph. “What did you say your profession was before dying?”

  “A farmer,” Ralph said. “But I think I picked up the warrior profession after becoming a blood soldier.”

  Lord Briffault nodded and patted Ralph’s shoulder. “Good work, once again. Now that he’s been defeated in an honorable, one-on-one duel, we can proceed.”

  “Can we really?” Ralph asked and pointed at the gate. Several minutes had passed since he’d defeated Sir Edward, but the gate hadn’t moved. And there were no signs of any other entrances opening up.

  “Ah-hah!” Sir Edward’s eyes shot open. “That’s because I’m not dead yet!” He sat up, and his heart fell out of his chest. His eyes widened as he, and everyone else, stared at it. A moment passed before Sir Edward coughed. “Huh. It’s still intact. I thought it broke in half when my wife left me.” He leaned forward, picked up his heart, and stuffed it back inside his chest. He spat on his palm and rubbed his saliva on his gaping wound that was dripping golden liquid. “There. All better.”

  Ralph and Lord Briffault exchanged glances as Sir Edward stood up and drew his sword. “Which one of you is next?”

  Ralph stepped forward. “I, I guess it’ll be me again.”

  A shudder racked Sir Edward’s body, and he took a step back. “N-no, no,” he said. “Like I said earlier, I can’t go around fighting peasants. It wouldn’t be fair.” He swallowed and avoided Ralph’s gaze. “Aren’t there any nobles brave enough to—did you just stab me again, young man!?”

  Ralph lowered his head and stared at his hand. It was holding his spear, and the tip of the spear was embedded in Sir Edward’s stomach. Ralph raised his head and looked Sir Edward in the eyes. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  23

  “Why does Vur always end up at an empire’s or a kingdom’s capital every time he goes on an adventure?” Grimmy asked. His wings were fully spread, and he was gliding through the air with his legs dangling underneath him. Smoke drifted out of his nostrils as he sighed and swayed back and forth, causing the cursed elf on his head to smack his scales.

  “You’re making me nauseous,” Lindyss said. “Stop swaying. And you know why he always ends up at places in power. It’s because you taught him to be as prideful and stubborn as yourself.”

  “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing,” Grimmy said and raised an eyebrow. He flapped his wings twice to ascend and flew through a cloud. Curses came out of Lindyss’ mouth, and Grimmy chuckled while descending. “We’re almost there.”

  A palace came into view. Its fence was made of steel, and its gardens lay mostly bare. A few flowers were sprinkled here and there, but the majority of it was overrun with weeds. The palace walls were in chunks, and it was hard to differentiate the pieces that belonged to the ceiling and the pieces that belonged to the walls. It was almost as if a crazy lady with a sword had tried to kill someone who could teleport throughout the whole building.

  “You think this is Vur’s fault?” Lindyss asked and sighed. “I swear, everywhere that boy goes, he brings about destruction. Then it’s up to me to fix it. Then, while I’m busy, he runs off to cause trouble elsewhere.”

  “You mean busy drinking on a beach while your undead servants do all the work for you?” Grimmy asked. “Because that’s where I found you before I dragged you here.”

  “I was busy relaxing,” Lindyss said and glared at the dragon underneath her. “I have a very strict schedule of work and relaxation, and you just happened to find me on my relaxation portion.”

  Grimmy snorted. “Alright, whatever you say,” he said. “But I do wonder what kind of mess Vur got himself into this time. Why would he need our help?”

  ***

  Ralph stared at the golden knight underneath his foot. There were multiple holes in the knight’s body, an
d his head was partially severed, but the expression on his mustached face was one of outrage instead of pain or fear. Ralph sighed. “Do you admit defeat?”

  “I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it once again,” Sir Edward said and spat on Ralph’s toes. “Only a noble can defeat me. I refuse to fight a peasant; my honor prevents me from doing so.”

  “Soldier, why don’t you let me fight him?” Lord Briffault said and walked up to Ralph. “He’s undying and stubborn; we might as well accommodate him. Forcing him to admit defeat like this might cause a disaster similar to attacking the genie.”

  Ralph shrugged. “I just didn’t like his mustache,” he said and took his foot off of Sir Edward’s chest.

  “Ah, envy, the worst of the cardinal sins,” Sir Edward said and clicked his tongue. He nodded at Ralph. “It can consume even the best of us, lad. One day, when you become as great as me, you’ll be able to grow out a mustache just like this one.”

  Ralph stabbed Sir Edward’s shin with his spear, piercing through the noble’s leg and into the ground. He cleared his throat when Lord Briffault patted his back and helped pull out his spear. “Sir Edward Baron,” Lord Briffault said. “I am John Briffault the Third and a Half. I challenge you to a duel.”

  “At last! A noble title,” Sir Edward said, his golden eyes glowing with a bright light. A small roar escaped from his lips as he rose up, his injuries mending at a pace visible to the naked eye. His gaping wounds stitched themselves back together, and the golden blood he spilled on the ground was sucked back inside of him. “Let us duel!” He drew his sword and pointed it at Lord Briffault. Then he sheathed it and cleared his throat before turning around. “Hold on a second.” Sir Edward turned back around, a piece of paper in his hands. “First, we take bets; after all, what is a duel without bets?”