Fwoosh!Booom!
Fire rains down upon the lone knight. The heat from the flames scorches the earth beneath. The knight steps back, bracing themself, a lone brass shield shaped like a triangle held in their outstretched hand. Yet that is not what saves them from the onslaught threatening to turn them into ash. No—it's the small, wavering green glow surrounding their body. A magical shield spawned from an old trinket the knight once thought worthless, good for nothing but wear. A reminder of a childhood lost. And yet, this reminder saved them. Protected them. They could not fall here. For there is a promise to complete—a promise to slay the creature who spawned this hellish fire, a promise to return to the Ixmtaraza victorious.
The Dragon. A fairly powerful and large white dragon stands as their foe. One of the weaker of its species, but that means nothing in the long run. For a Dragon is still a dragon—destroyer of countries, harbinger of death, flames as hot as those sent by Hellions. Flames so hot that, despite the magic shield, the knight prays to the Gods that the onslaught will end soon. For if the heat does not kill them, the sweltering metal armor will.
And as if the Gods are ready to answer, the flames flicker before dispersing. Deep crimson eyes, shaded by the helm, rest on the large beast perched upon the mountain face, staring down menacingly. The creature's restless cobalt eyes sit narrowly within its rounded, horned skull, giving it a threatening appearance. Its barred, pike‑like teeth sneer down at the knight—frightening enough on their own. The white dragon is dotted with crimson, flesh wound after flesh wound upon it. Yet it still looks far better off than the knight, for its face is unharmed. Several enormous crystal growths sit atop its head, protecting its skull from the worst damage.
Small fan‑like skin and bone structures run down the sides of each jawline. Its nose is flat with two small angular nostrils, and a crystal growth juts from its chin. A few large teeth poke out from the sides of its mouth, hinting at the terror within. Jaws that, moments ago, latched onto the warrior's broken sword and mangled it. Their sword—made of Ethrite, one of the sturdiest and finest metals for weapon forging—is now gone. A weapon the knight is surely lacking.
Against this foe, with its strong neck running into a snake‑like body covered in armor‑plated scales, the knight holds only a dagger. A dagger just barely strong enough to pierce that thick armor. A dagger meant to harm it more than the dozens of arrows sticking out of its wings like slender feathers, keeping it grounded. A dagger meant to harm it more than the javelins piercing its underbelly. A dagger meant to evade the large thorny talons seemingly made of the toughest stone and sharpest steel.
The knight can only look down sorrowfully, knowing they are about to give their life to defeat the dragon. Solely for glory. Solely for the sake of returning home a Dragon Slayer. A Dragon Slayer—one of legends. Their name enough to shake fear into enemies. Their title used as a deterrent from war. That is what they are really here for: to become a deterrent for war.
Like several others in their class, the knight before this dragon is one of the strongest knights of the Ixmtaraza Empire. Five others like them were sent to battle dragons. They were sent to the weakest one. They were a battle master—a master of violence and fighting. Known as the knight who didn't care what weapon they used and mastered none, relying on raw talent and what little magic they could scrounge up.
This knight is weak and strong at the same time. Weak in comparison to the others, yet strong in battle. And yet they struggle here with the weakest of dragons. For the others were sent to fight grander opponents. But because this dragon is weak, they know they cannot falter. They have to win. For return equals death. For running equals death. For giving up equals death. The only path to live is the path to fight.
And fight they do.
The grip upon the dagger tightens, then loosens. Their body goes slack. Pain floods all four limbs and their torso. Large claw‑shaped gashes mar their chest plate. Torn metal hangs from their greaves. They are haggard—worse for wear. And now they are going to kill that dragon.
A footstep forward. The dragon leaps down.
The warrior dodge‑rolls left as a claw scrapes past their helm, barely avoiding a killing blow—yet losing the helm all the same, revealing curly black hair. Crimson eyes scorch bronze in a glare. Teeth gritted, they run forward.
Fwoosh!
A ball of fire shoots from the dragon's mouth. Not a stream—dodgeable. The knight ducks. A large explosion erupts behind them, but they cannot worry about the mountain now shaking beneath their feet. They must continue forward. To kill it. Every bit of power is needed. All strength pours into their body. The knight gathers magic, channeling, and they shout—not the title of the spell, but a cry of war to spur them on.
Constitution of the Beast.
Magic fills them, making them briefly stronger. Lightning dances along their body as the last bit of magic goes into a quick elemental augment of their blade.
The dragon snarls. But they're closer now. The dragon's movements are stunted by its broken wings. Its injured legs lessen its ability to jump away. The knight brandishes the shield, hiding behind it as a tail swings toward them, batting them aside.
Thwack!
The knight slams against the wall. They wince but do not stop. They toss away the now‑useless dented shield, for it did its job holding up against such a strong attack. The dragon snarls, smoke rising from its nostrils. The breath attack. Get closer. Now! the knight barks to themself.
They dart forward again, the spell working overtime to push them closer. And just like that, fire streams from the dragon's mouth. At the sight of the flames rising toward them, the knight knows they are dead.
But the shield is back—flickering in front of them. Saving them. They keep their momentum and dodge out of the flame. The smoke and fire must have momentarily distracted the dragon, for it does not see the knight. A perfect opportunity.
They get close enough. And there it is—the opening. The opening they sacrificed so many weapons for. The heart. The chest. They shoot forward, slamming the dagger into the beast's chest cavity. It rears back, flames flickering wildly. But the knight does not twist. They duck, releasing the blade in time to avoid the dragon's slow‑moving claws.
They grab the dagger again as lightning stutters the dragon's body, allowing them to rip it free and stab again. It rears back onto its hind legs. The knight grips the dagger tightly, not letting go even as they rise to the creature's towering height.
Death is coming to this dragon.
They punch downward on the handle, beginning a slicing motion. That is enough for the screams and howls of the dragon to die out as the last flames in its chest waver into nothing. But the knight doesn't stop. They keep the dagger moving, electricity constantly stunning the dragon's body as they disembowel it.
And then—nothing.
The dagger fades away to dust, no longer strong enough to withstand the force of the magic poured into it. The dragon stutters to a halt, collapsing. The knight falls onto their buttocks, breaths of laughter escaping their lungs.
"I'm alive. I'm alive," they murmur, staring at the divine beast they've killed. Their arms tremble as their eyes fix on the fading light within the dragon. Dragon Slayer. Dragon Slayer. They did it. They can return home with their honor intact, with their life ready to be lived fully. They almost curl into a ball, but they have something to do. Maybe… maybe when they aren't tired. Maybe later.
And so the Dragon Slayer faints.
A white light escapes the corpse of the dragon. It rises, shaped like an eye. It falls into the chest of the Dragon Slayer.
For the title is more than a title. For the achievement is more power—power to surmount the unsurmountable.