The Knight who killed The Dragon

Everyone heard the tale about the Knight who killed the Dragon. But did anyone actually see him? Well, the people of Chinnon certainly did! A small town, governed by a tampered relative of the monarch, was prized not only for its outstanding wine and women… Every three days or so the folk would all gather around the gates as there was a sight to be seen! A glorious Dragonslayer—a member of a knight order where people are raised to fight the flying creatures—he would exit the gates in his noble-looking armor to hunt on those spawns of Satan!

People would cheer for him, ask him to bless their newborns. Kids would fight for his attention, stumbling on his way! Every time he would return with a prize of a dragon corpse, which would then be sold for fortunes or gifted to rulers from other kingdoms! He was, in truth, the town’s champion.

The dragonslayer, however, would look differently on this crowd of brute peasants. Peering through his helmet, always closed as if to hide him, he gazed at those breeding, eating, and cursing peasants. They all pretended to be virtuous per the Bible. They constructed ideals and attended churches to elevate them above all other creatures… but in reality, they were brute livestock, incapable of even wanting to grasp this life...

Clad in his armor ornamented with insignias of beauty you would have never seen before, saluting that flock was but a formality for him. He could feel no love for people so hypocritical and rotten in their nature. And the nobility? The nobility, posing as the greater intellectuals, were no different from those croppers. Many people from the court deemed themselves his friends, and he would try to consider them such. But no matter how much he gave in to this pretense, they were too shallow in their mind.

They claimed to be free of indecencies attributed to the peasants. But at times, again and again, on banquets the Dragonslayer would see those higher-ranking individuals indulge in no less shabby affairs. Though more convoluted, the nobility suffered the same primitive desires as the peasants. Even his wife, a woman described with unrivaled local elegance and hailing from a prestigious household, could never satisfy his spirit.

He truly felt alone.

Some distance now from the city, in the forests that all mothers forbid their children from ever visiting, the dragonslayer was riding on his massive cart, storing enormous equipment of meticulous mechanisms, all designed to deal with dragons. Attached to it sideways was also a carcass of a deer—a standard decoy in dragon-hunting.

Suddenly, recognizing the area, the Dragonslayer stopped. He looked around and, having made sure not a soul was nearby to witness him, unloaded the deer and started heading towards a closely-situated hill. Upon reaching it, he removed an improvised hatch made out of wood and leaves, revealing a nicely-tunneled cave. Dragging the deer carcass through this extensive cave that could fit a whole house within its width, a large echoing snore could be heard from the other end of this passage.

The snore was coming from a dragon, tightly chained to the wall in a stiff fashion that hindered movement, allowing the Dragonslayer a safe space that the dragon would not reach with his jaws. The dragon was also mortally thinned. His ribcage was peeking out more than it should. And the dragon’s seraphinite scales weren’t playing with the light reflecting in their texture for how stained they had gotten to be, lacking proper hygiene. But wounded, the most striking about the dragon's appearance was the incisions made on the creature’s neck—where his fire glands were, where it hurt the dragon’s pride the most… The Dragonslayer had made those, so the dragon would not spew his flames.

“I brought food.” announced the man, waking the dragon. The dragon opened his dreaded eyes, head still resting on the floor. The dragonslayer left the deer carcass within the reach of the dragon’s chains and sat himself nearby as if expecting something in return.

“Will you not kill me today?” the dragon heaved.

“Not yet.”

“You do realize the spoils you get from my body are only as good as my body is maintained properly?”

“Dragons are prideful creatures. You have a belief you should die in your prime form.”

“And you’re making me rot here! Those crumbs you are feeding me here are not enough for the dragon! My head always hurts from hunger! What vile creature do you have to be to make me go through a suffering so great?”

“Tell me more about those eastern Christians you saw in Anatolia a century ago,” the slayer asked, ignoring the complaining mood of the dragon. For the last week that he had been holding the dragon captive, the slayer would actually come here and coerce the dragon into conversations.

“I will answer not one more question coming from your empty head.”

“I will increase your rations.”

“Oh, how kind! But I’d rather starve myself to death than satisfy your curiosity. If you so benevolently refuse to slay me, I’ll have to do it myself.”

“Why do you not want to converse with me?” the slayer wailed.

“What is there to converse with you about? You are a shallow-minded insect that knows not how to think or appreciate this world, a mindless drone with no talent for higher forms—like those laborers from your settlement…”

“I am nothing like them!” he retorted, deserting the former contemplative tone.

“Really? And what makes you think that, slayer?”

“Those peasants that you see attending the farms and their no-better lords are all people with no virtue of knowledge! They do not exercise their best qualities and instead lead a life hardly different from their cattle! I, on the other hand, learn books and commit myself for spiritual betterment! Even those who stand in power and oversee our county are just bloated mediocrities, extensions of this dull reality. In fact, this entire practice of genociding your dragon kind—and believe me when I say I know you are not demons, for I am literate—this practice is a product of their ill fantasy, of that illiterate and gluttonous bunch!”

“And how does that make you different? You attend to those people’s whims!—slaying us, dragons, living into this fantasy that claims we are somehow evil. And for what? So that you can pelt our skins, sell our horns and nails, DISSECT our bodies for your potions!… If anything, you are those people’s SERVANT! You can not argue to be different if you are part of this! They are a mindless flock, and you are their obedient property.”

“You dragons are prideful creatures. But don’t be so condescending as you are also ignorant! You think I would not have rebelled against this vile order if I had means for that? You think this is a willing choice—that I commit to this practice, you dragon? You don’t know my circumstances! What judge can you be then?!”

“Fine, slayer!… Tell me about it. Tell me why you have no choice and why I and the entire cosmos should pity your dwelling,” the dragon puffed out of himself tiredly, with the same tone hoping for a looming end.

“When I was a boy,” the dragonslayer started, “I grew up among the lowest. I would be one of those countless peasants, bound to my lord’s will, cuffed to that role of breaking my back to raise the crop and never clean from attending the herd,” he became audibly bitter, “everyone from my people seemed to be fine with this lot of life. But I didn't mean to tolerate this poverty! So I ran off and wandered the lands to find me a better place in this filth. I was incessantly changing places, only to find that every other role out there was hardly better than the life on that farm!…

But then I came across the order, the dragonslayers. People there refused to take me in as I was a low-born… I agreed, nonetheless, to work stable, cleaning after the other dragonslayers’ horses and eating their leftovers, which at times would not be plated. This life dragged on for years, FOR YEARS until one of them, my future mentor, took notice of me. And it was only with his persistence that I got accepted to their class. But even then I would be picked on by other peers—all from prominent families! And the teachers, too, would do their best to make my stay there miserable! And see: in spite of those challenges, I thrived! And I became a wealthy man not just in pockets but in name too!”

“Oh, how inspiring to know you are well-fed and dressed! But why do you choose this to continue?!… now that you have those goods, why do you not stop hunting us?!”

“Because I have no choice! When I was assigned to this county, I was a low-level slayer, fresh from the academy and with no name! But I worked my way up, and now I am among the most respected people in the region! I have prestige! I’ve been married to a woman from nobility, which gives me my new class! I contribute to their life with spoils made of your body!… Should I stop slaying dragons, how will I excuse myself before them? This is their entire religion!-”

“Enough!… I’ve heard enough of your self-excusing thoughts, slayer… I now begin to understand the true motive for why you keep me here, away from the sunlight, constrained in this tiny ant-room and underfed…” the dragon enjoyed his unhealthy chuckle at what conclusion he was about to share despite his head aching from hunger, “you make me suffer through this torture because you want to hear me acknowledge that. Isn’t it so? You want me to excuse you out of this guilt, for what horrors you have bound your life to. Tell me, slayer-r-r-r-r… Do you lament your life at night? Do you lament for all those dragons whose wings you tore from spines, whose eyes you bulged out, whose kids you sold for meat, whom you denied the noble end?”

“I do. I do! Those dragons come to me at night, in my dreams. I see them all plucked of skin, crying for me to stop those people who desecrate their bodies by making furniture! They burn in agony in countless ovens made by men. And as people feast, the dragons peek out of those ovens to ask me why…”

“THEN LIVE WITH IT!” the dragon exclaimed with flames burning out of his nostrils, “You are the perpetrator of that crime! You think you get to walk off that burden? You are among those people who choose for us to be annihilated!… to be so mercilessly hunted though we did nothing! You choose to be the slave of those inbred animals! You were born a pitiful slave. Dressed in slightly better garments, you are still a slave, and you will die one!… You will hear no admission from me, slayer!” at those words of the dragon, the man frowned with disbelief. How could the dragon not understand the perennial grief of his life? Moreso, how could he not appreciate the man’s compassion for dragons, which wouldn’t be something the dragon would ever hear from anyone else, let alone a Dragonslayer.

Anger channeling in his arm, the slayer drew his sword at the dragon, pinning the latter's neck harshly with a knee.

“Even more proof to my words-s-s-s…” hissed the dragon.

“You dragons are prideful creatures: you would much rather die a more dignified death whilst in your prime than descend to your more realistic image…” he gazed over the dragon’s revealing ribs and soiled skin, “a sack of bones, like us.”

“Slay me then. Commit to your purpose.”

The slayer, albeit in the position to end the life of the creature, did not feel he wanted to. He badly felt a need to punish the dragon for the latter’s inhumane animosity. He wanted to hurt the dragon for how depreciative he was with the slayer, defiant to acknowledge this truth of the slayer’s life. But an unbearable pain would bestow on him if the dragon ceased to breathe.

“There is a light in this tunnel!” rang a childish voice somewhere from the entrance.

Immediately, the slayer’s mind was engulfed in panic. To be seen conversing with a dragon, a creaturebelieved to be a spawn of the devil, was worse than any rumor that could be besmirched upon one’s reputation.

“One squeak and I will castrate you alive!” he buzzed at the lying lizard. The slayer swiftly put his sword near the stool that he sat on and rushed to the entrance. While hurrying there, he was hoping the dragon would remain silent and not reveal with its loud voice the conversations that had been taking place in this lair. Upon reaching the surface, he spooked a child that had made the call. The child was surrounded by a group of fellow huntsmen and was covered in rich royal garments. There was no mistaking, not after his father walked up to the slayer.

“Dragonslayer! What a joy! We found your cart outside and were wondering why you left it there. Are you well? You sweat!”

“Yes, Your Grace. I was in the middle of my work, you see…” the dragonslayer tried to utter. Of all the people he could expect, this was by far the worst. It was Duke Brienne standing before him. A cousin to the king, he couldn’t be easily dismissed. “Are you on a hunt? Why here? I thought it was not that safe with all the dragons out here.”

“No!… Why should anyone be afraid when you are nearby? You’ve made sure their kind won't appear a mile from our walls!” answered the Duke cheerfully.

“It is my honor, Your Grace.”

“Are you pelting a dragon there?” suddenly asked the Duke’s little son, the same that had led this royal entourage to the slayer’s shelter. “Can we watch it?” he continued before the slayer, befuddled, could think to respond.

Clueless about how he could maneuver himself out of this matter, the slayer gestured an invite to the cave. Following behind the entering royals, he squeezed all intellectual muscle he could. There was an option to grab the lying sword and immediately plunge it into the dragon’s neck to prevent him from speaking. But this idea… he hurled it desperately to the back of his mind. To KILL this thinking beast would be his last resort…

And so he walked the monarch’s kin to the heart of this cave, suppressing the paling of his skin and trembling marrow of his bones. A more panging ache overwhelmed him when they arrived though. For when they did, instead of a somewhat-moving creature of infinite wisdom there was now lying a warm body… a sword violently plunged into the creature’s heart. Oh, Lord! In a state of panic, he must’ve left the sword not far enough, and the dragon managed to reach it! There was suddenly no trace of the former dignity that the dragon was animated with. Just some body… ready to pelt… with its tongue sticking out.

The Duke’s son impatiently rushed to the corpse, splashing his feet against the puddle of fresh blood, and poked it with his both palms as if to-

“HALT DOING THAT!” the slayer screamed at the top of his voice, triggered by the disrespect of this little daring brat. Immediately, everyone looked at him weirdly. And if not for his reputation, the Duke would have surely scolded the slayer right there but offered a neutral face of disturbance, prompting an explanation.

The slayer, fluent with royalties, produced an excuse, “the dragon’s skin, Your Grace… it secretes poison… upon death…” which was a lie, but it worked as people present eased up in their tensed expressions.

“Can I have gloves then?” persistently asked the little kid, to which the slayer answered positively and obediently gave him his. The kid, upon putting the gloves on, promptly rushed back to the dragon and, with his one foot triumphantly on the poor thing’s corpse, clenched into the sword, which was firmly fixed in the dragon’s chest.

“I am the first in Line of House of Cammondo to have become both the Duke and The Dragonslayer!” he announced, which sent about everyone in this lair into a mad feat of laughter, beginning from his father.

The slayer complied and forced himself to join the mood. He laughed together with the vain Duke and his entourage of huntsmen, no less ignorant than the Duke. He laughed madly. The slayer was squeezing out every ounce of joy he could find in himself to laugh as hard as he was. In fact, he indulged in such a heavy laughter that tears began to show on his face…

For there he was, laughing at this spoiled little brat pompously humiliating a body of a creature… of a creature that could recite the Bible in Latin; of a creature that saw things over the horizon far from this damned land; of a creature that dedicated its entire self to the ideals of beauty; of a creature that he wanted to hear more of… now permanently severed.

Tomorrow the slayer will start the day anew. He will continue slaying dragons, just so that he can sell their bodies in parts to different merchants or gift them to his “friends”. He will continue hearing aristocratic compliments for how he cures this land of their monstrous plague. Now, however, he was celebrating the death of one such dragon with those laughing men. But how was he to blame for it? After all, he was a prisoner in this perpetual tale—a tale about The Knight who killed The Dragon.