A Soldier’s Ascension to Fame
Written on January 27th, 2021 by Ethan Zhang
A tall, well-armored soldier stood at the base of the mountain, where blood had been spilled into the dirt just moments before. He runs a rough hand through his dark, silky hair and looks remorsefully at the sea of corpses around him, then he spits out the metallic-tasting blood that coated his mouth. He knows he has to conquer the mountain and the demons that dwell on its plateaus. The soldier selected a few weapons from the base of the bloodstained mountain and placed them in scabbards or on his back. Once he had collected his weapons of choice, he began the long and treacherous ascent to the summit where Teymüræ, the infamous Demon King resided alongside his assistant, the King's Blade, as well as a third lesser-known entity.
Hours before the soldier began his risky climb, he had left a small town many miles from the first cliff and had been attacked by dozens of starved and well-armed demi-demons at the base of the mountain. They all swarmed him and readied themselves for their next raw and delicious meal. The soldier was armed only with a pair of rusty, old daggers, which were unbefitting of his armor that glinted in the sun as the light danced off it. He silently pulls the daggers from their scabbards with one in each hand, and with a nervous look on his face, walks towards the incoming onslaught of demi-demons. However, despite the decrepit blades he was armed with, and the armor he wore, he tore through his well-armed opponents with a speed that should not be possible as well as the grace of a ballerina, resulting in bloodshed that would stain his mind as much as it stained his armor. In disgust of the dark crimson blood staining his armor and dripping from his daggers, the soldier clicks his tongue at his “lack of skill.” Leaving the bloodshed and his daggers behind, the soldier gazes up at the enormous rock walls that extend far beyond the clouds and takes some weapons from his enemies. He then boldly and aggressively strides towards the first tall cliff, his first challenge of many more to come.
The soldier begins to climb the mountain. One step at a time, he scales the rock wall. For many days, he climbs and climbs, and climbs, all the while carrying his load of weapons, food, and armor. Although the climbing ceases as the soldier reaches the first plateau, he slips with no grace whatsoever as he pulls himself onto the barren wasteland. This was the first ease of his many hardships. Suddenly an entity covered by a dark cloak appears from the barren fields of tall grass stalks as tall as they were, prompting the soldier to gracefully and swiftly draw a chain sickle. He then begins to spin the sickle in anticipation of an attack from the unknown entity.
“Ha! Do you intend to defeat me with that decrepit thing? I pity you.” the entity half cackled, half spat confidently, as he looked on with disgust at the soldier’s worn chain sickle. The entity decides to humor the soldier and draws his own weapon, a long, golden sword with a certain peculiar emblem perfectly engraved into the center of its hilt. To this, the soldier hesitates for a few moments and then goes on the offensive, throwing the sickle end of his weapon and reeling it back in by the chain as it clashes with the entity’s long sword again, and again, and again. The fight caused sparks to fly as birds would, and ignite the grass as they landed around the two highly skilled and very lethal duelists. One moment the overconfident and reckless entity relents, and the next, he finds a sickle buried deep within his chest, a chest full of a treasure nobody ever sought after. The soldier throws the weighted end into the entity, sending it tumbling into the flames that enveloped it like a weight in water. As the entity tumbles into the flames, the soldier catches a glimpse of its face, the unmistakable face of a demon. With one of the three demons dead, the soldier begins his next ascent, to the next demon, known as the King's Blade for his numerous kills and relation to Teymüræ.
The scaling of the mountain is treacherous, one false step leads to the end. However, if the soldier survives, he genuinely believes that all the suffering and danger he put himself through will have been worth it, at least he thinks so. At the end of the second days-long climb, he finally encounters the dreaded King’s Blade. The soldier, conscious of what meager weapons he has left, selects a shining and magical, steel spear. Immediately, he thrusts one end of the spear into the rocks beside him, as if to say that he was ready for war, which he was.
“So hasty to combat, I see.” the King's Blade chuckles softly, turning to his challenger. Then the soldier mutters something under his breath about how much of a disaster the quest was. This somehow upsets the King's Blade, who claims that the soldier has some nerve, and loads several arrows into his wrist-mounted bow. In the blink of an eye, he dashes backward and fires a volley of arrows skyward, effectively blacking out the sky. The soldier, in response to this sudden attack, slams his spear into the ground with enough force to throw a large boulder several feet into the sky. As a result of this action, the spear casts a Protection Spell. As the hail of arrows descends and slams into the magical barrier, the Protection Spell begins to crack and shatters in some places, but the spell nevertheless holds up and shields the soldier from what would have been a very brutal, painful, and colorful death. He stood up, only to see what seemed like millions of arrow shafts jutting out of the ground like a porcupine’s quills. He also fails to spot the King's Blade, causing the hairs on his neck to stand up.
“You’re quite skilled” a voice calmly called out from somewhere within the sea of arrows. Like the wind that blew around them, the voice seemed to be nowhere, yet everywhere. Fear swelled up in the soldier’s heart. Fear that he had not prepared for one of these moments. Fear that he was about to meet his demise. And most likely, fear that he would lose to the King's Blade. Moments later, the King's Blade silently emerges from beneath the ground, a few dozen feet behind the soldier, and unleashes a single steel arrow. To the soldier’s good fortune, the arrow missed due to wind and hit him in the shoulder. Enraged and shocked, he spun as fast as lightning and with the grace of a newborn child and accidentally let go of his spear. The soldier once again got lucky as the spear slid through flesh and impaled the King's Blade. Within seconds, he collapsed and managed a few shallow breaths before ceasing to move and slipping beneath the earth, bringing the soldier’s spear with him. With the King's Blade dead, the soldier needed to remove the arrow lodged deep in his shoulder. As he pulls out the arrow, he sharply exhales as if thousands of discordant and pained voices were simultaneously groaning through his teeth. At last, the arrow comes out, leaving the soldier feeling stronger and more confident than ever before.
At last, the final stretch to the clouds begins, the last long climb to defeat Teymüræ, the Demon King. The soldier would not be considered prepared by most, however, he had an ace up his sleeve. The soldier sets foot on the first handhold on the face of the cliff, and then the next, and the next. Some miles above, Teymüræ is waiting, curiously watching the soldier’s every move, noting the way he moves and the decisions he makes, all the while readying his most lethal spells. He wants to test the soldier before he concedes. He knows his demise is all but inevitable. He wants to make sure his successor is worthy of his throne.
After days of climbing, the soldier reaches the summit of the mountain, where Teymüræ awaits him patiently.
“Rest for now, if you are to defeat me, defeat me with your full potential,” Teymüræ says with a hint of resignation in his voice. However, the soldier refused Teymüræ’s offer and drew a pair of copper blades, befitting his noble appearance. Teymüræ sighs, pulling a spellbook from a portal he conjured and rifles through its pages, searching for a certain set of spells.
Teymüræ’s first move was to cast a series of Trap Spells, ensnaring the soldier with the ease of quicksand. To the Demon King’s surprise, the soldier pulls out the ace he had up his sleeve, his own magic. He proceeds to waste several of his Counterspells, but each time he gets closer to the Demon King. Then the Demon King conjures a staff and puts away his spellbook. The soldier takes this opportunity to charge the Demon King but is blocked by his Protection Spell. The Demon King proceeds to fire off a series of fireballs, surrounding the soldier, who looks on in defeat, but suddenly he remembers a spell he was taught long ago. A spell that could save him. The Teleportation Spell was his sole hope of survival now. He carves a series of runes on one of his copper blades and hurls it into the wall of flames. Then, when he trusts that his sword is through the flames, he disappears. The soldier catches the sword as it exits the wall of fireballs that fly forward, igniting the spot where he was moments earlier. He breathes a sigh of relief, but the duel is not won yet. The Demon King fires off a bolt of lightning and it strikes true. The soldier’s world goes dark.
Upon awakening, Teymüræ is sitting patiently on a rock at the other end of the summit. The soldier took one look at his armor, cracked, blackened, and practically in pieces from the lightning bolt, and shook his head. He then proceeded to cast his armor away, something that now represented cowardice to him. Teymüræ stands up and asks why the soldier is so determined.
“I’m determined because I’ve always wanted fame, it’s always been my dream.” the soldier remarks. Teymüræ sighs and comments on how that shouldn’t be motivation but nevertheless replies with how if the soldier wanted it, he wasn’t going to stop him, entirely aware that it meant his own demise. The soldier picks up his copper blades and once again challenges the Demon King.
The Demon King draws his staff from thin air and assaults the soldier with a series of fireballs and lightning, which are dodged successfully, but the soldier only barely makes it out alive. The soldier proceeds to hurl his blade with the engraved runes. The Demon King dodges it masterfully, completely unaware of the runes. Then, the soldier teleports to the blade and lashes out with his other copper blade, which was again dodged, however, this time it was only narrowly avoided. The Demon King, realizing the potential of his opponent, puts away his staff and conjures a spear, the same spear the soldier had lost fighting the King's Blade. The Demon King charges the soldier who blocks and counters with his blades, with one cutting deep into Teymüræ. The copper is highly toxic for Teymüræ, who slowly gasps for air as he collapses and writhes on the lifeless stone beneath the two duelists.
“I hope you enjoy the fame from defeating me, you deserve it.” Teymüræ chokes with a genuine smile plastered on his face. He knew what fame truly was, for it didn’t matter if one was famous or infamous; fame was still the same.
“I’m sure I will.” the soldier solemnly says. He raises the blade above his head and puts Teymüræ out of his misery by stabbing it into Teymüræ’s heart, a heart that continues to live even after it ceases to beat. A heart of sullied gold that almost nobody realized even existed. Teymüræ begins to dissipate like light filtering through an opening in the clouds. In the end, all that remained of Teymüræ was his torn spellbook, broken staff, and snapped spear, all scattered like the Demon King himself. There is no view from the summit of the mountain, only a sea of clouds, without a future.
Upon Teymüræ’s death, the weakened soldier begins to climb back down the mountain, which is just as hard, if not harder than climbing up for him. He cautiously retraces the exact way he ascended, slowly but surely making his way back down to the town near the base of the mountain. The thought of fame and the treatment of his dreams motivated him to keep climbing despite the immense pain he feels all throughout his barely clothed and exposed body.
The moment the exhausted soldier enters the town, cheers erupt, bouquets of flowers are thrown, and he is showered with kindness. This was supposed to be the best day of his life because he was finally famous, but the realization of what it took to get that fame would haunt him for the rest of his days. In addition to this burden, he now realizes how little fame meant to him. How little it was worth to him. How little he truly wanted it. And most importantly, how much it dehumanized him. The fame reduced the soldier to nothing more than a mere title. The mere title of “the man who defeated the Demon King,” nothing more, and certainly nothing less. This realization left the soldier dumbstruck, and he soon leaves the town to build his own house in isolation.
Several years after the defeat of Teymüræ, the soldier is sitting in a room in his humble, wooden, cabin recluse on the very summit where he defeated Teymüræ. Despite his fame, he still chose to live in seclusion, far away from civilization (the nearest being the town), yet close enough to get the necessary supplies. One day, the weight of the paths he had chosen shattered him like the walls of a fortress that had caved in. The soldier begins to sob uncontrollably and asks the sea of clouds why he did what he did all those years ago when he fought Teymüræ and his followers.
“Why did I kill them all? Why am I still alive?” the soldier shouts over and over again, to nobody in particular.
Upon a single realization, a single spark that could ignite a wildfire, he becomes aware of one final task to complete. One final task was to end the nightmare of a life he lived in.
Long ago, the soldier wished to join Teymüræ at the very summit he sat on. He decided he once again wanted to join Teymüræ, however, this time, higher than the summit, much, much higher. All that was left to do was to complete his task, so the soldier once again took up his blade. Only this time, it was no longer pointed outwards towards a demon, but inwards at an enemy in its own right. In the past, the blade slid easily through the flesh of any kind, now it was commanded to do so once more. The soldier collapses and his world darkens, but he fails to wake from his slumber this time. For the second time in his life, he joins Teymüræ. This was the second time he would get to see his “old friend.”
