Rise of the Demon Dragon

Chapter 2: Foes Turned Friends!

Zyren and the soldier finally reached the edge of a river, not far from the battlefield, and collapsed there, too exhausted to continue.

“Maybe we’re a bit safer here,” Zyren said, attempting to break the silence.

“Thank you so much, my friend. I owe you my life. But you’re a soldier of Aetherion. Why did you help me?” the man asked, curiosity tinged with confusion.

“I don’t know why I helped you, my friend. But the truth is, we share the same fate. We’ve both been abandoned, left for dead, despite everything we’ve endured. Besides, we aren’t truly enemies. We fought because our lords were at odds. We were forced to fight for them,” Zyren replied.

“You’re right. What’s your name?” the man asked.

“My name is Zyren. And yours?” He returned the question.

“Eryx. What’s your rank in Aetherion?” The man asked. 

This was a common question among soldiers, often driven by curiosity but also a subtle way of comparing one’s achievements against another’s. Even in the face of death, everyone likes to measure themselves.

“I’m just an ordinary soldier, Eryx. What about you? What’s your rank in Sumerion?” Zyren asked in turn.

“I’m a Field Marshal, leading 20 soldiers,” The man replied, feeling a small sense of superiority over Zyren, though he wasn’t sure why it mattered.

“You should be proud of that, Eryx. Becoming a Field Marshal isn’t easy, especially in Sumerion,” he said, sighing as a wave of pain tightened his chest. “Sumerion won the battle today. You must survive and return there. You’ll be promoted to Grand Marshal after this.”

“I think so too. But let’s focus on surviving first. With these wounds, we won’t last two days. Let’s hope someone finds us by tomorrow,” Eryx said, his vision beginning to blur. Yet he still clung to life, unwilling to die by the riverbank. “What will you do if you survive? Will you return to Aetherion?”

“I’ll never go back there. I feel betrayed, not by this defeat, but by the war itself. After this, I’ll never be a soldier again or devote my life to someone who hasn’t done anything for me,” Zyren replied, bitterness creeping into his voice.

Since childhood, Zyren had hated being ordered around, especially being controlled. He became a soldier only because it was his way out of prison. 

His original plan was to escape on the way to the battlefield, but during the journey, he heard the stories of his fellow soldiers—their struggles, their lives. Those stories changed his mind. He decided to fight, not for the king of Aetherion, but for his comrades who shared his fate.

“Don’t think like that, Zyren. We live on the land of our lords, the descendants of the gods,” Eryx said.

He didn’t agree with Eryx’s words, but he was too tired to argue over something that seemed trivial in the face of his current pain. His leg was swollen to twice its normal size.

As night fell, they could do nothing but lean against the large rocks by the riverbank. They were too exhausted and in too much pain to even get up and fetch water. Since they arrived, they hadn’t consumed anything but air.

***

The early morning clatter of horse hooves jolted Eryx from his sleep. Beside him, Zyren remained motionless, eyes still closed, undisturbed by the commotion. 

Relief washed over him when he recognized the riders as Sumerion soldiers, combing the battlefield and its outskirts.

After Aetherion’s defeat, their forces had scattered in disarray. The Sumerion soldiers were tasked with pursuing the remnants, their general having fled on horseback. Consequently, the aftermath of the battle was left unattended by either side.

That morning, Eryx felt a spark of hope flicker within him. The Sumerion soldiers spotted Zyren lying nearby, his chest faintly rising and falling. One soldier stepped forward, sword in hand, ready to finish him off.

“Wait, don’t!” Eryx’s voice was sharp, commanding. “He saved me yesterday. I’m Field Marshal Eryx, under Grand Marshal Phobos.”

The soldiers, recognizing Eryx’s rank, hesitated and then relented. Obeying his command, they quickly prepared a stretcher and carried both Eryx and Zyren toward the camp. 

Eryx winced and groaned in pain throughout the journey, while Zyren, in far worse condition, drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to do anything but endure the rough ride.

Upon arriving at the Sumerion camp, they were swiftly brought to the medical tent. Thanks to Eryx’s intervention, Zyren, despite wearing the uniform of an Aetherion soldier, was accepted and treated by the Sumerions. 

They were both placed in the care of Lorian Sylas, the chief healer of the Sumerion kingdom, who accompanied the troops into battle to tend to the wounded.

Lorian Sylas was an old man, his face lined with the wisdom of many years. Throughout his life, there was no illness or injury he couldn’t cure. His methods were unique; alongside traditional medicine, he wielded mystical powers, mending broken bones with a mere touch of his hand.

His presence on the battlefield was invaluable, especially in saving the lives of high-ranking officials during the war.

After tending to Eryx, Lorian Sylas turned his attention to Zyren, who was barely clinging to life. 

Zyren’s body lay still, his eyes remaining shut since his arrival at the camp. The old man muttered ancient incantations as he gently laid his hands over the young man’s wounds, his touch light yet firm.

Finally, he placed his hands on his head, then wrapped his wounds with medicinal leaves, binding them securely with cloth.

Two days later, Zyren had made remarkable progress. Though he still limped, he could now walk. Meanwhile, the Sumerion soldiers were preparing to march onward, aiming to conquer the Aetherion kingdom. The injured were to be sent back home.

Zyren, however, was an exception. At Eryx’s request, he remained with the group. The only aid he received was medical treatment—nothing more.

“Zyren, I’m sorry,” Eryx began, his voice heavy with regret. “If I had the power, I’d take you with me to Sumerion…”

But Zyren cut him off with a raised hand and a faint smile. “Don’t worry, Eryx. You’ve done more than enough. Don’t let me become a burden. I can manage on my own from here.”

“Will you return to the Aetherion kingdom?” Eryx asked, concern etched on his face.

“Of course not. As I told you before, I’ll never serve as a soldier for anyone again,” he replied firmly.

Eryx nodded, understanding. “If you recover, come to Sumerion. Seek me out there. I promise I’ll welcome you as my own brother. I’ll find you a job, and you can start anew.”

“Thank you, Eryx. I’ll think about it. You take care of yourself too. I hope your rank rises when you return to the kingdom. Even though you won’t continue the war in Aetherion tomorrow, your contributions in the last battle were nothing short of extraordinary.”

Zyren’s words were steady, reassuring. The two young men exchanged a final look before parting ways. The Sumerion troops resumed their march toward Aetherion, while the sick and wounded were sent back to Sumerion.

He stood alone in the open field, watching as everyone moved on without him. Fortunately, Eryx had left him a few silver coins and a machete, small tokens to help him on his uncertain journey ahead.