The Tyranny of Master Peace, the True Dracoslayer King
In the age of dragons and war, when the sky was torn asunder by wings of fire and the land quaked beneath the march of tyrants, there rose a warrior whose name would be whispered in awe and fear alike.
He was once but a man, a noble knight of the Dracoslayers, sworn to purge the darkness that lurked in the hearts of dragons and their wicked kin. Clad in sacred armor and wielding the might of the divine, he waged war against the Dracoverlords, those who sought dominion through the will of their corrupted beasts. Steel clashed against fang, light against shadow, and for a time, balance held.
Yet the world is cruel, and war spares no hero.
The earth trembled, and from its shattered depths emerged the True Kings—primordial forces of destruction, neither dragon nor mortal, but something far greater. Their power twisted the land itself, bending creation to their will. The Dracoverlords, once mighty, fell before them. The Dracoslayers, noble in purpose, found their blades dull against the weight of fate.
And in this twilight of hope, one knight made a choice.
He who had been a slayer of dragons offered himself unto the True Kings. He took their fire into his soul, their power into his veins, and was reborn not as a man, but as a god among mortals. No longer did he stand beside the Dracoslayers, nor did he kneel before the Dracoverlords. He had ascended beyond them all.
Thus was Master Peace, the True Dracoslayer King, born into legend.
No blade could touch him, no spell could bind him, no force of man nor beast could defy his will. With the power of the True Dracos, he forged a kingdom where none could stand against him. What he declared law became reality; what he willed into being was so.
He did not rule with cruelty, nor did he seek destruction—he sought only order. But order under an immortal king is but a gilded cage, and the world does not suffer the reign of one who cannot fall.
And so, the storm came.
Those who still drew breath beneath his shadow rose against him, wielding weapons forged in desperation, spells woven from defiance. His kingdom trembled as war ignited once more. The people, the mages, the warriors—all struck at the throne of their undying ruler.
And then, on that fateful day, in a battle that shook the heavens, the impossible came to pass.
Master Peace fell.
How? None could say. Did his own power consume him? Did the remnants of the Dracoslayers find a way to sever his divine strength? Or did the world itself reject a king who could never die?
His armor lay shattered, his blade broken, his rule ended. His name was erased from history, his power sealed beyond reach. No longer would his presence bend reality, no longer would his will shape destiny.
And yet…
The wind still whispers his name. The embers of war still glow faintly in the darkness. And some say that if ever the world should fall into chaos once more, if ever the Dracoslayers or the Draconic scourge should rise again—
Then so too shall Master Peace, the True Dracoslayer King.
For a king may fall, but a legend never dies.
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