Blood of the Wyrm Dragon and Warrior Notebook

The sky cracked open with thunder as the last light of day bled through a wall of stormclouds. Beneath the fury of the heavens, in the heart of the Wrathmere Swamp, the warrior Korran the Untamed stood knee-deep in churning water, framed by the coiled terror of the emerald wyrm, Valzorith. Valzorith was no ordinary dragon. Spawned in the time before memory, it had ruled the skies with venom and fire, corrupting entire kingdoms with whispers and flame. Its scales were said to be impervious to mortal weapons, its eyes portals to madness. For centuries, it had gone unchallenged. Until now. Korran had no army. No magic. No prophecy guarding his back. Only hate. Raw, undiluted hate forged from a lifetime of watching kingdoms burn and loved ones perish under the shadow of dragon wings. He bore two ancient blades, not enchanted by spells but quenched in the blood of beasts long extinct—blades that had tasted the heart of monsters and come back sharper. With a roar that matched the storm above, Korran surged forward. The dragon descended. Claws met steel. Flame met flesh. The clash shook the swamp and split the skies. But Korran didn’t flinch. He fought not for glory, nor for coin. He fought to end a legacy of terror with nothing but brute will and sharpened steel. And as the tide rose, soaking the land in blood and stormwater, the legend was born: the man who dared to face the end of the world with bare muscle and twin swords—and made the world blink first.