There once lived a dragon named Smok in a cave deep inside a hill–or, if you prefer, a small mountain, although a ‘large hill’ is probably closer to the truth–who found sustenance in sheep and virgins, and when there were no more virgins, peasants from a nearby village tasted just fine, though they lacked the richness and splendor of chaste flesh.
Alas, no matter how much he ate, Smok could never quite fill his leathery belly or sate his terrible lusts, and the poor villagers, frustrated and scared, lost all hope of ever putting this dragon thing to bed.
They prayed and prayed and many tried and many died, until one day a cobbler came, humble and plain, who slew the dragon with such uncommon means, the villagers praised him and proclaimed him king. They built him a castle on top of that hill and so the humble cobbler became a king of a hill.
They named the town of Kraków after him and called him slayer of dragons, although there was but one… as far as we know, of course. Maybe there were more, the records don’t rightly say.
And maybe King Krak was more than a cobbler, for how can a mere cobbler smite the mighty Smok, a creature of such fearsome horror?