The Dragon roared and breathed pure fire and the village was torn apart. This village had not cowered in fear and terror like the others, had hired soldiers to attempt to slay him. They were no longer worthy of existence.
The Dragon determines who lives and who dies. While there are dragons, the only humans allowed to live are cowards. Would-be heroes are just so many charred corpses, martyrs.
Parents send their young women to The Dragon for his pleasure. Villages send food and gold.
After a while, this is treated as natural, normal, and the people are no longer even aware of their own terror. Tradition demands payment to The Dragon, The Man, anyone who opposes this, far from being a hero, is a traitor, betraying society itself.
The Hero hunched, bowed under the weight of his self-aware inhumanity, ready to use his God-given powers one last time. The immortal “hero”, having acquired so many skills and so much equipment during his journey, after 11 of his own deaths, finally killed The Dragon. The villagers in the Kingdom were overjoyed, at least according to the way God programmed them, while The Hero stood rigid, brittle, a final bitter smile fading away.