A black dragon head slowly emerged from the water's surface in the Bone Eroding Swamp — it was Sarlon's first venture out of the dragon's den. His mother's cavern was situated in a vast swamp, much like the beaver dens he knew of from his previous life, making a watery exit a necessity.

But black dragons were born swimmers, capable of breathing underwater, so Sarlon easily slipped out of the cave. The swamp was shrouded in miasma, impossible for ordinary people to endure, but not far from the shore was a forest that promised potential prey.

The area around his mother's den was thick with dragon might, deterring even the hardiest beasts and magical creatures from coming too close. For a successful hunt, Sarlon needed to venture further away.

Although aware of the danger, Sarlon knew the Feast was essential for his rise in this world. He had no intention of becoming a trophy for some dragon slayer.

Reaching the shore, Sarlon flapped his wings to dry the mud and water, concealing his dragon might, and quietly sensed his surroundings. Still too young for flight, he relied on stealth — avoiding the skies where flying magical beasts prowled.

His black scales, mud-caked, blended seamlessly with the earth. A true dragon's senses were incredibly sharp, and Sarlon's high vitality afforded him a perception far beyond his peers.

Sounds in the distance, coupled with the stench of blood, caught his attention. Moving like a seasoned hunter, Sarlon crept towards the deep jungle.

In the dense foliage, five fearsome dire wolves feasted on a large stag's carcass. Sarlon observed from the bushes. Dire wolves lacked magical power, but they were formidable beasts, each larger than a calf from his past life. Yet Sarlon was larger still.

Watching their sharp teeth tear through the flesh, Sarlon assessed the combat strength on both sides. He felt confident — he could take them.

Sarlon focused on the largest of the pack, the alpha, indulging in the stag's tender innards. Closer and closer he crept until the alpha buried its head in the stag's belly, and Sarlon struck with a roar.

The dire wolves were quick, but Sarlon was quicker. He clamped his jaws around the nearest wolf's throat, his teeth shearing through the flesh and severing the windpipe. The wolf collapsed with a pitiful whine.

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The rest of the pack, including the alpha, were stunned by Sarlon's ambush. The alpha didn't attack immediately but instead bared its teeth and growled menacingly at Sarlon.

It was weighing its odds! As the pack leader, it was naturally more intelligent than the other dire wolves. Recognizing the dark scales and wings, the alpha identified Sarlon as a black dragon—a youngling, not matured yet. No, merely a fledgling.

The moment it assessed their power disparity, it let out a commanding howl, and the remaining three dire wolves encircled Sarlon. He still clutched the carcass of the defeated wolf, its warm blood flowing into his belly, sparking an exhilarating rush. Something primal awakened within him.

Encircled by the four remaining wolves, Sarlon showed no fear. Dropping the wolf carcass, he stood on it with his forepaws, spread his wings, and let out a thunderous dragon's roar.

The three dire wolves, on the alpha's signal, lunged forward. Sarlon didn’t shrink back; he met them head-on.

Boom, boom! He collided with one of the wolves, sending it flying, its bones audibly cracking. The other two seized the chance to bite at his neck and one wing.

Sarlon pinned the wolf attacking his neck, his sharp claws piercing its body, and his teeth finding the creature's spine. With a snap, the spine broke.

However, his wing was wounded as it couldn't ward off the biting wolf; its teeth punctured through the scales. That's when the alpha seized its chance, its robust jaws aiming for Sarlon's throat.

With a cold lift of his head, Sarlon was ready. Whoosh! A stream of acidic spray shot from his mouth, dousing the alpha's face.

The alpha's fur began to smoke, a sign of the acid's corrosive effect. The worst was the acid penetrating its eyes—blinded, the wolf could only roll on the ground in agony.

After the acid attack, Sarlon quickly subdued the wolf biting his wing, snapping its neck with a swift bite. Then, a cooling sensation spread through him; his punctured wing began to heal, a testament to his carnivore's innate ability.

Standing tall, Sarlon put the spine-broken wolf out of its misery, and then ended the alpha's agony. The wolf he had slammed was dead too, its body failing from the broken bones.

As the healing coolness intensified within him, Sarlon's wing wound rapidly closed up, looking as good as new. He examined his spoils, his heart racing with excitement. Though dire wolves were among the lower tiers of predators, his victory was still impressive for a mere fledgling.

Had Hanna and Emilia faced these wolves, the beasts could've easily torn them apart. The alpha was smart—it used the others to test him while it waited for an opening. But the acid Sarlon had held in his mouth was reserved just for it.

The only thing that soured Sarlon's triumph was that among the chromatic dragons, only the red ones could breathe fire; black dragons like himself were relegated to spewing acid, lacking the organ for fiery exhalation.

Sarlon began feasting on the dire wolf carcasses without delay, slicing open their bellies and devouring the livers. The flesh of non-magical beasts, he noted, fell short in quality. It was unfortunate that the Feast wasn't yet ready for another use, and by his reckoning, the five dire wolves, along with the large stag, wouldn't suffice to complete the third tier of the Feast. The energy contained in magical beast flesh was far superior to these mundane, magic-less dire wolves.

Suddenly, a leopard over three meters in length emerged from the shadows, issuing a low growl towards Sarlon. This was no ordinary leopard from Earth; it was larger than the tigers of his past life, with more robust muscles. It eyed the corpses with covetous hunger.

Sarlon glanced up at the leopard and continued his meal, undisturbed. To him, the leopard was just another opportunistic predator, not even worth his concern.

Emboldened by Sarlon's lack of reaction, the leopard slinked closer to a dire wolf carcass, hoping to drag it away. Noticing this, Sarlon stopped eating and advanced towards the leopard.

Quick to realize its mistake, the leopard dropped the carcass and bolted, opting for self-preservation. After ensuring that Sarlon wasn't injured, the leopard chose to flee. Even it would have to run from a pack of five dire wolves, and as a solitary creature, injury meant a likely death.