The nights of Paris were no longer as safe for low-ranking dragons. For several weeks, Mordred had made the capital his hunting ground. He moved through the darkness like an avenging specter, silent and invisible.
The first ones had been easy. Isolated soldiers, overconfident scouts, drowsy guards. Each attack had been swift, brutal, silent, leaving behind only a lifeless body whose mana had been completely siphoned.
With each elimination, a notification rang clearly in his mind, both reassuring and terribly addictive:
[Soldier dragon eliminated: +5 Strength, +4 Agility, +6 Endurance, +7 Mana.] [Successful absorption: +2 minor skills acquired.]
Then, as days passed, the victims had changed. Isolated dragons had become rare. Vigilance had increased. The city itself seemed to hold its breath under heightened surveillance, dragons now moving exclusively in armed groups, tense and wary.
