The scarlet blood flowed from the flask, and Viscount Gene the vampire drank deeply. "Ah, damn it, we're running out of blood."
"Philip, do you have any left?"
In the gloomy, damp, freezing sewers, the foul-smelling liquid had been cleared away at the start of the battle to keep methane from becoming the thing that destroyed them.
A high-ranking mage and his apprentice stood at the very front. In the passageway lay hundreds of bodies blown to pieces. Flesh, charred earth, and water from the tunnels had mixed together, the stench of blood weaving through it all to form a hellish trench.
Behind them were some auxiliary serf soldiers, militia, and a few knights who were of little use.
"None left, Teacher Gill." The apprentice mage, Philip, shook his flask. It was completely empty.
"I really don't want to drink men's blood." Gill looked with distaste at the conscripted men behind him, every one of them dispirited and lifeless.
Their bodies still reeked of sweat.
There were also a few plain-looking women serving as medics, treating the auxiliary soldiers.
Making a vampire sink his teeth into these people was like asking a human to eat a pig raw.
Even with a few women around, Gill still couldn't bring himself to do it.
Mages were just that fussy.
Philip had his own way of drinking. "Why not have them cut themselves?"
"Then collect the blood and have a mage heal them afterward."
Gill tapped Philip on the head. "You can only draw blood once a month. Did you forget?"
"They can't take any more."
After giving Philip a scolding, Gill called out, "Sir Charles, go hand out the food first."
The conscripts, their faces numb and their eyes vacant, had been fighting all morning. At long last, they could finally eat.