Ulysses led the remnants of his forces in battle—or rather, they were running for their lives!
Enemies surrounded them, and his subordinates had been scattered one after another in the ambush.
"Ugh, where the hell are we?" Ulysses cried in despair. Thanks to his vampiric nature, his once-fat body—
had already grown a little thinner after being shot so many times.
That was because his body had to repair itself. Vampires naturally returned to their most perfect physical state: they wouldn't have the hunchbacked posture or poor bearing of ordinary people, nor would they be too fat or too thin.
If Ulysses could take a solid hit from a magic explosion, or a fifty-kilogram explosive pack filled with black powder, without any protection, perhaps he could turn back into a handsome young man and blend into the surrendering troops, fooling everyone.
However, vampires could only recover and strengthen their magical talent. They weren't immune to pain.
That made the vampires' courage a real test. Even those who had once been brave could grow afraid of getting hurt after suffering several injuries, developing post-traumatic stress.
If they had the courage of that great hero and celebrity from more than fifty years ago, Count Gwen, they'd be monsters who feared neither death nor injury.
For Ulysses, that was asking far too much.
So, amid the swirling snow, all he could do was run. When he had nowhere left to flee, he simply found a house in a village and hid inside.
"Why are there people everywhere? How did they train these people?" Ulysses huddled in the room, shivering. The cold ravaged his body, and the parts that suffered frostbite healed automatically. But his wet pants didn't dry, and the cold kept attacking him, gnawing at his body.
The enemy had spotted him