Chapter 693: Blood Servant? Porphyria? Or...
Blood servants and blood slaves are different.
Blood slaves are humans kept by vampires to drink their blood—of course, some vampires with heavier tastes might keep a few beautiful beastmen as well.
As for dwarves and barbarians, generally speaking, vampires’ tastes aren’t that heavy.
But regardless of the race, blood slaves retain their original racial characteristics. If they were human, they remain human; if they were cat people, rabbit people, or fox people, they remain cat people, rabbit people, or fox people, without any changes.
Blood servants, however, are different. They are created when vampires give a bit of their own blood, forcibly changing the race, resulting in a degraded version of a vampire.
Because of this degradation, their strength is greater than humans but weaker than vampires. They are similarly afraid of sunlight, which can harm them, and they need to drink blood regularly.
When the Radiant Church captures blood slaves, they can deal with them differently based on the situation, giving them absolution and baptism. But when it comes to blood servants, there’s usually only one outcome—
Execution.
Either exposed under the sun to die slowly or, if the blood servant takes longer to die, they are burned alive at the stake based on the mood of the captor.
"Send those blood servants to the other side," Lucien, the deputy chief judge, ordered without hesitation."Tell them if they can crawl to the hospital entrance, they can live; if not, they die. Most of the people on the other side won’t show them any mercy."
"Yes."
"Have someone watch them. If they are taken in, spread the word that the Royal Maternity Hospital harbored a group of vampires."
"...Understood."
"If they are handed over to the authorities, spread the news that the royalty executed a group of vampires, including those who had just fought alongside them. Then relay the message back to the Radiant Holy City so it reaches the vampires."
"But..."
"But what? Are you defying my orders? Or do you sympathize with these blood servants?" Lucien coldly sneered. The cleric, who had been respectfully taking notes, raised his head hesitantly.
"But I think they don’t look like blood servants..."
"Then what do they look like?!" Lucien’s eyebrows shot up. The cleric quickly lowered his head, answering before his superior could get angry.
"Like lepers!"
Lucien’s face softened slightly. He had only heard a few reports, so he decided to check it out himself since the cleric had said so.
Lucien went to the prison with his subordinates, glanced at the filth in the cell from a distance through the iron bars, and quickly left, returning outside to scold the cleric harshly.
"You can’t even tell blood servants from lepers? Didn’t you see their sharp fangs? Their bloody gums? Their bloodshot eyes?"
He listed the characteristics one by one, poking the cleric’s face with his finger.
"Do you insist they are lepers because you are incompetent or because you sympathize with them?"
The cleric could only hang his head in shame, repeatedly admitting his guilt. Lucien had no time to argue with him, so he left with a cold snort.
The unlucky cleric was left to arrange the ship, personnel, food, and water, and to intimidate the blood servants.
"There’s only one way to live—keep moving forward, follow the guide. If you can’t make it, you die!"
Three days later, a merchant ship loaded with salted fish, potatoes, and burlap docked in the Kent Kingdom. In the dead of night, the lower deck opened, and dozens of ragged poor were driven ashore.
"Follow the lights ahead!"
"Move, move!"
"If you make it to the destination, you live; if not, you die!"
Early the next morning, Garrett was woken from his pleasant dreams. It was a local nurse calling him, not hammering the door, but her voice was far from low.
"Master Mage! Master Nordmark! Help! A group of vampires is at the door!"
Garrett: !!!
Vampires are here? Already? After the royal banquet, he had talked with Commander Drake, learning that on their way back, they had dropped off the vampires at the northern tip of the Dark Continent.
So, did some of them get left behind and brought here in coffins? Or did another group go to Nevis and then come to see him?
He quickly dressed and went outside. The nurse’s face was deathly pale, clearly frightened.
"Lord Bernard has already gone over! Master Mage, you—"
Garrett was about to calm her down when two priests walked briskly down the corridor from the opposite direction. One was a priest of the Spring Goddess, the other a servant of the God of Nature. They were arguing as they walked.
"Just have the guards drag them away! Why get close? What if they bite you and you turn into a vampire?!"
"They are not blood servants! They don’t have the dark aura; they should just be patients!"
What’s going on?
Garrett hurried outside. The door creaked open next door, and Miss Silver Dragon followed him out.
At the hospital gate, it was just dawn. Outside, clusters of refugees huddled together. Garrett didn’t need to count; a quick glance estimated about forty or fifty people, enough to fill a waiting area, requiring at least a dozen medical staff.
The accumulated stench of countless days hit them immediately as a breeze blew, breaking his thoughts. Reflexively, both Garrett and Cirilla frowned.
Garrett instinctively turned to arrange a shelter, at least to boil water for them to bathe. But Cirilla, after frowning, let out a low exclamation.
"They are not vampires!"
"Are you sure?"
Garrett strained to see. The distance was still too far to make out details, so he quickened his pace. Cirilla nodded firmly.
"No doubt! They don’t have the cold, eerie scent of vampires! Hmm—"
Tattered clothes, tightly wrapped headscarves, faces covered in red, swollen patches turned towards them. Their skin was scaly, layered with scabs.
Their eyes were bloodshot, as if they might bleed at any moment.
Mouths ulcerated, lips cracked and swollen, sharp teeth, bloodstained gums exposed...
Every feature seemed indistinguishable from a degraded vampire.
Bernard had been standing at the door, leaning on the latch, watching. Seeing the refugees stirring and pushing forward, he quickly raised the latch to block them.
"Don’t crowd! Stand still! You, there! Don’t come closer! Wait for the boss’s call!"
Garrett ignored the chaos, focusing intently. Cirilla turned to look at him, noticing his concentrated gaze fixed on the refugees. She tugged at his sleeve.
"Garrett, what are you looking at? Didn’t you say they aren’t vampires?"
"I know they aren’t," Garrett murmured.
"I’m just thinking, what are they..."
Are they suffering from porphyria? Solar dermatitis? Purpura? Or some other disease?
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