"Gulp gulp..."
Fang Hong watched the middle-aged man before him with gray hair, scruffy beard, and an emaciated face. His throat moved up and down as he gulped down the drink with a boldness quite contrary to his current appearance. The rose-colored wine trickled down his beard like scattered tiny rubies, dripping onto his tattered clothes.
Delan let out a long breath, wiped his beard with his withered hand, and set down the small keg. His eyes seemed to light up, looking at Fang Hong with an unprecedentedly playful gaze. "The Istania people believe it has a magic power, capable of bringing the dead back to life, because it resembles blood in color. The witch doctors believe blood is sacred, a magical substance—can you imagine that? Thus, locals once treated it as a holy relic that could cure all diseases, until 'you all' arrived. I can hardly recall the last time I tasted it."
