Gutas was tightly bound to a chair and had long since lost track of how many days he had spent here. His sleep had no pattern—sometimes he was not allowed to close his eyes for several days, and other times he could be left unattended, dozing off for an entire day. In such a state, his sense of time became incredibly blurred.
Previously, he had tried to estimate time by counting the number of meals he had, but he gradually realized that even meals were not consistent. Sometimes there would be an extravagant five meals a day, while other times, there was just one, a meal of thin soup with noodles, as if to test his physical condition under various circumstances.
The only constant was the bloodletting through needle pricks; before meals, after meals, before sleep, and after sleep, blood was always drawn.
Gutas couldn't help but wonder where all this blood came from, to be extracted for that demon alchemist.
