Priest Apolos couldn't help but ask Brother Reid, "Why are these mortals hauling ammo crates back and forth between two points? Is there any point to this?"
"Uh—" Brother Reid finally snapped out of it. Before Apolos appeared, he had been so deeply immersed in his own thoughts and the inspection of his boltgun that the rhythmic thumping of the mortals moving crates had faded into background noise; he had actually grown used to it. At the Priest's questioning, it suddenly dawned on him that this group of mortals was still carrying out the "punitive" task he had come up with on a whim.
"This—this was actually my request," Reid said, his voice sounding unnatural as a hint of embarrassment crept in.
"What?" Priest Apolos's tone grew even more surprised. His eyes, hidden deep within his helmet, began to scan Reid with scrutiny. "Is there some deeper meaning to this?"
He instinctively assumed that a Space Marine, especially on the eve of battle, would not issue such an eccentric order without reason. Perhaps Reid had some specific consideration in mind?
Reid's embarrassment deepened. He could have easily fabricated a reason—claiming it was "physical conditioning" or a "test of loyalty"—but facing a Chaplain of the Chapter, he ultimately chose the truth. He described exactly how these mortals had appeared out of nowhere, how they had vied to offer their blood, how they had pestered him for tasks, and how he had offhandedly told them to move ammo crates just to get rid of them.
After hearing the explanation, Priest Apolos paused for a moment. Then, in a rare departure from his usually steady voice, he spoke with a trace of speechlessness: "Brother Reid, with a great battle looming, it is best not to be so... capricious. The enemy we face this time is extremely fearsome; we must be fully focused. This kind of meaningless behavior not only wastes the mortals' stamina but also risks causing unnecessary confusion among them."
Reid also felt that his previous actions had indeed been somewhat impulsive. He had only wanted to escape those annoying mortals and hadn't expected it to escalate like this. To be honest, he didn't even know why he had been so... childish. Under the Priest's admonishment, he felt a pang of shame: "My apologies, Priest Apolos. I will not engage in such immature behavior again."
"As long as you understand, Brother Reid," Apolos's voice returned to its usual calm. He knew that as a Flesh Tearer, Reid's mental state was inherently fragile; such self-reflection was already no small feat. "I shall take my leave. I still need to check on the condition of many of our brothers."
With that, he turned and departed silently, leaving Brother Reid alone to face the still-busy mortals.
Reid waited until Priest Apolos had completely left and was certain he was out of earshot before turning back to the players, who were still oblivious to everything, their hearts set only on moving crates. They were still immersed in the frenzy of "grinding merit points," completely unaware of the conversation between the two Space Marines.
"Alright, alright, stop! Stop! Stop moving the damn things," Reid said, his voice tinged with impatience.
Immediately, a system notification chimed in the ears of the Helldivers: [Ding! Due to requirements no longer being met, the quest "Hauling Ammo Crates" has expired.]
The sudden notification made all the players freeze. The ammo crates in their hands paused mid-air for a second before being dropped right where they stood.
"What's wrong, Sir?" the Squad Leader asked with a look of regret; he had just been soaking in the joy of his merit points skyrocketing. "Why stop the hauling all of a sudden?"
Reid looked at their bewildered expressions. Do these mortals actually enjoy doing something so utterly pointless?
"Because this is completely meaningless, okay?!"
"Then—" The Squad Leader ignored Reid's outburst and instead asked tentatively, "Sir, since you won't let us continue that, do you have any similar tasks for us? Like that repetitive hauling just now?"
"You people actually got addicted to moving crates—" Reid felt completely defeated by these mortals. He felt a surge of annoyance, and his tone grew stern. "You're supposed to be Astra Militarum! Can't you manage yourselves and do something productive? Stop pestering me!"
Just as Reid was about to tell them to go find somewhere else to rot, he suddenly felt a wave of dryness in his throat. An inexplicable urge surged in his heart, as if something was waking up inside him, giving him a powerful craving for a certain... liquid. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
His gaze swept over the mortals, particularly the blood that was pumping more actively due to their heavy exertion. His tone suddenly turned strange, carrying a hint of temptation and anticipation that even he didn't fully realize: "Actually, I just remembered, I do have a task to give you."
The Squad Leader's eyes lit up instantly. He didn't notice the oddity in Reid's tone at all; instead, he asked with delight, "What task, Sir?!" The other players also pricked up their ears, anticipating the next opportunity to "grind merit."
Brother Reid's eyes were locked onto the Squad Leader, the hunger inside him almost unbearable. He instinctively wanted to seize the mortal and start drinking without hesitation, consuming the long-craved essence of flesh and blood. However, at the very moment he was about to act, the mortal's previous words—"Sir, you're a really good man"—suddenly echoed clearly in his mind like an invisible shackle, forcefully curbing his impulse.
"...Didn't you say before you'd let me drink your blood? Give me a cup of your blood, now!" Brother Reid eventually suppressed the primal hunger, speaking in a commanding tone. He tried his best to make it sound like a standard order rather than a plea.
[Quest: Blood Donation]
Description: Brother Reid of the Flesh Tearers Chapter requires a cup of fresh blood to satisfy his unspeakable craving.
Reward: 100 Merit Points per donation.
Hearing the notification, the Squad Leader was overjoyed. He perceived nothing of the struggle or abnormality in Reid's tone; he only saw those tempting "100 Merit Points." His face flushed with excitement as if he had hit the jackpot: "No problem, Sir! Mission will be accomplished!"
He fumbled through his backpack and quickly produced a somewhat exaggerated glass goblet—evidently a souvenir looted from some noble's manor. Then, without hesitation, he drew a sharp dagger from his waist and made a light cut on his left wrist. Bright red blood immediately welled up and, under the pull of gravity, quickly filled the goblet, emitting a faint, metallic sweetness.
Brother Reid's eyes remained fixed on the cup of blood, his throat involuntarily tightening. He almost impatiently snatched the goblet from the leader's hand and, through the gap in his helmet, drained the liquid—warm with the essence of mortal life—in one gulp. The warm blood slid down his esophagus into his stomach, and a sensation of unprecedented satisfaction instantly surged through his entire body. He exhaled a long breath of bloody air with relief; the hunger within him was greatly soothed, and his spirits rose accordingly.
The Squad Leader asked eagerly, "Sir, do you want more? I still have blood! Another cup?"
Reid had originally intended to say "That would be fine, another," but the words that came out were: "No need. From now on, give me a cup of your blood every three days."
He didn't know why, but that feeling of being bound by the "good man" label made it impossible for him to take without restraint like a true Flesh Tearer.
"Ah, three days?" The Squad Leader looked at the hundred merit points that had just arrived. If he could only get them once every three days, the efficiency was a bit slow. He was slightly dissatisfied but didn't dare refuse directly, so he asked tentatively, "How about you drink more, Sir? Once a day is fine, I'm in great health!"
Hearing this, Brother Reid couldn't help but frown. Does this mortal want to die? He felt a bit annoyed and blurted out, "Can you handle a cup of blood every single day? Do you want to die that badly?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Reid felt a hint of regret. It sounded as if he actually cared about whether this mortal lived or died—not something a Flesh Tearer would say. He felt a wave of irritation; these mortals always provoked unexpected reactions from him.
Fortunately, the Helldivers didn't think of it that way. They simply treated Reid's words as a practical problem to be solved. The Squad Leader consulted with the surrounding teammates and quickly came up with a solution: "Sir, my blood alone isn't enough, but there are over a dozen of us here! A little from everyone adds up to a cup; you don't have to worry about us dying at all! We'll take turns to ensure you have a full cup of fresh blood every day!"
"Who cares if you live or die," Reid muttered, trying to mask his previous "caring" comment. He felt speechless; the logic of these mortals was truly bizarre. However, a cup of blood every day—that was a very tempting offer. He looked at the mortals; their eyes were filled with expectation, as if they were begging him to accept their sacrifice. "You are truly willing to let me drink your blood?"
"Willing, very willing! Sir, please let us donate blood to you!" the players chimed in, terrified that Reid might change his mind. They even started jostling to be the first to donate. "A whole hundred merit for one donation—"
"—We mean, it's only a hundred milliliters, it doesn't matter at all, drink as much as you like!"
"...Fine," Brother Reid finally agreed. He found he simply couldn't refuse the temptation, nor could he refuse the strange "enthusiasm" of these mortals. "From now on, you will give me one cup of fresh blood every day."
[Ding! "Quest: Daily Blood Donation" has been triggered!]
Description: Brother Reid of the Flesh Tearers Chapter requires one cup of fresh blood daily, to be provided collectively by members of the Legion of the Helldivers.
Reward: 100 Merit Points per donation.
This time, the players had secured a genuine "Daily Quest"—and a high-reward one at that! A cheer instantly erupted in the corridor; they could already see the bright future of merit points rolling in.