Half an hour passed, and the militia under Julien's command had killed over a dozen vampires, but Drake was nowhere to be seen. Julien sensed that Fentor should be about three quarters of the way through the undercroft. Due to this, Julien ushered the militia to more drastic confrontations.
They were about to enter the inner courtyard when a surge of malice tore through the militia's ranks.
The froze on the spot. Julien was the sole exception, but was still thrown into a panicked state.
"How long does it take to lose your grace?"
An incredibly deep voice spoke these words from seemingly everywhere. Julien knew this trick, but it wasn't Drake. It was another of his Blood Collectors.
They are the top assassins and beings of absolute terror. Despite them consisting mainly of humans and elves, no vampire, orc, or angel wished to cross one of these. Julien has only met three, and of them, only one was killed.
Julien took one of the vials from his belts, dark blue fading to a green emerald color. Drinking it, Julien's mind became clear. His senses went into overdrive, taking everything in to locate, predict and determine the best possible approach.
"Rally up. Teams of three. Last two with me."
The militia snapped out of their fear at the orders. They teamed up, following Julien's command. The two who paired up with Julien were decent fighters. One was armed with a bow and the other with a warhammer.
'Archer here is decent. Blood Grade C, thirty-three years old, and an unique overdraw on his bow. Warhammer is not. Blood Grade E, fourty-one, and slow as a snail in molasses.'
One of the groups of three suddenly collapsed, blood flying from dozens of wounds that appeared.
'That's not good at all.' Julien thought grimly.
"Ready yourselves for a hard fight. This one is one I know."