Sacrificial Sacrament (Against the King, Standard Card, #42) is an epic Potion card with 0 attack and 0 defense.
Card Effect
Potion: Expend up to 5 Magic Counters, Your opponent depletes 1 and you heal 1 for each Magic Counter expended this way.
Card Description
The door slammed open, kicked in by the bloodied soldier.
Grigori sat at the kitchen's table, pouring a vial of amber liquid into the mug in front of him. The old man looked up at his visitor and smiled, an unnerving sight due to the sickly yellow hue of his teeth.
"Well, well, well." The chef chuckled. "Do come in. It's so rare that I receive visitors."
The soldier stormed forward. "Where are they?" His fists slammed down onto the table. "Where are my men?!"
Grigori took a noisy slurp from his mug. He quirked an eyebrow. "And which men would those be?"
The soldier pulled a knife from his belt and leveled it at Grigori. "The soldiers taken prisoner during the battle two weeks ago. They were in the cell next to me, but it's been five nights since they were taken by your assistants and never returned. You will deliver them to me, unharmed if you want to live to see the sunrise."
"Well, then, if that’s how it's going to be." Grigori stood slowly, continuing to drink from his mug. He motioned for the escaped prisoner to follow him. "I remember them. Four men, yes? All a little younger than you?"
Grigori strolled over to the middle of the kitchen and pointed to a vat he used for making stews. "The small one was much too skinny, so crushed his skull with my meat tendizer, diced him up, and used him to flavor the stew I sent out to the front lines the other night."
The soldier stared stupidly at Grigori, his knife falling from nerveless fingers.
Another sip from the mug. The chef's hand shifted to point at the ovens. "The twins I ground up and just finished baking into meat pies. There was a lot of them to go around, big strapping lads that they were.
Now, the soldier was grabbing onto the edge of a counter in order to steady himself.
He drank some more, moving to point at a closed door on the far side of the room.
"The fat one was a boon. I used his blubber to fry up some chickens for the officers; the rest of him I've salted and will use for the coming winter."
Grigori turned his head to look at the soldier, meeting his gaze as he drained the last of the mug. The young man's legs buckled and gave out, and he dropped to the floor in a kneeling position. In the past few minutes, he seemed to have aged several years and dropped fifty pounds.
The chef, in turn, giggled and looked down at his empty mug. He seemed stronger now, taller and more full of life.
"I have to say, I certainly got the better part of the bargain when Aleister the Moron traded me this recipe for one of my Abyssal Paring Knives."
Grigori's eyes moved back to the soldier.
"Don't you worry a bit." He pulled a meat cleaver off a hook on the wall. "You'll be reunited with your brothers-in-arms soon enough."