I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

Pandora watched this with a faint smirk in her eyes. Her bond with Elsa wasn’t the kind of thing that could be shaken by cheap verbal jabs and vague threats. With the Alchemy system at her disposal, Elsa could confirm whether she was the real Pandora Douglas at any given moment.

Likewise, Pandora could use the system to verify Elsa’s identity and condition whenever she wanted. If anyone tried to impersonate either of them, it would instantly blow up in their face. The deception would be exposed the second they tried.

She even suspected that the horrifying “silent swap” effect of Laplace’s Demon Library Amanda had just described wouldn’t actually work on Elsa. Even if Elsa did get lost in there, Pandora could just recall her through the system’s 【Manifest/Unmanifest】 function at any time.

Still, even with that absolute failsafe, she wasn’t about to test it. Without a clear, tangible benefit, mere curiosity wasn’t enough to justify such a dangerous gamble.

Shaking off those thoughts, Pandora’s gaze dropped back to the key in her hand—the one with the dulled edges and the new layer of rust.

“But that brings us back to my earlier question.” She tossed the key lightly in her palm. “If it only lets me review what I already know, then this key—and that library—seems... well, practically useless?”

It was more like a glorified note-reviewing tool than a way to acquire new knowledge, and it came with entirely unnecessary risks to boot.

Amanda didn’t deny it. In fact, she nodded, a look of ‘finally, you’re asking the right questions’ spreading across her face.

“Yep.”

“Which is exactly why you need the right potion for the job.”

Pandora blinked. A potion?

“One called the Ashen Echo Draught,” Amanda dropped the name.

Pandora frantically rifled through her mental database. She had absolutely zero recollection of ever hearing the name Ashen Echo Draught.

“I almost forgot, you’re a Potioneer yourself,” Amanda chuckled at Pandora’s reaction. “But it’s perfectly normal that you haven’t heard of it. It’s an incredibly exclusive, ultra-niche, Rank-less draught. Judging purely by the rarity of its ingredients and the sheer mental fortitude required to brew it, its value easily rivals a Rank-6 potion. Yet, its consumption requirements are practically non-existent. Theoretically, any Rank-1 extraordinary could chug it safely.”

Amanda paused. “Only a handful of doses were ever produced, and it was never featured in mainstream tomes like the Potion Encyclopedia or Basic Potionology. I daresay you’ll only ever hear its name from me.”

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The second Amanda finished speaking, a faint rustling echoed from nearby—the sound of foliage being gently parted, mingled with the soft slosh of liquid inside a container.

A familiar figure soon stepped out from behind a thicket of bioluminescent vines, carrying a translucent glass jar roughly the size of a human head. It was the attendant.

Her face, height, outfit, and even that flawlessly measured smile were completely identical to the previous one. She carried the large jar, which was filled to the brim with a viscous, dark-gold liquid. It looked like half-congealed melted honey, or perhaps a far more sinister kind of chowder.

Pandora gave her a second look. The attendant even shot her a quick, covert wink, the corners of her mouth twitching up as if to say, ‘We meet again.’

Obviously, she remembered exactly what had just happened. It was as if... the “attendant” from earlier—the one who had bloomed into a black rose and withered away right in front of her—wasn’t her at all. Or perhaps, they were technically the exact “same” entity?

“Ignore her,” Amanda’s voice cut off Pandora’s train of thought. She took the heavy glass jar from the attendant. It was sealed with a stopper, topped with sealing wax etched with dark-gold sigils.

“Here, drink this first,” Amanda said, handing the jar to Pandora.

Pandora took it. It was heavier than it looked. She glanced at the volume of the jar, then looked back up at Amanda, seeking confirmation. “Isn’t this a bit much?”

“Oh, no,” Amanda waved a hand, her tone implying it was perfectly obvious. “It’s not a hundred-person dose or anything, it’s all for you. This is standard. After all, the ‘contents’ inside... are quite substantial.”

Seeing Pandora’s eyes widen slightly, she added, “Why are you looking at me? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Chug it!”

Pandora fell silent for a beat, then popped the stopper.

An overwhelmingly complex stench instantly billowed out of the opening. The smell was indescribable... like fifty-year-old vinegar blended with rotting fish guts, stirred into burnt rubber and some sinus-searing spicy herb, all floating atop a cloying wave of sweet ginger. Just one whiff, and Pandora felt her stomach clench in an involuntary spasm.

“Don’t chug the whole thing!” Amanda’s voice rang out just in time, dripping with amusement. “Sip it. Take tiny little sips~” She drew out her words. “Yesss, just like that.”

Pandora took a deep breath, fought down the urge to gag, brought the rim to her lips, and cautiously took a tiny sip.

Instantly! An indescribably complex flavor detonated in her mouth like a living thing! It wasn’t just a taste; it possessed a texture that seemed to seep straight into her soul—cold, clammy, and bizarrely alien.

Her face contorted instantly, her body’s reflexes screaming at her to spit the liquid out. It took every ounce of her formidable willpower to wrestle control of her throat and force the liquid down.

A scorching warmth traced its way down her throat and into her stomach, rapidly radiating out to her extremities. But hot on its heels came an even more violent, absolutely intolerable wave of nausea.

“Don’t make that face,” Amanda chimed, laughing at Pandora’s genuinely nauseous expression. “I actually convinced its creator to add gold-thread ginger for flavoring! Seriously!” Her tone carried a distinct ‘I tried my best’ vibe. “You do not want to taste the original, unflavored Ashen Echo Draught! Trust me on that.”

Pandora didn’t respond. Her entire focus was dedicated to suppressing her gag reflex, forcing herself to take sip after tiny sip of the glue-like, dark-gold liquid. Every single swallow was a minor war of attrition!

Seeing Pandora stubbornly soldier through it—her face a mask of agony but still downing the draught—Amanda offered a satisfied nod.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

“Now, let me tell you exactly what this is for.”