I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

After all, she was now face-to-face with the very subject of the campus legend. And the entity before her seemed harmless—just a socially awkward ghost-girl.

What mattered now was whether this ghost, who was likely a “Potion Master” in life, could help with her plans.

So, Pandora set down her book, stood up, and performed a flawless, formal curtsy toward the translucent figure still reclining on the table.

“Greetings, esteemed—”

“Whoa, hey! Don’t do that!”

To Pandora, showing respect to a genuine master of a craft was normal. She used the courtesy reserved for a “Master” to address this potential Potion Master ghost. She was solemn, ignoring the two apprentices nearby who now thought the situation had gone from weird to worrying. Their looks shifted from curious to outright sympathetic.

Right. To them, she was a madwoman performing courtesies to an empty desk.

But this “Master” was unconventional. Even though she was invisible to others, she seemed bothered by their stares. And instead of basking in the formal respect, she… blushed.

A ghost blushing was strange, but a faint pink tint did appear on her pale cheeks.

It took a moment for the flustered “Ghost Master” to compose herself. She waved a vague hand, gesturing for Pandora to act normally, to drop the excessive formality.

“And… about a name,” her voice quieted. “I don’t remember mine, but I don’t want someone else giving me a random one either.” She seemed to recall something, her tone turning serious. “Bestowing a name has real weight. For both of us. You wouldn’t want to get tangled in some inexplicable curse just from naming me, would you? My current state… I don’t fully understand it. Can’t guarantee there’s no curse attached. Better to be careful.”

Pandora sensed earnest goodwill in the girl’s words. She nodded, accepting the advice sincerely, then asked, “Then what should I call you?”

“You… just call me whatever,” the girl waved awkwardly.

“Very well, ‘Whatever’ Master,” a flash of slyness crossed Pandora’s eyes. “I’d like to continue consulting you about the Transmutation Potion.”

‘Whatever’ Master nearly choked. She covered her mouth with her translucent hand, coughing lightly. The social pressure was clearly too much. Then, she nodded formally. “Alright. Ask.”

“Although I now understand a formal Transmutation Potion is beyond my current ability to brew,” Pandora’s attitude remained humble—proper respect for a true master was natural, “I still wish to know if there’s any method… to bypass this limitation?”

Her gaze sharpened. “To be precise, I need a way to ‘alter my appearance.’ Is there any other method available to me?”

“That’s… a bit difficult…”

Faced with Pandora’s intense, curious stare, ‘Whatever’ Master began to hedge.

But Pandora didn’t back down. She lowered her stance further. “For ‘Transmutation Potions,’ I can only think of this one method. But! If it were you, Master, you’d surely have another solution, right?”

Pandora’s eyes were bright and earnest. She unabashedly showed her trust. Her expression seemed to say: I believe in you. A great Potion Master like you must have solutions beyond ordinary imagination.

This naive, utterly sincere form of flattery left the ghost-girl both vexed and flustered. But her skill was real. After some intense pondering, a light flashed in her translucent eyes.

“Got it!”

“Refining the formal ‘Transmutation Potion’ was one of my major research projects… in my past life.” Her tone regained its confidence. “Even though… that was long ago, my memories are intact! I remember during that period, besides the main potion, I also developed a degraded variant!”

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Her eyes seemed to shine with starlight, filled with a Potion Master’s unique pride.

“This potion only achieves localized transmutation—just altering your face, or a hand. Its duration is short, an hour at most, and it has a side effect: it makes the skin brittle. But the brewing difficulty is much lower! Apprentices can brew it! I remember… my second-rank apprentice succeeded once. Yes, they succeeded!”

She nodded excitedly.

“If all you need is a changed appearance, my degraded version should be perfect!”

Hearing this, Pandora felt a surge of joy. This was exactly what she needed. A localized transmutation potion was absolutely perfect. As for the one-hour limit and skin brittleness…

She believed her system’s 【Assisted Alchemy】, producing a “Perfect Rank” potion, would at least greatly mitigate those issues. They weren’t deal-breakers.

So the biggest problem now was—how to get the formula from this ghost who had clearly been a renowned “Potion Master”?

Putting her thoughts aside, Pandora once again adopted that humble, sincere, aristocratic courtesy. “Your wisdom is profound, your knowledge shines like the stars,” she said, the flattery flowing smoothly. “Might I have the honor to behold your brilliant achievement?”

But this time, when she rose from her curtsy, she was met with ‘Whatever’ Master’s amused, knowing smirk.

This shy Ghost Master had accepted the courtesy moments ago with composure. Now, Pandora instantly understood. Mere politeness wasn’t enough to get a formula that might be worth a fortune.

But gaining this lead was lucky enough.

“What can I do for you?” she frankly initiated the negotiation. “If I may see the Master’s formula. My abilities are modest, but I’m willing to do what I can to fulfill your request.”

Her words left room, subtly hinting her strength was limited. Don’t ask for the impossible.

But ‘Whatever’ Master didn’t seem interested in “ability”-related demands. She didn’t even catch the hint. Hearing Pandora’s offer, she beamed with joy, like a cat who’d stolen the cream.

“It’s fine, it’s easy!” she waved hastily. “You just need to come chat with me every day! Hmm… for six months! Every day, at least three hours! Is… is that too long?” She seemed to think her request was excessive and began bargaining with herself. “Maybe two and a half hours? Can’t go lower!”

Pandora offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. That’s not possible.”

“Why?! It’s just talking! I won’t do anything!” The girl’s translucent form flickered in agitation.

Pandora’s inner voice screamed: Even if you wanted to, what could you do with that semi-transparent body? She didn’t say it. She just patiently explained the Academy’s ironclad “three-month deadline.” All apprentices had to leave campus when it hit. Without a special permit, they couldn’t return. It was already the third month. In less than thirty days, Pandora would be gone.

“How can that be?! No wonder all the students I saw before disappeared… But… then how will you talk to me???”

‘Whatever’ Master’s form visibly dimmed. Her spirits sank so low she seemed about to cry.

Pandora felt a headache coming. She softened her voice. “Must it be talking? What if…” She tried suggesting other options. “Teacher ‘Whatever,’ your existence here must have a reason, right? Think. Do you truly have no other needs?”

Pandora’s words acted like a key. The core, long buried under “loneliness,” began to shift.

“Other… reasons… Needs… I… a purpose…”

No one had ever asked her. She’d never thought about it before.

Pandora’s question struck a chord. The ghost-girl fell into deep thought. Her form flickered on the spot, brighter and dimmer, like an old machine searching fragmented data.

Finally, a shattered memory surfaced. Her once-lively eyes turned hollow.

“I…” Her voice became distant. “I remember… I knocked on her door. I begged her for a vial of ‘Witch’s Blood’… She agreed. In exchange for… a vial of my blood.”

The ghost-girl’s eyes were utterly vacant. The shy girl and proud intellectual were gone. Replaced by a madness twisted by ambition and fear.

“I… I must break through… yes, I must! I’ve been stuck at that rank for too long… Potions no longer work. I saw myself in the mirror, my flesh withering away… I must break through!”

The ghost lost herself. She sank into the shattered memories of her death.

Fragmented, delirious words spilled from her translucent lips.

The moment Pandora heard “Witch’s Blood,” her expression turned deadly serious. More Witch’s Blood, she thought. But her experience is different from Dulles’s.

And the “she” the ghost mentioned… Could it be that “she”?

Pandora concentrated, not daring to miss a syllable.

“I brewed the ‘Witch’s Blood’… into a potion… That was my proudest work… I would break through with it… But… I failed… This long-extinct race… so arrogant. Their power shares that arrogance! Her power rejected me from the start… Maybe, if I’d drunk it with a purely mundane body, before gaining power, I could have implanted the bloodline… but… It was too late… The plague and the Witch’s Blood clashed within me… Tearing… Destroying…”

………………

“…So that’s how I died.”

After a long while, the suffocating recollection ended. The ghost slowly woke from her hollow trance. Pandora was roused by her voice.

The fragmented murmurs had held a wealth of information. The other had experienced something similar to Dulles. But Dulles had only treated “Witch’s Blood” as rare material, without delving into the name. This Ghost Master was different.

Pandora was certain she knew about “Witches.” And she’d mentioned a critical piece of information.

Witches were not just a power system. They were a long-extinct race.

This information was vital. Its implications sent a cold chill down the spine of Pandora, this “half-Witch.”