I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

“She definitely mixed some cheap irritant into her dregs! Makes you feel better for a second, then finishes you off!”

His voice cracked with a sob, and paired with his wretched look, it was doing the job.

Next to him, a rat-faced, short man jumped in on cue. He held up a glass bottle and shook it at the crowd. At a glance, the bottle looked sort of like the ones the Empty Vial used. But on a closer look, the lines were rough, the stopper all wrong.

“And it’s not just fakes!” the short man shrieked, face twisted in outrage. “She plays favorites! Sells the real stuff to her buddies, pumps the new blood full of swill! Look! This ‘Deep Sleep Serum No. 3’—color’s off, smell’s wrong, doesn’t work for crap!”

He put on a look of pure heartbreak. “My brother took a knock to the head last month. Scraped together everything for this bottle from her. He used it and—bam! Nearly dropped on the spot! Slept for two whole days! Could barely crawl out of bed after, and his head’s still ringing!”

“That woman’s heart is black! She’ll do anything for a coin!”

They played off each other, painting a vivid, bloody picture, every word dripping with personal tragedy.

In the crowd, a few old customers who’d bought from the Empty Vial before frowned at the accusations. They glanced at each other, lips moving like they wanted to speak up.

“That’s not right… My ‘Deep Sleep No. 3’ always worked. Fixed my nerves up clean. And the bottle didn’t look like that…”

“My Healing Ointment cleared my wound right up. Never had a problem…”

A low mutter started in the crowd. Hesitant. Confused.

But when the eyes of those muttering people drifted to the edge of the crowd—to the figure standing there with arms crossed, face like stone, silent as a grave—the sound died in their throats.

Blighted Hand Wilbur.

He just stood there. Not shouting. Not even looking at the performers. He was just there, his eyes holding a faint, unnatural gleam as they swept over the crowd.

A lot of people knew him. And they knew exactly what him being here meant. He was the will of The Blood Tonic Aldrich. And Aldrich was Ascension Road, for all intents and purposes.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

So this little show… could be seen as official.

Wilbur didn’t make a sound. Didn’t even move. But the aura of a third-ranker, laid out plain and undisguised, and the silent warning in that gaze, was enough to ice the spine of anyone thinking of talking back. They shut their mouths, hard, swallowing their doubts.

And just like that, the voices questioning the Empty Vial or the Baroness’s skill, under that silent pressure, lost their fight. The narrative in the crowd shifted.

More bystanders, just there for the drama and with no clue about the truth, started to change their tune. Curiosity turned to suspicion. Suspicion hardened into scorn.

That empty shopfront, and the lady behind it who hadn’t shown her face, were already guilty. Black-hearted merchant. Despicable swindler.

In this noisy place where power was truth and truth was flexible, infamy settled in and became fact.

The noise grew. The crowd’s mood was heating up, fed by the “victims’” performance. Seeing it all, the corner of Wilbur’s mouth almost twitched into a cold smile of victory.

But right then, at the edge of the crowd, a new sound cut through.

A rhythm of steady, deliberate footsteps. Not fast, but perfectly clear. Each step landed on a beat of its own, a stark contrast to the chaos.

Then, a low voice, calm and leaving no room for argument.

“Eden Enforcers!”

“Clear a path.”

The voice wasn’t loud, but it killed the noise dead.

The packed crowd flinched, as if pushed by an invisible hand, shuffling back to either side to open a lane wide enough for two or three.

A squad of people in identical dark uniforms, faces stern, marched in with neat steps.

Aurora led them.

Her posture was straight as a blade, her long hair tied back in a severe ponytail. A few loose strands framed her cold, sharp features. The Eden Enforcer badge—a dark silver piece of metal worked into a gear, a sword, and a set of scales—was pinned to her shoulder, gleaming with a cold, hard light.

Aurora’s gaze swept the scene. Where it passed, the noise died like it had been doused with ice water, dropping to a handful of hushed, nervous whispers.

Aurora wasn’t from Ascension Road. She was Eden.

Not long after she broke through to first rank, showing the kind of talent and grit that gets noticed, she’d crossed paths with a third-rank powerhouse from Eden. A key figure there. But he wasn’t like Aldrich, some old hand obsessed with building a faction and grabbing resources. He was the real deal—a genius. And geniuses save their focus for climbing higher.

For them, the apprentice stage is short. Other than pushing for that Master Demon Hunter threshold, things like faction fights and power games… aren’t worth the time.

He’d appreciated the calm, disciplined talent Aurora showed, so he introduced her to his own mentor—a genuine Master Demon Hunter. With her ability and mindset, getting the mentor’s approval wasn’t hard.

After that, this “senior brother”: now her sect peer: gave Aurora a position: Captain of the Eden Enforcer Squad.

It wasn’t some huge power trip. More like a tag. A marker that said she was connected—to Eden, to that third-rank senior, to the Master Demon Hunter behind him. That connection came with some conveniences, some resource priority, so she could focus on what mattered: getting stronger.