I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

“Yes, My Lady!”

Elsa responded instantly. Things had finally returned to the area she excelled at. Her gaze on Ham and Lucien instantly sharpened, cold and harsh.

It was a stare like a tangible blade, and both squires felt their bodies tremble. They quickly lowered their heads, the last shred of fantasy in their hearts completely shattered by that gaze.

They understood. Their lives were now truly, tangibly, in the hands of this noble young lady who appeared fragile on the surface but was as deep as the ocean, and the Asura-like handmaiden beside her would ensure this state of affairs did not change.

“Betty,” Pandora said, turning to the little kitchen maid. “Get the rations and water, and distribute them to everyone. If you have time, assist Elsa in tending to Aurora’s wound.”

“Yes, My Lady!”

Betty was relieved and immediately scurried off to rummage through the packs. The power struggle was something her little mind simply couldn’t comprehend. She didn’t even have the right to speak. Cooking was the skill she truly excelled at, and once she was busy, the confusion and anxiety in her heart would naturally dissipate.

While the others each tended to their tasks, Pandora was left with nothing to do, but she enjoyed this idleness as her due. She had earned it with her wits!

As for Arthur becoming his “king of the new era”? Just as she had said, let him be.

A true “king” never relied on a crown to proclaim himself. A true “king” controlled the rules of this world.

And the rules always came from…

“Strength.”

………………

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and the shadows of the trees swayed.

As night fell, not far from the battlefield stood an abandoned hunter’s cabin.

The fire crackled, and fat sputtered at the bottom of an iron pot.

Betty crouched by the campfire, a wooden spoon in her hand, carefully stirring the mush in the pot—calling it a “stew” was generous; it was just shredded dried meat mixed with wild onions, crumbled biscuits, and some kind of dried herb powder she’d found in one of the packs.

The pot was black and shiny, with a layer of burnt food at the bottom. It looked awful by any standard. But the aroma was surprisingly enticing. Probably because they were hungry.

“A little more salt!”

Betty muttered to herself, pinching a sprinkle of coarse salt from a small pouch at her waist. She carefully sprinkled it into the pot, stirred it with the spoon, then dipped a finger in for a taste. “Mm… that’s about right!”

Ham and Lucien weren’t idle either. They were responsible for chopping firewood, fetching water, and organizing the camp. Though a bit clumsy, they were exceptionally diligent. They understood better than anyone now that if they wanted to survive, to have a future, they had to please Betty.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Elsa sat silently beside Pandora. The bleeding from her shoulder wound had long since stopped. In the firelight, you could even see new flesh forming. It was clear the wound was quietly healing.

Aurora lay in a corner on a bed of dry straw, a cloak draped over her. The bandage on her abdomen had been carefully reinforced. Her face was still pale, but her breathing was much more stable as she slept soundly.

A short while later, Pandora accepted a bowl of hot soup. She leaned against a tree trunk, sipping it slowly. The warm liquid slid into her stomach, bringing a long-forgotten warmth.

The campfire leaped, light and shadow flowing across everyone’s faces.

For a moment, she had the illusion—what if all this was just an overly realistic nightmare?

The next moment, the cold, mechanical prompt of the System sounded in her mind, listing, in its familiar monotone, the Alchemical Elements she currently possessed. The numbers were correct.

Pandora gently closed her eyes.

It wasn’t a dream.

At least, it definitely wasn’t a “nightmare.” The existence of the System was the best proof of that.

She turned her head to look at her handmaiden, her Alchemical creation.

Elsa ate very slowly. She didn’t seem hungry. Every bite was like performing a ritual, not satisfying a physiological need.

Pandora’s gaze fell on Elsa’s tireless profile, overlapping with the memory of the handmaiden in the study, whose throat she had pierced with a sword, who had closed her eyes with tears, and then stood up again.

She felt glad.

Yes, she was glad—glad this wasn’t a dream. Glad that Elsa was back. Even if the price was blood, was a soul, was no longer being human… was this twisted symbiotic relationship…

“Elsa.” Pandora gently set down the soup bowl, her tone soft.

“Master?”

Elsa immediately set down her wooden spoon and turned to face her, her gaze focused.

“Come with me.”

Pandora stood and walked toward the back of the cabin. There was a woods bathed in moonlight, serene and untouched.

Elsa didn’t ask why. She rose immediately to follow, her steps silent, like a wraith.

………………

Away from the firelight and the noise, with only the chirping of insects and the whisper of the wind for company.

Pandora stopped before an ancient oak tree.

Moonlight, like a gauze veil, gently enveloped her, and enveloped Elsa as well.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she used a sharp dagger to lightly caress the inside of her left wrist.

A thin, neat line quietly bloomed open.

Crimson blood welled up, flowing slowly down her skin, white as snow. Warm, it exuded a metallic, sweet scent.

In Elsa’s eyes, the flowing blood was enchantingly alluring, like the sweetest nectar…

Elsa’s pupils tightened. Her breathing lost its rhythm, becoming noticeably ragged.

But she did not lunge forward. She did not lose her reason.

Instead, slowly, with utmost solemnity—she dropped to one knee.

Like the most devout of warriors, she offered her gesture of fealty to her most revered liege under the moonlight.

She lifted her head slightly, her gaze meeting Pandora’s calm one. Then, she gently took Pandora’s wrist and pressed her lips to the wound.

The warm, pulsing blood of life flowed into her lips.

In that instant, Elsa closed her eyes. Her body, like parched earth craving rain, thirstily drank in the nectar. Her complexion, at a visible speed, became rosy again.

The moonlight flowed down over them like water.

The maiden knelt to drink the blood; her mistress gazed down upon her.

The scene was both sacred and forbidden; both gentle and cruel. Like an ancient ritual, it was quietly held in the un-witnessed woods.

Several minutes later, Elsa gently moved her lips away.

She lifted her head, a trace of blood still lingering on the corner of her mouth, but her eyes had completely recovered their luster, even sharper than before she’d been injured.

“Thank you for the gift, Master.”

she said, her voice low, her face filled with reverence and a trace of something almost undetectable… Contentment.

The wound on Pandora’s wrist had been shallow to begin with. After Elsa stopped, it quickly ceased bleeding and was once again hidden by her sleeve.

Her face was a little pale, and the dizziness from blood loss returned, but she just gave a slight shake of her head, suppressing it.

She felt as if she was getting used to it now.