I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

Chapter 259: A Rank-6 Mentor’s Welcome Gift

“Hm?” Pandora averted her gaze, frowning slightly.

Unlike the other vibrant, borderline hallucinogenic flora in this underground garden, this particular black rose actually induced a faint, tugging dizziness in her mind if she stared at it too long—and that was with her Rank-3 mental force.

She concentrated, taking a moment to assess it. Once she broke eye contact, the vertigo quickly faded. Pandora opted not to poke the bear; that black rose was obviously bad news. She turned back to the attendant.

Her wet hair plastered to her cheeks, but her eyes remained clear and perfectly calm.

“It’s quite lovely.” Pandora’s voice cut through the quiet, surreal garden. “Might I have the honor of knowing the name of this place?”

She paused, locking eyes with the woman. “Esteemed...”

“Ms. Amanda Adam?”

At the name, the attendant’s smile stretched wider. It was no longer the polite, professional curve from before; it was brimming with an almost... overflowing euphoria.

“To answer your first question—of course. This is: Amanda Adam’s Secret Brew Garden.” Her voice rang with that same intoxicating delight. “As for the latter...”

She paused, the corners of her mouth splitting into an increasingly exaggerated grin. “You guessed wrong again~”

“Oh?” Pandora watched her, thoroughly amused.

The woman’s grin stretched wider and wider, seemingly on the verge of tearing her beautiful face in half.

And that wasn’t a metaphor. The pale, flawless skin literally ruptured right before Pandora’s eyes! No—bloomed was the better word.

The exquisite black roses—velvet black, dark crimson like congealed blood—burst into full bloom across this body that had reached the absolute pinnacle of “euphoria.” From her neck, to her cheeks, to her forehead. Pitch-black vines snaked out, and the dark-crimson blossoms unfurled.

Even Pandora experienced a split-second lapse in focus the moment the roses bloomed. It wasn’t just the visceral shock; it carried a deeply seductive psychic pull, as if trying to drag her consciousness down into that abyssal black.

But having just experienced the pull from the black rose in the garden, Pandora snapped back almost instantly. The formidable mental force of a Rank-3 Wizard surged from the depths of her mind, throwing up a sturdy barrier to block the eerie psychic attraction. She forced her eyes shut.

Right then, a completely different voice sounded from behind her. It held a lazy, languid undertone, like an elegant, aristocratic woman waking from a long afternoon nap.

“She’s nothing but a Flash-Grown.”

“Her existence—from germination to full consciousness, to the decay of her flesh—her entire life cycle lasts exactly twenty-four hours.”

“Now, do you understand the real answer?”

“I do,” Pandora replied, keeping her eyes shut as she slowly turned around.

She opened them again.

Standing before her was a highly striking woman. She stood a short distance away, beside a vine that emitted a soft, silvery glow. She was tall, with long, cascading curls that fell almost to her waist, shifting in a gradient from deep purple to near-ink black. Beneath the golden halo of the sun-fruits above, her hair gleamed with a silken sheen.

She possessed an elegant demeanor, even exuding a certain scholarly, bookish air, but deep within her eyes lurked an irrepressible ennui, as if she couldn’t muster a single ounce of interest in her surroundings.

She wore a pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses. Behind the lenses, her eyes were a deep violet—which gave her a rather prim, even severe look. Yet, her outfit was a jarring contrast: a lacy, silk negligee. The negligee was dark red and diaphanous, faintly outlining the silhouette of her body beneath. And in the incredibly discreet corners of the garment—like the lace edges of the cuffs or the back of the belt sash—Pandora’s sharp eyes caught tiny, intricately embroidered or inlaid motifs of black roses.

The moment she got a clear look at the woman’s face, Pandora’s first thought was: Stunning.

Her second thought was: She’s not Faye.

Figures. The realization flashed through her mind. Truth be told, she had harbored doubts all along. Was the person linked to the calling card Faye gave her actually Faye herself? That was precisely why she had mentally referred to her as “Faye” rather than “Amanda Adam.”

Now, the facts confirmed her suspicion. Amanda Adam was not Faye. She wasn’t that eerie, enigmatic, all-seeing woman who made her skin crawl.

“Hmm?” Amanda Adam tilted her head slightly, her violet eyes scrutinizing Pandora through her glasses. “That look on your face tells me you’re thinking something... terribly rude.”

Pandora shook her head, her expression serene. “I’m not.”

Amanda acted as if she hadn’t heard the denial. Carrying on at her own pace, she said in that languid, elegant voice, “You thought... I would be her.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.

Pandora’s gaze didn’t waver as she doubled down on her denial. “Nope.”

Amanda stared at her for a long moment. A flicker of what looked suspiciously like... disappointment? crossed those violet eyes. “I see... So it was only a little bit of thinking so?”

Pandora’s eye twitched, almost imperceptibly. This woman wasn’t listening to a damn word she was saying—though, to be fair, Pandora was talking out of her ass anyway... Still, Amanda seemed genuinely hoping to be mistaken for “her.” Was Faye really that great?

Pandora mentally shook her head. Whatever the relationship was between these two, it wasn’t her problem. Right now, she only had one objective.

“‘She’ once told me that if I couldn’t find a Mentor I was satisfied with, I could...” As she spoke, she produced the deep purple, black-gold filigreed calling card again.

However, the instant it materialized in her hand, Pandora felt her fingers swipe through empty air! She looked up. The card was already pinched between Amanda’s slender fingers. The woman didn’t even glance at it, treating it with the familiarity of a mundane object she’d seen a million times.

Before Pandora could even finish her sentence, the woman waved a hand dismissively, as if utterly bored. “Yes, yes. A Mentor you’re satisfied with... what a lucky little brat!”

Her tone carried an indescribable twist of sour grapes. “I have no idea what she sees in you. I’m the one who does the picking around here, and now I’m being... picked at?!”

There was some serious resentment in those words.

Pandora’s face remained utterly placid, as if the emotional subtext had completely flown over her head. She simply opened her mouth and delivered a perfectly flat line:

“Should I leave, then?”