I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

Chapter 177: Eyes in the Shadows

There were no complex trials. No long debates.

In the Ruined Capital, in Eden, the so-called laws were a simple, direct tool for keeping basic order and the bottom line of survival intact.

Standing before the stone pillar in her capacity as Enforcement Captain, Aurora read the charges and the sentence aloud for the three agitators. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried cleanly across the hundred-plus people gathered in the square.

Then, the execution began.

The "Penalty of the Tongue" wasn’t a bloody mutilation. It was a mix of mental intimidation and sharp physical pain, designed to punish and warn.

Two Enforcers stepped forward. Each held a tough, dark-brown leather strap, about two fingers wide. The straps had been soaked in a special potion that gave off a faint, acrid, spicy smell.

The condemned were forced to their knees on the cold stone, facing the crowd.

The strap rose, then fell.

Snap!

The crisp, meaty sound cracked in the silent plaza.

Where the potion met skin, a faint hiss sounded, leaving a line that immediately began to swell.

The man let out a short, sharp cry before clamping his jaw shut, his body shaking violently.

Snap!

Snap!

The blows fell steady and cold. They focused not just on the cheeks, but heavily around the mouth.

Soon, the three men’s faces were swollen past recognition. Skin split, oozing blood and a light-yellow fluid mixed with the potion. The brew brought more than the sting of the impact—a deep, burning heat under the skin, followed by a numbness that made their very tongues tingle.

Paired with another potion forced down their throats beforehand, the condemned would feel it for days: a surge of uncontrollable nausea and a racing heart any time they tried to speak loudly, or lie.

Screams, garbled pleas, and choked whimpers tangled with the dull thud of leather on flesh, echoing across the stones.

The crowd watched in silence. Many looked away, or lowered their heads, fear plain or poorly hidden on their faces.

On the very outer edge, in an inconspicuous corner where a building cast a deep shadow, a small, thin figure stood quietly. A large grey robe draped over her, a hood pulled low. The shadow of the brim, adjusted just so, hid most of her face. What little showed had been subtly altered by makeup and shade, different enough from her usual look.

Her gaze calmly cut through the gaps in the moving crowd, landing on Aurora—the tall, stern Captain at the plaza’s center.

Deep in that gaze was a complexity no outsider could read.

This was Pandora.

She was also the silent "support" that had let Aurora shake off a third-rank’s Coercion back at the shop.

In that critical moment, Pandora had pushed her second-rank Wizard’s mental strength. From a distance, she’d used an obscure, clever method to touch Aurora’s consciousness. Not a direct defense—with her shallow, unsystematic grasp, she couldn’t have blocked a third-rank’s pressure head-on. It was more like a spiritual nudge. She didn’t try to lift the mountain from Aurora’s shoulders. She used that familiar voice, that intention, to stir the resilient, unyielding strength already buried deep in Aurora’s own will.

The effect was better than expected. Maybe because that encouragement—a bit straightforward, even cheesy, in retrospect—fit perfectly with the loyalty and steadfast belief rooted in Aurora’s heart. It was instinct.

"This method is a fluke," Pandora assessed coolly in her mind. "Not repeatable." The success relied on too many specific, fragile factors.

"So," her thoughts dug deeper, "when do I get to learn real, stable, systematic Wizardry?" For attack, for defense, for support. Her hunger for real knowledge, for a true inheritance, burned clearer and sharper. That was the cornerstone. Real power she could hold. Not this crude, instinctual fumbling with mental force, like a child waving an unshaped stick.

The execution in the plaza was winding down. The three condemned men lay collapsed, faces bloated, lips split, their moans weak and broken. Aurora raised a hand. The Enforcers stopped.

She swept her gaze over the silent crowd, her voice clear as she delivered the final verdict, reaffirming Eden’s commitment to fair trade and order.

Pandora took one last look at Aurora. Deep in her eyes, a thread of subtle warmth drifted past, like pale winter sun. It was gone quickly, replaced by cooler, deeper calculation.

She gently tugged the hood, already low, a fraction lower.

She turned.

Her footsteps were soundless. The grey robe swayed once, then melted into the building’s thick, cold shadow.

She was gone.

..................

Snap!

This crisp sound didn’t come from the plaza.

It came from inside a building nearby, one with a clear view of the Ascension Road square. Second floor, street-facing room. Large windows fitted with special one-way glass.

From inside, you could see everything—the execution, the sea of onlookers.

Right now, Wilbur had never hated this excellent vantage point more.

Lord Aldrich, The Blood Tonic himself, stood before him.

His Lord had seen it all through this window. Every moment. Which meant his Lord had watched the whole humiliating finale, where he’d bungled the job and lost all face.

Just as the final blow fell and the plaza’s noise died to a murmur, Aldrich spun around.

He didn’t give Wilbur a chance to speak. His hand shot out in a violent backhand across Wilbur’s face.

The sound was sharp. The force was solid.

“Just what,” Aldrich’s voice was low, a dam holding back fury, “do you think you are doing?”