I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood
Chapter 303: An Irrational Lunatic!

“SKREEEEEEEEEEEE——!!!”

A deep, furious, piercing sound erupted from the depths of the street—a noise as though countless mouths were shrieking in layered, dissonant unison! The sound didn’t travel through the air. It resonated directly in the depths of consciousness, carrying a seething hatred and a violated, frenzied rage.

With that shriek, the entire street came “alive.”

A sickly, feverish flush rippled across the surfaces of the maggot-people who’d been blindly attacking. Their movements turned more violent, their speed intensifying. Some of them even began to swell, their skin splitting open, oozing even more of the thick, reeking putrescence.

As for the street itself—the hanging lamps, the shop signs, the cracks in the cobblestones, the shadows on the walls—all of it began to seep. A viscous, dark-red fluid, like half-congealed blood.

It didn’t trickle. It erupted, like buckets of red paint tipped over, splashing outward in an instant! The sticky crimson flooded the ground at visible speed, climbed the walls, swallowed the signs. It was trying to repaint the canvas of this entire city block into a single, nauseating shade of dark red!

The malice. The aggression. It was so thick you could choke on it. It surged like a living tide, sweeping toward Pandora at the center and Miss Anomaly at the edge, desperate to drown these two discordant stains on its canvas.

If it were Poppy standing here, or Ophelia, they might have found this kind of attack—one that reshaped the environment, flooded the entire battlefield—a real problem. Dodging, finding stable footing, it all took time. If they were slow to react, they might have to retreat, at least temporarily.

But who was she? She was Pandora.

Facing that seemingly endless, surging tide of dark-red slime, Pandora’s face showed not even a flicker of tension. Instead, the ghost of a smile played at her lips—edged with mockery.

“What’s this? Got a lot of blood there, do you? Think you’re pretty tough?”

“Extract Alchemical Elements!”

Her voice was soft, yet it cut clean through the sloshing of the slime and the shrieks of the maggot-people.

Deep within her consciousness, the system interface only she could see silently materialized.

【Please confirm extraction of Alchemical Elements?】

【Confirmed. Extracting Alchemical Elements... Extraction successful!】

【This extraction yields: 47 Flesh + 31 Ether + 9 Soul】

In the corner of her vision, on that panel only she could see, the numbers in her alchemical resource pool began to jump wildly. The dark-red slime surging toward her had already blanketed the entire street’s ground, its depth threatening to swallow her ankles, still rising further. It meant to coil around her feet, to climb her legs, to drown her entirely.

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But the moment that viscous, filth-ridden crimson liquid reached her vicinity, it was as if it had met an invisible singularity. Silently, it dissolved into faint motes of light—intersecting threads of crimson, silver, and muted gray—and vanished into the void. Clean. Completely.

No matter how much of it came, it was siphoned away in an instant. It had absolutely no effect on her. Not a single drop of filth marred even the hem of her skirt.

It was like a hole had been punched in the canvas. No matter how much paint you threw at it, that bottomless pit just swallowed it all. And Pandora? She was that bottomless pit.

“Hee—heehee—HEE—!!!”

A shrill, cackling shriek burst forth, a sound like countless tiny bits of metal scraping across glass. It wasn’t physically deafening—there was no tearing pain of the eardrums. Instead, it was like a rusted, barbed spike being driven straight through the temples and churning frantically through the brain.

It flooded out simultaneously from every brick in the street, every lamppost, every window, weaving into a brain-crawling wall of noise.

Miss Anomaly’s complexion, which had just regained some color from feeding, instantly went deathly pale again. She clutched her ears in helpless agony, tears streaming down her face, her lips trembling as thin, reedy sobs escaped her. She curled into herself, nearly collapsing into a fetal ball.

Pap! A bullet sliced just over her lowered head, grazing her hair, and drilled itself with perfect precision into the side of a maggot-person squirming toward her. The creature’s movement froze—then its head detonated like an overripe melon.

Hearing that shrieking sound, Pandora’s own sword arm briefly faltered. The noise wasn’t just echoing in her ears—it was stabbing directly into her consciousness, churning her thoughts. Doubled-vision flickered across her sight. Her footwork wavered. In that single instant of delay—

Three maggot-people seized the opening, lunging from three different angles! Jaws gaping wide to reveal the spiraling rows of needle-like teeth inside!

Shhk. Shhk. Shhk. Three nearly invisible threads of crimson flashed into existence in front of her at the very last second. The three creatures disintegrated in mid-air, carved into a dozen chunks of uneven meat that splattered onto the ground, mixed with thick, oozing fluids.

Pandora shook her head slightly, a chill flashing through her eyes. So you think I can’t handle this kind of attack?

A month ago, right when she’d first arrived in this world, dealing with this would’ve been a real pain. But… now?

“Rank-3 Wizardry: Susurrus Mist.”

Her voice was low, yet laced with an uncanny cadence. As the words left her lips, a complex, three-dimensional spell matrix snapped into completion within her mind. Mana surged out from her body, coursing along precise, predetermined circuits. The might of her Wizardry was fully unleashed.

That hazy, gray-white mist—the one that had cloaked this block from the start, that warded off the occasional ordinary human trying to enter—suddenly thickened.

It was no longer just a thin haze. It turned dense, a near-solid, milky-white fog! The fog churned and roiled as if it were alive. The entire street was as though it had been vacuumed up, shrieking laughter and all, into the vast, gaseous lungs of some invisible giant.

“Hee… hee… ugh…”

The piercing, grating laughter rapidly muffled within the dense fog. The noise grew fainter, more distorted, until it was nothing. More than that. Toward the end, Pandora could even faintly make out, from the deepest part of the street—from wherever this Anomaly’s core might be—a sound of pained, furious… a choked, growling whimper.

Her counterattack had, it seemed, struck exactly the right nerve. It was like some cultist who constantly puked out putrid blood, trying to scare everyone away with horrifying visions, only to run into an irrational lunatic who kicked the door in and immediately stabbed them straight in the carotid artery. This brute-force, unreasonable, violent suppression was clearly inflicting fear and pain upon the street Anomaly.

And those maggot-people with their twisted faces, who had been attacking so madly just moments before, now wore eerily human-like expressions of agony.