In her “perception,” the ingredients leaped and cheered.
They whispered to her in the purest language of alchemy, a language she now understood. They told her their secrets, the possibilities of their fusion.
The process was no longer a series of dull, rigorous steps.
It had transford into a grand, exhilarating dance.
She sank into the hazy, strange-rhythd lody, lost in it.
In this illusion, so real yet so fake, she saw a lady so enchanting you could drown in a single glance. She couldn't rember the lady’s face, only her dress, woven from moonlight and stardust, and her eyes—eyes that saw everything yet held a playful smile.
The lady extended a hand. A silent invitation.
Pandora didn't resist.
She and the mysterious lady danced a wild jig.
Tap, tap, tap. Clap, clap, clap.
The sharp, rhythmic sound of their shoes striking the ground.
Every stomp was a pestle, grinding hard materials into dust. Every beat was the hot pulse of a distiller under the fla. Every spin, the arc of her swirling skirt, was the elegant trajectory of a solution purifying in a glass tube.
Sweat dripped from Pandora’s face. The Witch’s brow beaded with fragrant sweat.
They were exhausted, panting, but it was exhilarating. They had poured all their strength, all their soul, into this wild yet exquisite dance.
When the beautiful dream, which felt like it had lasted a century and yet only an instant, slowly ca to an end…
Pandora’s eyes flew open.
“Hah… hah… hah…”
Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead damp with sweat. Her eyes held a trace of daze, as if she’d just broken free from a powerful illusion.
She looked at the beaker before her, slightly breathless.
There, a potion lay quietly.
It wasn't glowing. All its essence and splendor seed to have been reined in, settling within the small vial.
But its color was identical to the true red moon. Pure and deep. A scarlet that seed to hold the secrets of the entire night.
If you held it up to the sky, you’d barely be able to tell it apart from the real, eerie blood-red moon.
Without needing a System notification, Pandora knew.
Her perfect-grade 【Potion · Dulles’s Red Moon’s Tears】 was complete.
No more waiting.
Pandora called for Elsa and had her stand guard outside the herb room. No one was allowed to approach, for any reason, even if the sky was falling.
Then, she barred the heavy oak door.
In the room, only she and the perfect potion remained.
She gazed at it calmly.
Then she tilted her head back and downed the entire vial of cold, smooth liquid in one gulp.
The ti she had was only seven days.
From the start of the corpse-transformation, this “screening” process would only last for seven days.
When the ti was up, the next Warden would arrive. He would take over from the previous administrator, bring in a new batch of “Fruits,” and… take back their batch, which had now ripened.
But when the new Warden got here, he would discover—the previous Warden, Dulles, was a stinking pile of rotting flesh.
The key problem was that the heavily guarded research facility showed clear signs of a break-in. That was sothing Pandora could not erase.
So, before that happened, she had to get stronger. By any ans necessary.
According to Dulles’s notes, Wardens were generally only demon-hunting apprentices for about a year. Most of them were “diocre” types like Dulles, with poor talent, who found it hard to advance.
In that situation, once she had the strength of the “second rank,” she’d have more initiative in the upcoming, unequal “handover.”
Advance or retreat, she could be more composed. At worst, she could hide in so forgotten corner of this “Fragnt World.”
Could they find her then? A Warden, with the title of “warden,” didn't have the ability to search an entire world. And the Demon Hunter Academy, she figured, would hardly launch a manhunt that would sweep the entire “Orchard,” just for her, an “accidental,” little “Fruit.”
So, advancing to the second rank was sothing she had to do.
The breakthrough to Wizard first-rank wouldn't take long. According to the Wizard’s Book, as long as you could sink your spirit into that sea of consciousness, accept the aura of a spiritual rune, and incorporate the power of the first rune into your mind, you were set.
If things went smoothly, it could be done in half an hour.
Today was the sixth day of the corpse-transformation.
If she was fast, she’d have a full day left to adapt to her new power and plan her next move.
Without further ado, Pandora sat cross-legged and slowly closed her eyes.
The potion in her stomach turned into a cold torrent, instantly spreading through her body. And her spirit, under its effect, like a wild horse that had broken its reins, rushed out of the confines of her flesh and sank into that… boundless sea of consciousness, filled with mad gibberish…
………………
Above the manor, the sun set and the moon rose, then the moon set and the sun rose again.
Ti, in a strange quiet that mixed new life with decay, flowed silently.
Until the sunset of the second day dyed the sky a rich, orange-red.
Outside the tightly closed oak door of the herb room, Elsa stood guard like a lifeless statue, not moving a single step.
Not a drop of water. Not a bite of food.
As a product of the System’s Myriad Alchemy, her human appearance was just one of her two forms. Biological instincts like eating and sleeping had been reduced to a minimum.
But in exchange, she had to absorb and maintain the “fuel” for her own existence and action…
Pandora’s blood.
Right now, it had been more than twenty hours since Pandora entered the room.
More than twenty hours without absorbing a single drop of her master’s blood.
Elsa’s state was already very poor.
Her face, always as flawless as white porcelain, was now completely bloodless, presenting a sickly, translucent pallor.
Her body was uncontrollably weakening, every muscle emitting a silent, weary lant.
She had to use all her willpower to force her leaden legs to stand, to avoid collapsing to the ground.
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