Chapter 362: Pandora’s Ashen Blood Draught

“Alright, Elsa. I’m going to sleep now.”

Phoebe’s voice drew Elsa from her thoughts.

She closed her diary, stretched, and smiled with contentment.

That smile still carried a touch of childlike innocence, but compared to a year ago, it held more ease as well.

“Go on.”

Elsa answered softly, watching as Phoebe obediently made her way to the bed.

She pulled the blanket up to her chin, then hugged the lavender bear close to her chest.

She turned onto her side, closed her eyes, and soon her breathing settled into a steady rhythm.

Over the course of more than a year, it was hard to say which of the many measures had taken effect—or perhaps it was the combined result of all of them. Regardless, compared to a year ago, Phoebe’s personality had grown considerably more whole.

She could control that ability much better now, no longer so easily plagued by fear.

She could also endure longer periods of separation from Pandora, though complete departure was still beyond her.

But had this been a year ago, she would certainly have waited until Pandora finished her bath and changed clothes, then gone to sleep together with her. Back then, even with just a door between them, she would grow restless and anxious—like a kitten left alone in a room.

Now, she could fall asleep by herself.

For Phoebe, this was no small step forward.

“Elsa?”

Pandora’s voice suddenly came from outside the door.

It was not loud, somewhat muffled by the door panel, but Elsa still started slightly.

She responded at once:

“My Lady, coming right away!”

She picked up something, straightened the hem of her clothes, and walked briskly toward the bathroom.

………………

Inside the bathroom, steam hung heavy in the air.

Pandora soaked in the bathtub, the warm water rising past her shoulders.

Along the white porcelain rim, fine beads of condensation had gathered, slowly sliding down the smooth surface.

It had to be said—she truly loved bathing. The warm water enveloped her entire body, her muscles gradually relaxing in the gentle heat, the weariness of the day melting away.

Especially after spending an entire evening playing with Phoebe. Theoretically, for a Rank-3, such exertion barely drained any physical stamina, but mentally, there was still a trace of fatigue.

Elsa pushed open the door and entered. She poured in bath liquid first, gently stirring the water with her palm, working it into a fine lather.

Then she lit the scented candle. The flame flickered briefly, its orange glow diffusing softly through the steam. A faint, sweet rose fragrance spread through the air, mingling with the moisture to form a warm and rich atmosphere.

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These were all part of Pandora’s daily routine—things Elsa would normally have prepared well in advance. It was only because of the trip to the amusement park that she hadn’t been able to set them up ahead of time. But making up for it now was not too late.

Amid the fragrance, Pandora’s spirit gradually unwound.

She leaned against the edge of the tub, eyes half-lidded, letting the warm water and foam envelop her.

Then, from the shelf beside the tub, she retrieved a bottle of potion with a murky, somber hue.

The bottle was not large—about the thickness of a thumb. The glass was deep amber, making the liquid inside impossible to see.

But the moment she pulled the stopper, a strange aura spilled from the mouth of the bottle. That aura did not resemble any known potion. It was... how to describe it?

Like ash. And like moonlight.

Like the last lingering warmth after everything had burned away.

This was the Ashen Blood Draught.

One year and three months ago, she had launched a research initiative—a potion for her Witch’s bloodline, using Anomalous ashes as the primary material.

In the beginning, it had been nothing more than a vague direction. Not even a basic structural framework for the formula existed.

She had started from scratch, groping forward step by step. Countless failures. Countless adjustments.

That tube of venom which had withered her blood—that had been an accidental discovery along this research path. Yet it had also been the critical turning point that propelled her deeper understanding of the properties of Anomalous ashes.

And this potion before her now—this was the fruit of that labor. From nothing to something. The completion of a full Rank-3 potion formula.

Over the course of a year, her potioneering skill had been honed yet further.

Day after day of refinement—like a dull blade ground to a sharp edge, like coarse sandpaper replaced with fine velvet cloth.

She tipped the bottle and drank it all in one swallow.

The moment the potion passed her lips, that familiar sensation arose—as if the light of the red moon were shining upon her.

A warmth spread from within outward, as though a strand of moonlight had pierced her skin, seeped into her blood, and flowed into her marrow.

Her heartbeat quickened slightly. Her cheeks grew warm— No. They were genuinely heating up.

Elsa was gently rinsing her with fresh water, and the water, as it flowed across her skin, had become noticeably hot.

The originally cool stream, the instant it touched her skin, seemed to be kindled by some inner heat.

The potion’s power dispersed through her. The Witch’s bloodline felt as though it had been nourished. That tingling, numbing sensation reached all the way into the depths of her marrow—like countless tiny needlepoints gently probing, or like something slowly growing deep within her bloodline.

But soon, the sensation shifted. The numbness transformed into an unbearable itch... That itch spread from her marrow to her skin, like thousands upon thousands of ants crawling beneath the surface.

Compared to the red moonlight, the potion was not perfect. This was a side effect for which Pandora had yet to find a solution—a consequence of impurities that could not yet be fully removed when refining the core components of Anomalous ashes.

Fortunately, the itching had no practical impact, and it could be soothed by a certain method...

“My Lady, is this level of pressure suitable?”

Elsa’s palms pressed gently onto her shoulders. The force was neither too light nor too heavy, landing precisely upon the most tense areas of muscle. Her fingertips applied subtle pressure, slowly tracing the curve of the shoulder blades.

It had to be said—from Elsa’s perspective, giving Lady Pandora a massage was an exceptionally pleasant experience.

That impossibly smooth and fine skin, softened further by the water and foam, took on an added suppleness.

The resilient muscles—beneath her fingertips, she could feel the power contained within them, yet in their relaxed state, they were extraordinarily soft.

That tactile blend of softness and firmness was an experience unique to Elsa. Elsa liked this feeling very much.

Not to mention that she could, to some extent, share in Pandora’s sensations as well...

Though this “empathic resonance” was not as strong in human form as it was in greatsword form. Even with skin touching, the sensation was faint—blurred and indistinct.

But for Elsa... To feel what Lady Pandora was feeling—that in itself was an experience that made her heart race.

In that faint resonance, she caught a thread of relief, of ease. It was the signal that her lady was relaxing.

And for Pandora, as the recipient of the massage, it was the same. Beyond the normal comfort of the massage, the specific techniques also soothed that intense itching.

Elsa’s fingertips landed precisely upon particular points, her pressure layered and progressive, guiding that bone-deep itch outward, bit by bit.

“Yes. Just like that.”

Pandora spoke softly, her tone carrying a thread of languor.