Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire-Chapter 641 : Action

Eastern coast of Pritt's main island, Tivian.
In daytime Tivian, the light rain had just passed, and the sky was as gloomy as it had been for several days. On the outskirts of the southern district, countless factories stood in rows—forests of rebar and brick sprawling outward, consuming what had once been verdant land and rising steadily toward the sky. Countless workers toiled in this jungle of iron, while towering smokestacks constantly spewed thick black smoke, further darkening the already dusky skies. In the distance near the coastline, one could make out the silhouette of a fortress.
Far beyond the industrial zone, hidden within a patch of withered shrubs, several figures had gathered. All of them wore black rain cloaks that concealed most of their bodies, leaving only their faces visible beneath their hoods, as they looked out toward the city and the factories.
Three individuals stood at the front of the group. The one in the lead was an old man, with a young man and woman standing behind him.
The old man gazed at the outlines of the buildings in silence, as if waiting for something. Behind him, the young pair shifted restlessly, barely able to contain their excitement, their eyes revealing a barely hidden frenzy.
“It’s about time… Are you ready?” the old man finally asked, turning toward them at last. The pair responded instantly.
“We’re ready!”
“No problem—let’s begin! Grant us the offering! The offering that’s ours!”
The young man and woman answered eagerly. The old man, his expression serious, gave one final warning.
“Let me remind you—receiving this offering comes at the price of eternal death. Death that knows no taste, no sensation. Even so, do you still wish to proceed?”
“Of course we do! Compared to that supreme flavor, what is death?”
“Yes… Ever since we tasted that scattered trace of flavor, our entire lives have existed only to one day feast upon that supreme delicacy in full! Even dying ten thousand times would be worth it!”
Their expressions grew even more intense, their tone fanatical, their answer utterly resolute. Seeing their determination, the old man smiled faintly. From beneath his rain cloak, he drew out two iron-chained boxes. The moment the young pair laid eyes on them, their gazes locked, unblinking.
Calmly, the old man unfastened the chains and handed the boxes to the young man and woman. Without hesitation, they opened them.
Inside each box lay a blood-soaked, palm-sized piece of flesh—still twitching faintly.
The moment they saw the meat, the young man and woman could no longer restrain their frenzy. They immediately reached out, grabbed the flesh with bare hands, and stuffed it into their mouths, gnawing, chewing, and swallowing greedily. No seasoning, no cooking—just raw, violent consumption.
“Eat… eat… This is Elder Duval’s gift to you. A portion of his own essence. Once you’ve savored its flavor, fulfill your final value.”
The old man spoke slowly as he watched. The pair had already devoured every bit of the flesh and were still licking the blood from their hands and mouths with frenzied greed.
But then, their bodies began to change.
“Urgh… uhhhhh…”
The young man and woman, just moments ago enjoying the ultimate delicacy, suddenly widened their eyes and clutched at their throats, letting out guttural, inhuman sounds. Their once blissful expressions twisted into extreme agony. Veins bulged from their faces, and their eyes were bloodshot.
“AAAAAHHH!”
With a scream of anguish, they collapsed to the ground. Their bodies began to mutate rapidly—like balloons being inflated. Their rain cloaks and clothes tore apart, revealing not human skin beneath, but pitch-black fur.
Their bodies changed at an alarming pace. Clothes ripped, faces distorted, and they grew fangs. They were undergoing a rapid werewolf transformation—but it was… different.
When the transformation was complete, the old man now faced two monstrous, aberrant werewolves.
They were far larger than typical werewolves—nearly four meters tall. Their fur was sparse and short, their bodies grotesquely thin to the point their bulging veins were visible beneath the skin.
No trace of rationality remained in their eyes—only raw madness. Their wide jaws gaped open, thick saliva dripping between jagged fangs, their chests heaving with heavy breaths like rabid strays infected with rage.
Once the transformation was done, the two aberrant werewolves slowly raised their heads and looked toward the distant silhouette of the city. With a howling breath, they dropped to all fours—and charged toward it at terrifying speed.
…
North Tivian, Cathedral District.
In broad daylight, the Hymn Cathedral remained as serene as ever. Citizens passed through the wide cathedral plaza, entering the chapel to offer their prayers. Countless Church personnel were scattered throughout the district, busy with their respective duties.
Inside the archbishop’s office, Vania, dressed in her white nun’s habit, sat behind her desk diligently reviewing documents. Just as she was absorbed in her paperwork, her expression suddenly shifted—frowning slightly, she looked up toward the southern sky outside the window.
“They’ve arrived…”
Muttering softly, Vania immediately set down her pen, closed her eyes, and began a devout prayer in her heart.
“O great Aka, Recorder of All Things… Please connect me to Miss Dorothea…
“Miss Dorothea, Layered Vision has reacted—I’ve sensed the spiritual response of a Crimson-rank Beyonder approaching Tivian…”
…
Elsewhere in the cathedral district, inside a street-side teahouse, Dorothy sat in a private booth, sipping coffee and enjoying the view outside the window. Upon receiving Vania’s prayer, she paused, set down her cup, and responded thoughtfully in her mind.
“I understand. What’s the direction of the Crimson-rank response?”
“In the south, at the southern city outskirts near the border—around Greycliff Fortress and the Blackwater Zone. There are two Crimson-rank Beyonder entities. Their spirituality builds are primary Chalice and auxiliary Shadow. They’re rapidly approaching Greycliff and Blackwater. They must be from the Wolfblood Society!”
Vania responded quickly. Hearing her words, Dorothy’s expression grew more serious as she began analyzing the situation.
“The Crimson-rank agents from the Wolf-Blood Society have begun moving… but something’s off about their appearance point. Their target is the restricted vault inside the Hymn Cathedral, which is in the northern city. These two reactions appeared way down in the southern outskirts. To reach the cathedral from there, they’d have to cross all of Tivian—practically entering Layered Vision range from the furthest possible point.
“And aside from the suspicious location, there are two Crimson-rank responses. But according to what Warren told me earlier, this operation was only supposed to involve one Crimson-rank member…”
Dorothy quickly arrived at a conclusion based on the Wolfblood Society’s strange arrangement. At that moment, Vania resumed praying.
“Miss Dorothea, should I immediately notify the Serenity Bureau and have them dispatch a Crimson-rank to intercept? If I remember correctly, there are military and industrial zones in that area.”
Dorothy paused briefly, then gave a swift mental reply.
“Yes. Go ahead and the situation to the Serenity Bureau—but understate the numbers. only one Crimson-rank presence. Don’t let them send every Crimson-rank they have. Make sure at least one remains stationed within the city.”
“Only send one? But wouldn’t a one-on-two matchup at Crimson-rank be…”
“Crimson-rank spiritual reactions don’t necessarily mean it’s an actual Crimson-rank Beyonder. Those two responses seem suspicious. We can’t afford to commit all our key forces there at once.”
Dorothy responded calmly to Vania’s concern. In her judgment, the dual Crimsons signals were likely a decoy—and thus committing all resources at once would be reckless. Still, the bait posed a real risk of mass civilian casualties, so from Vania’s position, it couldn’t be ignored either.
Hearing Dorothy’s explanation, Vania blinked, then nodded in sudden realization.
“I understand…”
Inside the archbishop’s office, Vania rose to her feet at once. Striding quickly to the door, she opened it and called out in a commanding voice.
“Cleric Anreves, Cleric Gaspard!”
Shortly after Vania spoke, two men in clerical robes, who had been on standby nearby, quickly approached her. After offering a slight bow, they respectfully asked.
“What are your orders, Sister Vania?”
“Layered Vision has detected the presence of Crimson-rank Beyonder entities—located in the southern city near the Blackwater Zone and Greycliff Fortress. Their spiritual composition is primarily Chalice with an auxiliary Shadow—likely from the Wolfblood Society, followers of the Beast Path. Cleric Anreves, immediately notify the Serenity Bureau and the royal authorities. Have them dispatch a Crimson-rank to intercept and investigate!”
Vania issued her order with a grave tone. Upon hearing the mention of Crimson-rank entities, the two clerics visibly stiffened.
“Understood. I’ll notify them at once.”
Anreves turned and swiftly left. Gaspard, who remained behind, also spoke, his expression tense.
“Sister Vania, I didn’t expect cultists of Crimson-rank to infiltrate the city… We should quickly gather our forces and head to the southern district to support the kingdom’s Crimson-rank and protect the devout citizens of our realm from the claws of heresy. It is the Holy Church’s duty!”
Gaspard sounded eager, but Vania’s next words poured cold water over his enthusiasm.
“Now is not the time, Cleric Gaspard. Please deliver my command: The entire Hymn Cathedral—and the entire Tivian Diocese—is now officially entering combat readiness. Evacuate all ordinary believers. Aside from the Holy Guard, all non-ranked church members are to enter the sanctuaries. The Holy Guard is to seal all entrances and exits. All 3rd- and 4th-rank clergy, regardless of department, are to prepare for battle. Any 5th-rank clergy not belonging to the Inquisition, Holy Guard, or Crusaders are to enter the underground shelters as well.”
Vania delivered her orders swiftly and firmly. Gaspard froze briefly upon hearing them, then spoke with confusion.
“Sister Vania… we’re not going to provide direct support?”
“No. This is not the time for questions, Cleric. Execute the command—at once.”
Though her words were still polite, there was an unmistakable edge of cold authority in Vania’s tone—one that allowed no objection. Hearing her, Gaspard stopped pressing and responded crisply.
“Yes, ma’am.”
…
With Vania’s command, the entire Hymn Cathedral immediately surged into motion. Clergy, nuns, and Holy Guards bustled everywhere. Amid the flurry of activity, the ordinary citizens who had come to pray were quietly escorted away in confusion, wondering what was happening as they were led out of the cathedral.
Meanwhile, in front of the massive sanctuary of the Hymn Cathedral, three men stood among the dispersing crowd, silently observing the chaos around them. All three wore modest clothing. One was Sander, another was Warren, and the third was an unfamiliar bearded middle-aged man. The three spoke in hushed tones in a language other than the local Pritt tongue.
“The Church rats are making a move. Our people have already begun elsewhere. This must be the signal for us to act too, right?” said the werewolf named Warren, glancing around.
Sander furrowed his brow and replied.
“That does seem to be the case… But their behavior is a little off from what we expected. Instead of mobilizing for support, they’re bunkering down and clearing the civilians out. Could they have realized something?”
“Hmph… Probably just lost their nerve with Francesco gone. These Church rats are cowards in robes—once they lose their own Crimson-tier, they’re nothing. All that talk about fearless sacrifice for their faith? Utter nonsense.”
The bearded man scoffed disdainfully.
But Sander quickly interrupted with a serious tone.
“Either way, since they’ve started evacuating, we need to act now. Blond, awaken all the beastkins and begin the assault.”
Sander turned to the werewolf beside him. Blond gave a silent nod and began to focus, summoning their long-prepared beastkins.
At the edges of the cathedral district, in various alleyway corners, several large carriages were parked. Inside the sealed compartments of these wagons were packed dozens upon dozens of monstrous figures—covered in black fur, faces twisted, fanged and clawed like ape-like beasts. These were the beastkins, created by the werewolves using their Lycanthropy.
Packed tightly within the wagons, these beastkins lay dormant and unconscious, not moving an inch. They all appeared to be peacefully asleep.
But just then, one of them began to stir—its eyelids twitching faintly. As it woke and bared its fangs in a menacing snarl, something unexpected happened.
Above its head, a faint, glowing red thread had silently descended at some unknown time, sinking into the top of the beastkin’s skull. The moment the thread made contact, the beastkin’s body stiffened—and then, as if overwhelmed by sleep again, it collapsed back into slumber. As its eyes closed, the red thread gradually faded into invisibility.
And it was not alone.
Inside the wagon, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of such threads hung in a dense, almost invisible web.
Atop the carriage, a single crow perched silently on the roof. Once the final beastkin had been linked by the red thread, it spread its wings and soared into the sky, its silhouette shimmering and warped beneath the faint sunlight.