Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire-Chapter 658 : Attraction

Flottes, inside the lobby of the Falling Petals Hotel.
Not long after stepping inside, Adèle turned her head slightly. From behind her sunglasses, she looked at the half-masked man in front of her with a trace of surprise in her gaze and asked curiously.
“You are…?”
“This is not the place to speak. Please follow me, Miss Briouze,” the man replied with the same courteous demeanor, bowing slightly to Adèle.
Hearing this, Adèle did not press further.
“All right, lead the way.”
Hearing her reply, the man silently nodded and turned to head deeper into the hotel. Adèle followed without a word.
Climbing the hotel’s stairs behind the man, Adèle ascended several floors. After reaching a certain level, they turned into a hallway. Twisting left and right through the corridors, they eventually came to a clean hallway lined with a red carpet. At the end of the corridor, the man took out a key, unlocked a door, and stepped inside. Adèle followed closely behind.
Upon entering, Adèle found herself not in a typical hotel room, but in a large reception hall. Sunlight poured in through broad windows, illuminating the space. The floor was covered with beautifully patterned carpets, and vases, sculptures, and other decorations adorned the edges of the room. A large landscape painting hung on the wall, and a ring of comfortable single-seat sofas surrounded the room’s center.
Sitting on those sofas were a dozen or so individuals—men and women, young and old. Some were plainly dressed, looking as if they’d been pulled in off the street; some were impeccably dressed, clearly wealthy; and some wore theatrical, extravagant costumes. Their expressions varied—tense, indifferent, or annoyed. As the masked man and Adèle entered, nearly every gaze turned toward them.
“You’re finally back... is everything ready now?”
A portly gentleman seated upright among the sofas spoke impatiently. The masked man respectfully replied.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Dupont. Miss Briouze was the final attendee. Now that she’s here, we may begin.”
With that, he turned to Adèle and continued.
“Miss Briouze, please find yourself a seat.”
“Thank you for showing the way.”
Adèle responded lightly, then stepped forward and sat down on an empty single-seat sofa. Once seated, she silently began observing her surroundings. Seeing her settle in, the masked man exhaled in quiet relief, then walked to the center of the reception room. Looking around at everyone, he raised his voice and began to speak.
“Esteemed guests of noble blood, thank you for waiting. I am grateful that you’ve all accepted my invitation and traveled from afar to gather here. I am the one who has been communicating with you through letters—Mr. F. From the moment I was born, I have served the true rulers of this nation.”
“So he’s Mr. F…”
Adèle mused to herself upon hearing the masked man’s self-introduction. Truthfully, the presence Mr. F exuded at the moment was much weaker than she had expected.
“Ladies and gentlemen, no matter your current circumstances or livelihood, noble blood flows through your veins. This bloodline traces back to the people my family has long served—those who are the rightful rulers of this country. A century ago, that bloodline was trampled and desecrated by mobs. The ungrateful rabble forgot Falano’s history, forgot who saved their ancestors…”
With his arms spread wide, Mr. F’s expression grew somewhat impassioned as he launched into his speech. The reactions from those around him were mixed. Some of the well-dressed individuals remained calm or even looked indignant, while others who were more plainly dressed showed open impatience. One youth in particular—dressed in drab gray and looking like a street punk—suddenly raised his fist and interrupted loudly.
“Hey! Buddy, cut the rambling already. Get to the point! We’re here for an inheritance, not to hear you brag about our ancestors!”
The youth’s disrespectful interruption provoked a sharp reaction from an elderly gentleman, who slammed his cane down and shouted angrily.
“You insolent brat! How dare you! This is a tribute to the glory of Bourbon and a condemnation of those wretched mobs, and you dare speak such words at this moment?!”
“Whoa, hey—no need to get so worked up, sir. We’re all here for the treasure, right? Just trying to move things along a bit. No offense meant. Since we’re all sitting here, we’re practically relatives anyway. Let’s keep things civil.”
Spreading his hands, the punk replied straightforwardly. His words clearly agitated the old gentleman further.
“Relatives…? Who said I’m related to the likes of you?! You filthy lowborn wretch, I—”
“All right, that’s enough. Mr. Martin, Mr. Luc, now is not the time for bickering…”
Seeing the situation begin to spiral out of control, Mr. F quickly stepped in to calm things down. After some effort, he finally managed to restore a semblance of order and continued speaking:
“Each of you is a distinguished figure from different regions. We’ve gathered you here to help reunite the fragments of rightful lineage scattered throughout this nation. There exists a noble connection within your bloodlines—please do not turn on each other or sow discord…”
Mr. F continued his attempts to soothe the room. Once the situation had finally calmed down completely, he shifted the topic and got to the point—the matter that most people present were truly interested in.
“Though the legitimate power of this nation still exists, it has been left in tatters. Our family’s mission has always been to find a way to reunite and reforge that power. For decades, we have studied the people and relics left behind by the Bourbon dynasty, searching for the key to bringing unity again. And the clue we recently discovered to this hidden inheritance treasure is the greatest discovery we’ve made in years.
“The existence of this treasure was revealed through our long-term research into Bourbon archives. It was left behind by the Splendor King Charles, a monarch who brought pride to Falano. Throughout his life, he accomplished countless feats and constructed many great works. He is surrounded by a myriad of legends and is one of Falano’s most renowned rulers. Among all the stories around him, this treasure is one of the most dazzling.”
Mr. F spoke with growing enthusiasm as he delivered this declaration. Hearing it, Adèle frowned slightly, then spoke up.
“In Falano, nearly half of all folktales can be linked back to the Splendor King Charles. How can we be sure this treasure is real? For a king, no matter how much wealth he possessed, wouldn’t his foremost concern near death have been to pass it on to his successor? Why would he hide a treasure away for someone to find who-knows-how-long after his death?”
“Heh, Miss Briouze raises a fine point. Indeed… many of the folk legends attached to King Charles are fictitious. However, this treasure is not among them. Its existence is backed not by hearsay, but by our family’s relentless research into Bourbon documents.
“Based on clues found in those records, we have already recovered a number of relevant items and sent them to you as evidence. The final and most crucial component—the treasure’s core—still lies dormant. From our interpretation of the documents, this main treasure can only be unlocked by bloodline—true Bourbon blood. That is precisely why we have gathered you all here.
“As for why King Charles would have left behind such a treasure... perhaps he foresaw the circumstances we face today? A failsafe to help his descendants rise again. A treasure that only bloodline can awaken—would that not be the perfect gift from a king to his heirs?”
“Treasure that can only be unlocked by true Bourbon blood... is there some sort of mystical mechanism using bloodline as a key?”
Dorothy, watching via Adèle’s senses from outside the hotel, couldn’t help but think. Just then, the same punk youth whose eyes were practically glowing with excitement shouted again.
“Hey! Stop being so cryptic! Just tell us where this treasure is already, so we can go dig it up!”
“Haha, patience, Mr. Luc…”
Mr. F said with a faint smile. Then he snapped his fingers.
At that cue, a side door in the room opened, and a similarly dressed attendant walked out, carrying a long scroll in his hands.
The attendant approached one wall of the room, hung up the scroll, and unfurled it. What appeared before the crowd was a massive city map of Flottes.
“According to our investigation, we’ve confirmed the treasure’s location. It lies within Flottes—right here.”
While speaking, Mr. F picked up a prepared wooden pointer and directed it toward a southern location on the map, far from the city center. After a pause, one of the elder gentlemen recognized the spot and blurted out.
“That’s… the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty? You’re saying there’s treasure there?”
“Come on, that’s the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty! It used to be the heart of Bourbon royal authority. The revolutionaries must have flipped that place over a dozen times already. How could there still be a treasure left behind?” said a rotund middle-aged man with skepticism.
But Mr. F replied calmly.
“The most dangerous place is often the safest. Let’s not forget—the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty was one of King Charles’s constructions. He personally designed and supervised its creation. It’s his masterpiece—his most artistically intricate and complex work.
“King Charles wasn’t just a great monarch; he was also a great artist, performer, and architect. A palace designed by his own hands—how could a mob of revolutionaries possibly uncover all its secrets? I believe that even after hundreds of years, that temple still hides many mysteries. Under Charles’s brilliance, it has continued to mislead those who would usurp it. Only those of his true bloodline can break through it…”
As he gazed over the scattered remnants of Bourbon royalty, Mr. F spoke in a slow, alluring tone. Listening to his words, many present began to show expressions of eager anticipation—as if they couldn’t wait to rush off to the temple and begin the treasure hunt.
“I’ve had the fortune of visiting the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty once before. It’s definitely massive and complex. For us few to just walk in and start searching without direction would be nearly impossible…” the elderly gentleman said again.
But Mr. F waved a hand and replied.
“It wouldn’t be aimless. We have clues—messages left behind by King Charles himself, deciphered from the documents.”
The crowd immediately perked up, ears alert. Mr. F continued.
“Within this palace of mine, I have set a triple stage of sevenfold lotus...
Those who find the three stages shall find the treasure I have left behind.”
“This is the hint left by King Charles. If you’re unsure where to begin once inside the temple, try searching for the so-called triple stage.”
“Triple stage… sounds like some kind of riddle… but something feels off. The way Mr. F repeated the clue—his tone and style don’t match. Did he leave something out?”
Sitting in the carriage outside, Dorothy couldn’t help but question this in her heart. The puzzle didn’t sit right with her when spoken by Mr. F.
“Even with clues, finding something in the Temple won’t be easy,” the fat gentleman spoke again, frowning.
“It’s still used to host foreign dignitaries and parliamentary banquets. It’s heavily guarded. Folks like us won’t be able to sneak in easily.”
But Mr. F responded confidently, as though everything had already been arranged.
“Don’t worry, everyone. I’ve already prepared the means to get you inside. Starting tomorrow, there will be a New Year’s banquet held to receive regional officials from all across the country. The event will last for about a day and a half. During this time, the Temple will be filled with people. Many officials will bring their entourages, and the scene will be more chaotic than usual.
“I’ve already prepared false identities for each of you. With those, you’ll be able to blend in and gain entry to the temple. While enjoying the banquet, you’ll also be able to search for clues to the treasure. Just be careful not to expose yourselves.”
With that, Mr. F paused slightly, swept his gaze around the room, and spoke once more.
“Everyone, let us return to the legacy left by nobility. Let us search for the spark that could ignite the Bourbon revival.”
…
While Mr. F painted grand promises and lured the Bourbon descendants in the reception hall of the Falling Petals Hotel with tales of hidden treasure, outside in a roadside carriage, Dorothy quietly sat in her seat, seriously recalling everything he had just said.
“The Temple of the Goddess of Beauty, huh? Looks like… one way or another, I’ll have to go.
“But… will there really be a treasure there? Or… is what’s waiting for us something else entirely?”