Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire-Chapter 743 : Dragon Hunt

Pritt, East Coast – Tivian.
At a bustling intersection in Tivian’s eastern district, the moment Tivian’s undisputed superstar Adèle appeared, the scene immediately descended into chaos. The spectators, who had been enjoying the ceremonial music parade, erupted the instant someone cried out the name of the city’s household-name dancing diva. Hysteria spread like wildfire.
Screaming, fanatical, a surge of people rushed toward the actress who had suddenly appeared on the street. Her smiling silhouette was quickly swallowed up by the crowd. The Eight-Spired Nest guards who had been closely following Adèle lost sight of her as the flood of bodies obscured their vision.
“What should we do… Should we rush in to find her?” one Eight-Spired guard asked gravely.
The squad leader beside him replied calmly.
“These people’s desires have been manipulated… Rushing in will only plunge us deeper into confusion. That’s playing right into her hands,” the captain said sternly. He knew that crowded places were highly disadvantageous when facing someone on the Desire Path. Charging in would only get them ensnared in a crowd turned against them.
Fortunately, this team had been specifically dispatched for an operation targeting Adèle. They had anticipated such a scenario and prepared countermeasures.
First, the Eight-Spired captain took out a pair of spectacles-like Lantern mystical items, capable of seeing through obstructions to detect high spirituality traces. He scanned the crowd, but found nothing—clearly, Adèle was using a Shadow mystical item to counter Lantern detection.
This didn’t surprise the captain. Knowing Adèle was not a Shadow Beyonder, and they themselves weren’t Lanterns either, both relied on external spirituality tools. Engaging in a Lantern-Shadow detection tug-of-war would be pointless, especially when both were dependent on limited resources. So the captain wisely put the item away and moved on to the next method.
Their second method involved aerial surveillance. Agents were stationed on rooftops flanking the streets, constantly watching from above. Among them were three White Ash-rank Vampires, including the captain himself. Partially transformed into bats, they released smaller bat parts of their bodies to hover in the sky and coordinate with rooftop lookouts.
Though the street below was a sea of heads and hats, Adèle’s flamboyantly decorated hat stood out—an easy target for aerial identification. Using this, they quickly spotted her apparent direction: west.
But of course… that was just how it seemed. The Eight-Spired captain didn’t believe Adèle would be so foolish as to flee with such a conspicuous hat. That hat had to be a decoy!
To find the real Adèle, he had more tricks up his sleeve. After instructing one rooftop operative to tail the hat-wearing decoy, he moved on to his next step.
He and another rooftop White Ash operative took out a sigil and activated it. The sigils burst into flame, granting them a heightened sense of smell—an ability far beyond most animals.
This was a Scent-Tracking Sigil. Before arriving, these White Ash-rank Vampires had already used it once to memorize Adèle’s scent from earlier in the day. Now, with their senses enhanced again, they could pinpoint her location even in a massive crowd.
Soon, the captain picked up Adèle’s scent. As he had predicted, the scent was moving—but in the opposite direction of the decoy hat. While the hat was heading west, the scent led east. A clear mismatch—proof the hat was a decoy.
So the real Adèle was headed east… or was she?
The captain still didn’t act immediately. He knew Adèle had a history with the Wolfblood Society, a branch of the Afterbirth Cult, like Abyssal Church, and had even been hunted by them.
Those Werewolf Beyonders had natural olfactory abilities far beyond even the Scent-Tracking Sigil. Adèle surviving their hunt proved she had developed powerful counters to such tracking.
According to intel they bought from the Wolfblood Society, Adèle was a master of perfume blending. She never had a fixed scent. She could change her smell in moments and even attach it to decoys. This was how she had repeatedly escaped their pursuit.
Given all this, she likely anticipated they’d use scent-tracking too. After all, Scent-Tracking was a widely used Chalice method when Lantern detection failed.
So the captain sent another rooftop operative to tail the scent instead of pursuing it himself. He saved his final method for confirmation.
During their earlier encounter, the Eight-Spired team had discreetly left a trace on Adèle—embedded in the paper documents they gave her, which she touched when asking for proof of her performance venue allocation. The backs of the papers had been coated in microscopic, hair-thin spider bristles. These bristles pierced into her palm undetected, thanks to their tiny size and mild anesthetics.
Once embedded, the bristles would periodically fall off and release a faint pheromone. A specially bred spider, able to detect that pheromone, could then trace Adèle’s movements.
This stealth-tracking spider was a new Eight-Spired Nest invention. It emitted nearly zero mystical trace, avoiding conventional detection. Neither ordinary nor mystical means could easily shake it off.
Now, the captain pulled a small vial from his pocket and opened it. A brilliantly colored, tiny spider crawled onto his hand and circled twice before pointing sharply in a direction—north.
This wasn’t the direction of the hat, nor the scent—it was a third, entirely different vector.
So both the scent and hat had been decoys.
“Truly meticulous… Miss Superstar,” the captain murmured.
With that, he stepped forward and led his team around the crowd toward the direction indicated by the spider. Their pace quickened, leaving the main road and entering a maze of alleyways.
Meanwhile, the two agents sent to shadow the earlier decoys had already ed back via messenger spiders. The captain now had clear visuals of both decoys via corpse marionette relays.
First was the hat-wearing decoy. She was walking alone down a quiet pedestrian path. Though wearing Adèle’s hat and masked veil—with eye makeup resembling Adèle’s—the captain noticed her outfit was different. Her figure, while similarly tall and elegant, had a notably larger bust.
This target, while very similar to Adèle, lacked the rhythmic elegance of her gait and kept darting glances around, a nervousness that Adèle would never show. Clearly, this wasn’t her.
Next was the target carrying Adèle’s scent. Like the previous hat-wearer, this person wore entirely different clothes from Adèle’s usual attire and had her face partially covered with a scarf, revealing only the eyes. The eye makeup was identical to Adèle’s, and the body shape was nearly indistinguishable—at first glance, it looked like the real deal.
However, the sharp-eyed Eight-Spired captain could still tell the difference. Although this person resembled Adèle far more than the hat-wearing decoy, she still wasn’t the real one. Her stride was too bold and aggressive, lacking any sense of grace. Her gaze was too direct and sharp, unlike Adèle’s usual aloof and languid demeanor.
The Eight-Spired squad had spent a long time preparing for today’s operation, taking extra care not to be misled by decoys. They had painstakingly studied Adèle.
With help from the Blackdream Hunting Pack, the Eight-Spired operatives found several of Adèle’s diehard fans in Tivian—people who never missed one of her performances. Using Blackdream’s illusion moths, they harvested memories of Adèle’s performances and public appearances directly from these fans’ dream cocoons. In total, the operatives absorbed and reviewed hundreds, even thousands of hours of Adèle-related memories in their sleep, familiarizing themselves with her expressions, body language, tone of voice, gait, movements, and overall temperament.
With this knowledge deeply ingrained, they could distinguish a fake from the real Adèle with uncanny precision.
For example, the first decoy's figure, posture, and gait were all off. The second appeared flawless at a glance, but her bearing and stride betrayed her. That left only the third suspect...
After determining the third was the most suspicious, the Eight-Spired captain accelerated his pursuit. Just then, he sensed through the spider on his hand that the tracked target had begun to speed up. As a precaution, he covertly messaged his two comrades who were watching the other two decoys, instructing them to leave a minimal tail on their current targets and instead move to encircle the one he was chasing.
Soon, those two comrades turned and began heading toward the captain’s position. One of them, watching from a rooftop, soon spotted the target weaving through alleys, seemingly preparing to return to the main road. Her image was instantly transmitted back to the captain via a corpse marionette relay.
The figure was a woman. Though her clothes and hat were different from what Adèle had worn earlier, her eye makeup, facial features, and physique were exact matches. Her gait was completely identical to Adèle’s. Among all the decoys so far, this was the closest resemblance.
The Eight-Spired captain’s eyes lit up with excitement. He picked up speed, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in partial bat-form to cut through the city. Finally, just as Adèle was about to exit the alley and merge back into the main road, the captain intercepted her at the intersection.
“Miss Briouze... And just where do you think you’re going? We've worked
so
hard to find you,” the Eight-Spired captain said lazily, standing at the alley's mouth, back to the flow of crowds and carriages behind him, still dressed in his guard uniform.
Hearing his voice, the woman froze. She looked ahead, then decisively turned around.
But as soon as she did, she spotted two more men standing in the forked alleys behind her, both fixing her with cold stares—blocking her retreat. Raising her head slightly, she noticed several more gazes silently watching from the rooftops on either side.
“Don’t even think of running, Miss Briouze... We’ve made ample preparations to escort you safely to your rightful stage.
“Unless you’re planning on using force—which you’re welcome to try—you won’t shake us off,” the captain said in a low, steady voice. He knew full well they were prepared not only to track Adèle but to subdue her in direct confrontation, if necessary. If a fight broke out, they had a suite of countermeasures ready.
Surrounded, the veiled woman furrowed her brow and looked around, then slowly shook her head and removed her scarf, revealing Adèle’s face—flawless and identical to the captain’s memory.
“Heh… Such enthusiastic fans. I’ve shaken off plenty of journalists in my day. Figured you lot would be no different. Looks like I miscalculated~”
Adèle said, sighing in exasperation and raising her hands in a wry smile.
Hearing her tone and seeing her expression, the Eight-Spired captain quickly cross-checked with his memorized profile—no discrepancies. The woman before him was Adèle herself. No one else could replicate such subtle nuance.
Having confirmed her identity, the captain silently exhaled in relief. Then he faced her seriously and asked.
“So… has Miss Briouze decided where your next stage performance will be held?”
Adèle shrugged and replied casually, “We’ll do the sub-venue then. I’m not desperate for the spotlight this time.”
As she walked forward, seemingly resigned, the captain moved to follow closely at her side. The rest of the operatives shadowed her discreetly, tightening surveillance to ensure she wouldn’t escape again.
“Adèle Briouze attempted to evade surveillance but has been successfully brought back under control. No further risk of her reaching the main venue,” the captain ed using a miniature human-faced spider, sending word back to the Eight-Spired higher-ups overseeing the entire operation from afar.
Though the captain wasn’t privy to the plans in other regions, his sole responsibility was to ensure Adèle didn’t interfere with them. For now, everything was going according to plan—and that alone ensured the others could proceed unhindered.
…
Meanwhile, in the eastern outskirts of Pritt—World Plaza.
In front of the magnificent and opulent Crystal Palace, the temporary main stage of the World Expo’s opening ceremony bustled with tens of thousands of spectators. The grand plaza was alive with sound and excitement.
Amid the sea of attendees, a middle-aged man dressed as a janitor—with overalls, a T-shirt, a brown derby hat, and a broom in hand—stood inconspicuously at the stairway entrance. He received a signal through a miniature human-faced spider in his ear. After verifying the message, he quietly sighed in relief.
“Adèle Briouze has been successfully intercepted. Await the start of the opening ceremony. Proceed as planned…”
This message, relayed through various covert methods, spread to all the operatives hidden throughout the venue. With the destabilizing variable—Adèle—neutralized, their plan could now proceed on schedule.
The "janitor" subtly shifted his gaze toward the stage. As the crowd erupted in cheers at a sudden burst of music, he knew the ceremony had officially begun. Their own signal, however, was set to arrive shortly after.
The moment the sky turned gray and rain began to fall—that would be their time to act.
As the massive orchestra struck up a triumphant tune, the crowd quieted down, all eyes turning to the stage in anticipation of the grand event.
Thunderous rumbles echoed outside the venue—salvos of ceremonial cannon fire. As the anthem transitioned, two squads of cavalry rode in from opposite ends of the plaza. The proud and disciplined Pritt horsemen, in full dress, trotted with dignity, performing elaborate formations that evoked a medieval tournament—but on a scale far grander.
Just as the riders’ display won rapturous applause, a choir of robed men stepped onto the stage. They stood in formation and began to sing Pritt’s solemn national anthem in deep, powerful unison, praising the royal family.
As the anthem played, the riders realigned themselves before the southern gate of the main venue. On cue from their captain, the knights drew sabers, holding them reverently across their chests.
Then, the heavy gates opened.
Another mounted procession began—this time of knights in full late-medieval plate armor, holding lances and banners, silent and majestic. At the front rode two men:
One on a black steed, wearing a crown, a regal cloak of armor, one hand resting on his sword, the other holding the reins—King Charles IV of Pritt.
The other on a white horse, wearing a white papal mitre, luxurious robes, his face stern and his gaze blazing. One hand gripped his reins, the other held a staff. This was none other than Archbishop Samuel, current Archbishop of Pritt, seated at the Hymn Cathedral.
The King and the Archbishop—within this world—stood as the twin symbols of highest authority in any major nation. They represented secular and ecclesiastical power, respectively. On important occasions such as this, they would always appear together, just like now. In general, the two stood on equal footing.
As the King and Archbishop made their entrance, the crowd erupted into the loudest and most fervent cheer of the day. Amid the roaring tides of celebration, Charles IV and Samuel waved to the surrounding people while leading the procession through the gathered masses toward the VIP stands.
There, both dismounted. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, they ascended the special stairway reserved for them. The Pritt nobility and foreign delegates in the VIP area all stood up and removed their hats in a respectful salute. Finally, under countless reverent gazes, the two men reached the main platform. Charles IV took the central seat, while Samuel sat in the secondary position beside him.
Once both dignitaries were seated, the soldiers and horsemen shouted in perfect unison.
“Sacred blessing upon the King!!”
“Sacred blessing upon the King!!”
Echoing their call, the entire audience—regardless of rank—joined in the thunderous chant. Here, the “sacred” referred to the Radiance Trinity whom the Archbishop represented, while the “King” referred to Pritt itself. The divine right of kings remained the political foundation for most nations in this world.
“Sacred blessing upon Pritt!”
In response to this scene, Charles IV raised his hand high and called out loudly, further igniting the already frenzied atmosphere.
And with that, the Pritt World Expo Opening Ceremony officially began. There was no emcee—everything flowed naturally. With the King and Archbishop seated, the stage came alive with one performance after another.
First came the remaining cavalry soldiers still on-site, bringing a thrilling equestrian performance. They showcased daring stunts and precision riding, earning gasps and cheers. As they exited the stage, a suited choir took their place, delivering a resonant hymn celebrating Pritt’s history before leaving amidst applause.
Next came a lively tune—and with it, a troupe of dancers stepped onto the stage. Dressed in vibrant skirts, masked, and light on their feet, they spun and twirled with rhythm and grace.
At first, the performance was a collective group dance, with no lead dancer. Each performer’s movements contributed to a harmonious whole.
But before anyone noticed when it began, one dancer’s performance subtly diverged. Her movements became faster, her range broader, her difficulty higher. She even appeared in positions where no one else moved—where she seemingly shouldn’t be. Yet none of this disrupted the dance. On the contrary, her uniqueness enhanced the overall rhythm, adding vibrancy and complexity.
Gradually, the other dancers began to adjust, complementing her movements and forming a ring around her. It was as if they naturally recognized her as the lead.
Before long, this dancer had completely restructured the routine. The ensemble piece had become a solo-centered performance, with the rest supporting her as background dancers.
From above, their shifting formations looked like a blooming and folding flower, with this dancer at the heart—surrounded by petals. The crowd found the elegant transformation breathtaking, bursting into applause and cheers.
Under the lead dancer’s subtle guidance, this transition had felt seamless and natural. No one sensed anything unusual. Everyone believed the choreography had always been designed this way—from a group piece to a solo spotlight.
She had no special costume to distinguish herself. Her rise to the center had relied solely on her skill and stage presence. Such a feat was an immense test of mastery. Without visual cues, winning the audience’s focus was difficult—but she had achieved it.
To the average spectator, it was simply beautiful. But those with a trained eye for dance were stunned—and intrigued. Who was this lead dancer with such formidable skill?
“Strange… Was the choreography like this during rehearsal?”
In a corner near the audience entrance, an Eight-Spired agent disguised as a janitor furrowed his brow as he muttered. He was one of the few operatives who had paid close attention to rehearsals, and he was sure—this was supposed to be a group performance. No lead.
“Something’s wrong… I need to this to HQ. But still… this dance is really good. I’ll finish watching it first…”
he thought, torn. Though he sensed something off, the performance captivated him too deeply to look away.
“That lead dancer in the center… I wonder what her screams of agony would sound like…”
the janitor thought, obsessed, staring at the dazzling star of the performance. Yet he was hardly the only one in the crowd with such thoughts.
Unbeknownst to him, something invisible had just brushed past him.
On the grand stage, the energetic dance continued. In the VIP box, seated near the King, Archbishop Samuel’s expression suddenly tensed. He had sensed something. He paused—then let it go, and quietly continued watching the performance.
Amidst the passion and hidden undercurrents of the crowd, in the shadows of a vacant corner, the air shimmered faintly. Light warped—and a petite figure slowly appeared. Upon closer look, it was the little fox girl, Saria, panting heavily.
“Haah… Haah… Finally… I’ve made it through all of them…”
Sitting on the ground, Saria clutched a silver talisman bearing the emblem of a sun enveloping a moon. Gasping, she whispered quietly to herself, then turned her eyes toward the distant stage where the program was still unfolding. She took a deep breath.
“Now… is not the time to rest… I have to transmit the coordinates… to Grandpa’s side…”
Closing her eyes, Saria began silently praying to the mysterious deity who answered her communion and guided her steps.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the audience, Dorothy, who had been watching the performance intently, suddenly tensed. As if sensing something, she murmured softly.
“At last… it begins.”
Then, without another word, Dorothy quietly closed her eyes and fell into a slumber—right amidst the clamor of the crowd.
…
Dreamscape – Somewhere in the Forest.
Beneath the vast canopy that stretched like a sky, on grasslands as radiant and surreal as a dreamscape, among endlessly towering trees, a group of figures waited under a colossal tree.
Unlike the many Dreamscape creatures and mimics in beastly forms that usually populated this forest, these figures all maintained human appearances. They stood within the Dreamscape as themselves, not disguised by mimicry.
There were over forty of them. Most wore sleek, form-fitting clothing beneath tight black leather armor, hoods over their heads, and veils masking their faces. Across their gear were numerous interlocking spike-shaped insignias.
These were ambushers from the Eight-Spired Nest, embedded within the Dreamscape. They had been converted entirely into dream-forms by the Blackdream Hunting Pack, entering this place as true selves, not mere mimics. They were now waiting for the gates into the real world to open—at which point they would launch a coordinated surprise attack.
Among them were several White Ash-rank members, with the lowest being at least Black Earth-rank. One man stood out in particular: an elder in his fifties with neatly trimmed hair and beard, a composed demeanor, dressed in a well-tailored suit and gloves, hands clasped behind his back. Amidst these assassin-like figures, he appeared strikingly out of place.
“Lord Veliz, is it ready yet?” one of the members cautiously stepped forward and asked.
The man called Veliz didn’t even glance at the speaker. He replied coldly.
“Almost. Be patient. The gate will appear when the time is right.”
“Understood…”
Veliz was one of the high-ranking priests of the Eight-Spired Nest—Priest of Venom Veliz, to be precise. The questioner bowed respectfully and retreated.
Within this unit, Veliz was undoubtedly the highest-ranking individual. As one of the few Crimson-rank priests of the Eight-Spired Nest, he was the core and supreme commander of this strike force. Other priests like him were currently scattered across the vast Dreamscape, each leading their own teams, waiting to burst through different dream-gates from varying angles.
Even without a clock or clear day-night cycle in the Dreamscape, Veliz could sense time precisely. He knew the moment of the planned attack was drawing near. Once they entered the physical world, they would materialize automatically and begin their assault.
As Veliz and his subordinates waited in silence, a disturbance suddenly rippled through the nearby forest.
“The gate! Look! A portal!”
“It’s here? Everyone, get ready!”
In midair, near the crowd, the fabric of the Dreamscape twisted. A glowing portal burst open, dazzling with inner radiance. The Eight-Spired operatives, who had long awaited this moment, turned their gazes toward it in excitement, murmuring among themselves.
Veliz, however, frowned deeply.
“This portal... it appeared earlier than scheduled... And didn’t Blackdream say a dream-cocoon would manifest first, and only then transform into a gate? Why did it just open directly? And why is it so large?”
Unease surged within him. As he saw some subordinates beginning to approach the overgrown portal, he raised his voice in warning.
“Wait—this portal has somethi—”
“ROAR!!!”
Before he could finish, an earth-shaking roar erupted from within the portal, accompanied by a surging shockwave. The force knocked many of the Eight-Spired attackers off their feet.
Frozen in place by the sheer terror of that soul-rattling roar, they stared as a pair of gigantic clawed wings emerged from the portal. They gripped the already enormous gateway and ripped it wider with brute force. As space in the Dreamscape cracked and splintered, a massive figure burst through—straight into the clearing where Veliz stood.
His eyes widened.
The creature bore layered armor-like scales like giant boulders, muscular limbs, razor-sharp claws, a ridge of spines like a mountain of blades, massive wings as wide as the sky, a long, lashing tail, and a terrifying dragon's head crowned with twisted horns.
Its massive body stretched over seventy meters in length.
Seeing this, the horrified Priest of Venom Veliz blurted out a name he had only heard in myth.
“Dream Dragon! The Dreamscape’s Dragon Lord!! Why is it here?!”
Terror and confusion collided in his mind. Why would such a legendary figure of the Dreamscape appear here—now? But he had no time to dwell on it. That titanic creature, like a collapsing mountain range, lunged toward him. In its presence, Veliz was no more than an ant.
As the Crimson Thorn Archduke, Veliz instinctively tried to dissolve into blood mist and dodge. He planned to circle behind the beast and strike with a manifested blood spear. But to his shock—nothing happened. His body didn’t dissolve. He remained tangible.
Only then did the horror strike him: he was in the Dreamscape as a dream-form, and his powers tied to the physical world couldn’t function properly here!
And so, with the Dream Dragon upon him, its jaws yawning wide, Veliz could do nothing but flee in blind panic.
But how could he outrun a dragon?
In the next moment, the beast’s massive jaws clamped shut—and Veliz was crushed to pieces, nothing more than a morsel caught between the dragon’s teeth.
The dragon turned its head toward the other Eight-Spired operatives. Some fled in terror; others desperately attacked with daggers—but they couldn’t even scratch its scales.
With a contemptuous glare, the dragon whipped its tail, sweeping through the battlefield and obliterating dozens of attackers in one blow.
After clearing nearly everyone, the Dream Dragon didn’t linger. It raised its head and roared skyward, causing a new Dreamscape portal to manifest. As the portal expanded, the dragon plunged into it, emerging into another forested region of the Dreamscape.
There, another squad of Eight-Spired ambushers waited. At their head stood a noblewoman—the Priest of Web, another high-ranking leader.
Just like Veliz, she was taken completely off guard by the dragon’s arrival.
Panic and token resistance followed—but it was all futile. The Dream Dragon annihilated nearly everyone in an instant. The Priest of Web herself was swallowed mid-escape, her entire unit wiped out in a flash.
A third portal appeared. The dragon charged in again—relentless in its hunt.
This Dream Dragon… was none other than Dorothy’s Dreamscape mimicry form.
At this very moment, she was mercilessly hunting the Eight-Spired and Blackdream operatives within the Dreamscape while they prepared their ambushes.
The final thought that lingered in the minds of those Eight-Spired elites as they were devoured—besides
“Why is the dragon here?”
—was probably
“How did it know exactly where to find us in the Dreamscape?”
The answer lay with the grandfather-granddaughter pair of dream refugees from Butterfly's Dreamland.
It was the grandpa cat who opened the Dreamscape portals for Dorothy, using his ability to link to any location in the Dreamscape—except for the Enigmatic Domain.
And the coordinates for those portals? Provided by Saria.
The Eight-Spired and Blackdream’s invasion strategy involved stationing multiple dream-form squads at the edge of specific dream cocoons. Then, an operative would sneak into the real-world venue. When the time was right, Blackdream would transform that person into a “gate” linking dream to reality, allowing the strike teams to pour through.
Just earlier, in the real world, the little fox Saria had used a mystical item given to her by Dorothy to perform existence-weakening and optical invisibility. With a Shadow-based movement technique, she rapidly moved through the World Expo venue and made contact with all the “gates” secretly planted by Eight-Spired and Blackdream operatives.
As a Nightmare, Saria could detect the Dreamscape coordinates of anyone’s cocoon through touch. Her black cat grandfather could then open a portal to that location—allowing Dorothy to strike with precision.
So then the question arises—how did Saria know where to find these hidden "gates" among tens of thousands of spectators?
The answer: Adèle.
It was Adèle who identified every single “gate” hidden in the crowd.
Right now, the dazzling dancer who had turned a group performance into a solo spotlight at the main stage of the World Expo—was none other than Adèle.
With Dorothy’s help, Adèle had evaded the Eight-Spired Nest’s encirclement and infiltrated the main venue under disguise to perform on stage!
When Adèle first contacted Dorothy and revealed she was under surveillance, Dorothy immediately prepared a plan to help her escape. Anticipating the Eight-Spired Nest would deploy multiple countermeasures to prevent her flight, Dorothy set her own in motion.
She summoned Nephthys for aid and urgently called her brother, Gregor, to join the effort. Once both had reached their designated positions, Dorothy instructed Adèle to use her Desire Path abilities to stir chaos in the streets—creating a window of confusion to make her move.
Back during that chaotic crowd scene, Nephthys had already disguised herself with makeup. Gregor had gone further—not only putting on makeup, but even dressing in women’s clothing bought off the street to completely transform himself into the image of Adèle. The trio—Nephthys, Adèle, and Gregor in drag—had a brief, orchestrated encounter within that swirl of chaos, subtly directed by Adèle using the crowd's flow.
During that fleeting moment, Nephthys took Adèle’s hat and left in one direction to draw part of the Eight-Spired's attention. Gregor, meanwhile, carried away the spider bristles the Eight-Spired had planted on Adèle, diverting most of their tracking efforts. As for Adèle herself, she simply changed coats amidst the crowd and left carrying only her scent.
The matter of the spider bristles had been uncovered thanks to Dorothy, with Vania’s help. After Adèle sought Dorothy’s aid, she transmitted her memory of her entire interaction with the Eight-Spired through an information channel. Dorothy, analyzing it carefully, noted that Adèle had made indirect physical contact with the Eight-Spired captain via a document. That alone was suspicious.
Dorothy gave Adèle spiritual vision to inspect her own hand, and though no tracking sigil or marker was visible, Dorothy remained uneasy. She then reached out to Vania—despite the vast distance—and used the information channel to transmit Adèle’s sensory feedback about her body, asking Vania to check for anomalies.
Now a Crimson-rank Beyonder on the Holy Mother Path, Vania had acute sensitivity to any changes in the human body. While Adèle felt no abnormalities, Vania immediately noticed a subtle discrepancy in the sensory data of Adèle’s right palm—a faint trace of anesthesia.
From her analysis, Vania concluded that microscopic, anesthetic-coated bristles had embedded themselves in Adèle’s hand. Though the nerves had been numbed and Adèle couldn’t feel them, the numbing sensation itself could still be detected—just not by Adèle, but by Vania, thanks to Dorothy’s transmitted data.
Thus, Dorothy confirmed the presence of the spider bristles.
After that, the problem was easily solved. Adèle, using perfume to mask the scent of blood, took a small pocket knife and scraped a thin layer of skin from her palm, removing the bristles. Then, with the power of the Chalice, she rapidly healed the wound—an injury so minor that it was practically meaningless to her.
She handed that bloodless skin fragment to Gregor, who carried it away to mislead the Eight-Spired’s trackers with the embedded bristles.
Only one last step remained: making Gregor, disguised as Adèle, fully convincing—enough to deceive the Eight-Spired Nest.
Dorothy’s solution? Let Adèle herself control the Gregor-Adèle double.
Nephthys wasn’t sent just to play a decoy; Dorothy needed her abilities as well.
During the brief contact in the chaos, Nephthys used her Body Possession Path power to swap the souls of Adèle and Gregor. Gregor, in Adèle’s body, left with Nephthys, while Adèle, now in Gregor’s disguised body, carried her own skin and lured the Eight-Spired away.
A Shadow Facade’s transformation held up even during unconsciousness or sleep—so the disguise held even after the soul swap. When the Eight-Spired captain confronted “Adèle,” he was really seeing Gregor’s body transformed to look like Adèle, but inhabited by Adèle’s actual soul. With both appearance and soul matching, the Eight-Spired were naturally fooled.
Once the main trackers had left, Nephthys quickly shook off the remaining goons and—thanks to Dorothy’s magnetic-levitation aid—reunited near the main venue with Gregor, still in Adèle’s body. There, Nephthys held a soul-calling ritual, returning Adèle’s soul from the sub-venue and restoring her to her real body. Adèle then infiltrated the main stage under disguise, dancing on stage while using her abilities to search for “gates” and hidden Eight-Spired agents.
According to the grandpa cat, those hypnotized into becoming “gates” exhibited unnatural drowsiness. Adèle only needed to observe for signs of excessive sleepiness—and could also search for sadistic urges to locate the Eight-Spired infiltrators.
Meanwhile, at the sub-venue, Dorothy had Nephthys’ old butler perform a second soul-calling ritual to bring Gregor’s soul back into his own body. The two rituals occurred in perfect synchronization—instant soul swap complete. The shell escape was a success.
Technically, Dorothy could have simulated a soul swap herself via the information channel. But she feared the Eight-Spired might possess soul-authentication methods to verify Adèle’s identity. Just in case, she arranged a real soul transfer. As it turned out, the Eight-Spired lacked that level of capability—but Dorothy preferred to overprepare rather than underestimate.
All in all, this operation had been a battle of wits. The Eight-Spired were clever and well-armed—but Dorothy was cleverer and better armed, completely outmaneuvering them.
Once Adèle infiltrated the main venue and began performing, the Eight-Spired and Blackdream’s hidden agents were fully exposed. After finding the “gates” and obtaining their coordinates, Dorothy allowed herself to sleep, transforming decisively into her Dream Dragon form, and began her merciless hunt of the Eight-Spired ambush squads still hiding behind those dream-gates.
In just a short time, Dorothy had already devoured two Crimson-rank Eight-Spired Nest priests. Now, she was charging through the next portal toward the third and final strike team.
When the dragon-form Dorothy appeared at the final ambush site, the Eight-Spired team responded with the same panic as before. Dorothy crushed many of the dream-forms underfoot before charging toward the final commander—a slightly plump, middle-aged man: the Priest of Spider Eyes.
Just as she was about to devour him, a flash of pale white light streaked before her eyes. For the first time since entering the Dreamscape, Dorothy felt a real sense of danger and swerved to dodge. The light beam sliced a massive gash into the ground.
Dorothy turned toward the source—what she saw was a humanoid figure floating in midair, covered in shimmering fur, with brilliant moth wings spread behind them.
“Dragon...”
In that moment, Gu Mian, the Moth’s Apostle, glared at the terrifying Dream Dragon with a rage unlike any he had shown before.