Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

“Betrayal? Are you saying that Viscount Field was used as a disposable pawn by the real mastermind behind all this?” After contemplating James’ words for a moment, Gregor turned to ask.

“That’s obvious. Even Field himself didn’t expect this outcome.”

James spoke firmly. Judging by Field’s reaction earlier, it was clear he didn’t want to die. He hadn’t anticipated his own mutation—in his understanding, this shouldn’t have happened to him.

Why? James recalled that before Field left with them, a butler-like figure had given him a cup of tea.

If… that tea was a suppressant for his mutation, then there was no way his transformation would have occurred so soon. It was precisely because he drank that tea that Field had felt secure enough to follow them to the Serenity Bureau.

But what if that tea wasn’t a suppressant at all, but instead a catalyst for his mutation?

If Field, used as a mere pawn, transformed within the Serenity Bureau, releasing his toxic fumes and devastating the entire facility, then the threat against the real mastermind would be significantly diminished.

With this in mind, James forced himself to endure his discomfort and surveyed the hunters writhing in agony on the ground. His brows furrowed.

Though the gas hadn’t completely destroyed the Bureau, it had incapacitated it for the time being. Under these circumstances, neither the hunters nor James himself could take action. All they could do was hope the church arrived soon to restore order as quickly as possible so they could resume their pursuit of the mastermind.

James had a gut feeling—since even a piece like Field had been discarded, the true culprit was likely preparing for something major.

…

That afternoon, deep within the northern mountains of Igwynt, nestled in a dense forest, stood a grand manor.

The four-story manor wasn’t particularly tall, but it was expansive. Each side of the main entrance was lined with nearly ten windows. Its red walls and sloped roof featured four pointed towers at the corners. A long iron fence enclosed a spacious yard, where well-trimmed hedges and a small fountain could be seen. Gardeners and security personnel moved about within the estate.

This was one of Viscount Field’s mountain retreats, the most hidden one at that—built and passed down by the previous Viscount Field. But in truth, for the past six years, the real owner of this manor had changed in secret.

Inside a spacious room with a window view, an elderly man named Luer, dressed in a butler’s uniform, sat in the main seat of a sofa, leisurely flipping through a green-covered book. Beside him, a servant carefully prepared tea.

Although clad in a butler’s attire, Luer had long assumed the air of a master. This had become the norm within the manor. Unbeknownst to the citizens of Igwynt, within these walls, Luer had been the true owner for quite some time.

Six years ago, while on the run, Luer encountered Viscount Field during one of the noble’s travels. Using the power of the Chalice, he corrupted Field, turning him into his puppet before disguising himself as his butler. He then returned with Field to Igwynt, using his influence to build his own power and establish the Crimson Eucharist in preparation for his own advancement.

Now, the time was nearly ripe.

A knock on the door echoed through the room. Without lifting his gaze from the book, Luer spoke.

“Come in.”

As soon as Luer finished speaking, the door opened, and a sharply dressed man in a suit, Bill, stepped inside. He approached Luer, gave a slight bow, and reported.

“Mentor, the ritual site has been fully prepared. Now, we await the sacred hour.”

“Good. You’ve worked hard. Years of preparation have all led to this moment—it’s time to conclude our affairs in Igwynt.” Luer nodded in response, his eyes gleaming with a ruthless glint.

“Once I ascend to the White Ash rank, I will make those Tivian bastards pay.”

Bill straightened up, a trace of concern flickering across his expression.

“Mentor, I’m still worried about that mysterious organization… Could they use this opportunity to intervene?”

“Relax. That so-called organization is nothing to worry about. The only reason they were able to deal a heavy blow to Buck and the others was because they had the Serenity Bureau backing them. But now, with Field mutating inside the Bureau, even if it didn’t destroy the place outright, it should have crippled them enough. Without the Bureau’s support, I refuse to believe those people can still put up much of a fight.”

As he spoke, Luer closed his book and set it on the table. The title on the cover read—"Voodoo Forest Expedition Journal."

“You know, I spent three whole years using the art of recognition poison to slowly transform Field into a living gas bomb—for this exact moment. A mutation inside the Bureau… Hah, even if James himself is present, they’ll have their hands full dealing with that.”

Looking at the confidential notes on the table, Bill sighed in admiration. Because the results of contamination varied depending on the poison used, mutations could take on vastly different forms. Field, for example, had been shaped by the knowledge within this very journal, ultimately sharing the same cursed fate as its author—mutating into a venomous plant-like being.

“Field was the most useful pawn I’ve ever had,” Luer remarked with a faint smile. “Even if I achieve my ambitions and attain eternal life, I will never forget him.”

Then, turning back to Bill, he continued, “Alright. Nightfall is approaching. The sacred hour draws near. Let’s make the final preparations.”

“Yes, Mentor.”

With that, Luer and his followers left the room. Unbeknownst to them, a gecko clung to the windowed wall, flicking its tongue.

…

Two kilometers away from Field’s manor, a carriage stood parked between the trees. Inside the cabin, Dorothy sat with a deep frown on her face.

Using the Tracking Sigil, she had traced her target to the manor and stopped the carriage just at the edge of her control radius for corpse marionettes. She then sent a crow-shaped marionette carrying smaller scouting marionettes to the distant estate. The crow landed on the roof, beginning a full-scale reconnaissance.

Thanks to her passive appraisal ability, Dorothy could directly see objects imbued with high spirituality. This allowed her to bypass minor mystical detection devices like Illuminating Beacons and thoroughly survey the mansion’s interior. She meticulously gathered intelligence for the upcoming raid—only to be completely taken aback by what she discovered.

“Holy shit. The butler is the real mentor?! The Viscount Field that the Bureau captured was just a puppet?! And a puppet that could mutate into a freaking gas bomb at that?! The Bureau is probably crippled right now…”

Dorothy’s mind reeled. At that moment, she started worrying about Gregor, hoping he hadn’t gotten caught in the gas attack.

This was far beyond what she had expected. Her initial plan had been for the Bureau to keep the mentor occupied while she cleaned up the base, rescued the children, and looted whatever she could before the Bureau arrived. But now, everything was in disarray.

The mentor had pulled off a perfect “golden cicada shell escape”—shedding his skin and slipping away, while the discarded husk had severely damaged the Bureau. Now, instead of just lackeys, Dorothy would be facing a base with the mentor himself, possibly an apprentice or two, plus a group of ordinary thugs.

This is bad.

Her expression darkened, and seeing her distress, Vania grew anxious.

“Oh no… What’s wrong with her? Did she fail to gather intel? No wonder—scouting from such a long distance is incredibly difficult. Even I, a Guider, can’t do that. I don’t know what kind of Beyonder she is, but she’s definitely pushing herself too hard…”

Looking at the girl, who was about two years younger than herself yet wearing such a grim expression, Vania hesitated before speaking.

“Umm… Miss Dorothy, did you see anything inside? Did you find the children? If gathering intel is too hard, maybe we should just go back and report this to the Bureau. They can join forces with the church to take down this heretical cult.”

But Dorothy merely let out a bitter chuckle and replied, “Go back? Hah… It’s already too late. The ritual is about to begin. Those children are as good as dead.”

“And right now… the only ones who can stop this are you and me.”

“…Eh?”

Vania’s face froze in shock.