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Chapter 640: Precision
Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

Under the night sky of Tivian, countless pedestrians and carriages moved along the streets under the glow of street lamps. In the shadows by the roadside, a pitch-black carriage was currently parked. Inside the carriage, Dorothy sat, dressed in a shirt, a fitted plaid skirt, and black leather ankle boots, carefully receiving intelligence relayed from a distant corpse marionette.

“I didn’t expect... this personality modification from the Bewitching Dreams Path to be so overwhelming… It can even reach the point of replacing common sense. The effect is unexpectedly excellent…”

Dorothy reflected internally. At the moment, she was testing her new ability on the Bewitching Dreams Path—from psychological profiling to personality modification.

Using the large collection of letters exchanged with the Wolfblood Society’s contact as a medium, Dorothy successfully completed a psychological profile on the mysterious contact. Then, with the information obtained from the profile, combined with her powerful information-gathering skills, she located the contact’s whereabouts and confirmed his identity with barely any expenditure of mystical power.

Warren Hunt—that was the confirmed target. Publicly, he held the identity of a manager of a carriage company; secretly, he was the embedded Wolfblood Society operative in Tivian. He was the one who had been corresponding with Vania throughout the past year.

After visiting nearly every hospital, graveyard, slaughterhouse, and red-light district in Tivian, Dorothy finally found Warren through scattered clues. She immediately dispatched a corpse marionette to make contact and, using the new ability unlocked through the completed profile—cognitive modification—she directly distorted Warren’s perception of what information was important. Things of vital importance were made to seem trivial, while inconsequential details became “classified,” allowing her to easily extract any intel she wanted.

As long as Dorothy completes a psychological profile of a person, their worldview and values become like clay in her hands—malleable with little effort. She can alter them drastically, just like now with Warren. Even though he was a White Ash-rank Beyonder, she could toy with him effortlessly, and he wouldn’t even realize it afterward—he wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong.

“Though this test of cognitive modification was very successful, I have to acknowledge that part of its strength came from the rank suppression effect. If I were facing someone of the same rank—say, a Crimson-rank—the effect might not be so overwhelming. Moreover, cognitive modification requires a psychological profile first, and Crimson-rank cultists are notoriously well-hidden. Profiling them is extremely difficult.

“This ability may be powerful, but it comes with many limitations. I must use it wisely, not rely on it excessively.”

Dorothy continued to reflect internally. After summarizing the results of her experiment with the new ability, she began carefully analyzing the intelligence she had just obtained from Warren.

“According to that werewolf, the Wolfblood Society is absolutely determined to seize the Crimson Holy Mother. Even a Crimson-rank has been mobilized—the scale is far greater than any past operation.

“From what I’ve gathered so far, the Wolfblood Society remains cautious. Warren doesn’t know their full plan—his role is simply to transmit intelligence gathered from Vania. But on the actual day of the operation, Warren will participate directly, so at the very least I’ll be able to learn the date of their action.”

Dorothy considered this deeply. If she wanted to investigate the Wolfblood Society’s overall plan, she would have to search for their presence in Tivian’s outskirts. That was clearly difficult. And even if she succeeded, using a corpse marionette to spy on a Crimson-rank Chalice cultist was highly dangerous.

Thus, Dorothy had no intention of pursuing that werewolf in advance. She had no reason to waste precious spirituality acting as the Church’s scapegoat, handling a Crimson-rank werewolf alone. All she could do was provide some limited assistance to the Tivian Church and the Serenity Bureau on the day of action.

“Tivian Church currently lacks any Crimson-rank combat power. If a Crimson-rank threat appears under these conditions, their only option will be to rely on Crimson-rank officials from the Pritt Kingdom.

“In Pritt’s secret police and major military-political systems, high-ranking officials are typically Crimson-rank. At least two are stationed in Tivian long-term. The range of Layered Vision in Tivian is quite broad. Since Layered Vision’s power comes from the faith of the city’s residents, Tivian’s five million citizens are all eyes of this Layered Vision. Every citizen who believes in the Radiance Church grants Vania a surveillance radius of several hundred meters centered on themselves. This makes Layered Vision spread outward from population centers, covering the entire urban area and nearby suburbs.

“So theoretically, as soon as that Crimson-rank Wolfblood elder nears the city limits, Vania will detect him. She can then immediately notify the official Crimson-rank personnel of the Pritt Kingdom for support.

“Though the Serenity Bureau is completely incompetent against the Eight-Spired Nest, they still exert deterrent force against other societies. A Crimson-rank Wind Elementalist is extremely fast. The Wolfblood elder would be intercepted before he even reaches the cathedral district…

“Therefore, on the day of action, the Wolfblood Society will either send only White Ash-rank agents to infiltrate and steal the book, or they’ll find a way to create an opening that allows the Crimson-rank elder to break through the Wind Elementalists’ interception. Which path they choose—only time will tell.”

Dorothy analyzed calmly. Now that she had a general understanding of the situation, her plan was to continue collecting intelligence while awaiting the enemy’s move. In the meantime, she needed to make some combat preparations—namely, to replenish her spirituality.

To restore her much-needed spirituality, Dorothy agreed to accompany Adèle in person once again, in exchange for two mystical texts from her collection.

One of these mystical texts was titled Dance of Petal Steps, a pure dance manual filled with illustrations of various mystical dances—some for public performance, some offered to deities, some to woo lovers… It was said to be part of the Abundance Church’s tradition. This was a dance manual Adèle had used back when she was still part of the ballet society. Dorothy extracted 2 Chalice and 2 Revelation spirituality from this mystical text.

The other text was a fragmentary hymn written in the Falano language, praising a goddess.

This goddess was revered as the Goddess of Love and Beauty, the Goddess of Flowers and Dance. The verses praised Her unmatched beauty and described Her as the guardian of all beautiful things. She was also called the Goddess of Love and Romance, the one who brought together all those who boldly pursued love. People prayed to Her to seek their true love. The hymn also declared Her the Goddess of Dance—able to perform the most dazzling and mesmerizing dances—and Goddess of Flowers, making blossoms bloom wherever She went, creating vast seas of intoxicating blooms.

From this mystical text, Dorothy extracted 4 points of Chalice and 3 points of Revelation.

“These two mystical texts must have been left to Adèle by her teacher… If I remember correctly, Adèle and her teacher were both from Falano, and this hymn written in Falano… Could the Flower Goddess and Beauty Goddess it praises be one of the deities of the Desire Path?

“The tone of this hymn is completely different from the three currently worshipped in the Afterbirth Faith. It could be from the Third Epoch—a subordinate deity under the Goddess of Abundance. Perhaps she’s one of the four: the Sailor, the Hunter, the Herbalist, or the Dancer. Likely the Dancer…

“Just like the Wind Knight’s faith is tied to Pritt… could the Beauty Goddess’s faith have once flourished in the land of Falano?”

Dorothy pondered. Soon after, she shifted her focus back to spirituality and mystical texts. The texts she had read weren’t just from Adèle. Some of them had been sent over by Warren in the past few days, to hasten Vania’s corruption…

This mystical text was titled Secret History of the Muddy Stream. It recorded all the atrocities committed by the Church during the Muddy Stream War, including—but not limited to—large-scale inquisitions, mass burnings at the stake, wrongful imprisonment of countless innocents, and open massacres of villages practicing heretical faiths… Each incident was a blood-soaked tragedy, portraying the Church as more demonic than demons themselves. Any neutral reader would likely be filled with intense disgust toward the Church.

“This mystical text... was clearly prepared by the Wolfblood Society to slander the Church in front of Vania. Even without factoring in any cognitive poison, it would still disgust anyone who read it. But this text was written by the Abyssal Church. How much of it is exaggerated or embellished is hard to say. Even if everything in it is true and the Radiance Church truly is despicable—what makes the Abyssal Church any better? I’ve seen your ethics and conduct firsthand. In large-scale wars, you’re even more brutally violent...”

So thought Dorothy, silently judging the text in her mind as she began extracting spirituality from it. She obtained 2 points of Lantern, 1 of Chalice, and 1 of Revelation.

After that, Dorothy’s updated spirituality count was at 8 Chalice, 4 Stone, 14 Shadow, 8 Lantern, 11 Silence, and 8 Revelation.

“Whew… It’s not a huge boost, but better than nothing. Especially gaining more Chalice—that’s critical. That 1 point from before was terrifying...

“Well then, now it’s just a matter of waiting for those Wolfblood bastards to make their move. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Letting out a long breath, Dorothy spoke to herself and turned to gaze out the carriage window at the streets beneath the night sky.

…

Tivian, outskirts by day.

Under a gloomy sky, a light drizzle fell steadily, and the air carried a faint chill.

In the misty rain, atop a small hill, several figures stood. They all wore black rain cloaks and stared into the distance, where the massive city loomed faintly behind the curtain of rain.

Among them, the foremost figure was taller and broader than the others, nearly two meters in height. His burly frame stood out even under the wide, pitch-black cloak. Beneath the hood, a savage face was faintly visible.

It was the face of a dark-skinned man, thick with muscle and menace. His eyes glowed with ferocity, and both sides of his cheeks were covered in dense red tattoos—all abstract wolf-shaped totems. His entire presence exuded a constant, dangerous tension, as if he might attack at any moment.

“Elder Duval, there’s new intel from the Severed Limb Altar—this time from Max. The contact line Smith left behind finally agreed to cooperate.”

At this moment, a subordinate in a rain cloak stepped up beside the tall figure and reported respectfully. The figure known as Duval slowly turned his head and replied in a deep, heavy voice:

“What’s the situation?”

“The intel about Sister White Prayer has already been inscribed by the Severed Limb Altar. According to the content, Francesco is indeed no longer at the Hymn Cathedral, and to this day, Holy Mount has yet to dispatch a new archbishop—apparently due to political struggles at the saint level. The current overseer of the Hymn Cathedral is just that young nun named Chafferon. Though she’s well-known, she’s only White Ash-rank and can only rely on a holy relic to maintain Layered Vision.

“Also, the Sister of White Prayer has drawn us a full map of the Hymn Cathedral’s district, with the location of the restricted book vault clearly marked. We now have everything we wanted.”

The Wolfblood Society subordinate reported respectfully. Duval paused briefly, then spoke again.

“Have you verified the authenticity of the intel?”

“We’ve already cross-referenced it with the intel collected earlier by Mr. Sander. It aligns almost perfectly. For two sets of intel from entirely different sources to match so precisely—its accuracy is nearly confirmed.”

The subordinate added respectfully. Duval exhaled slightly, then began walking slowly toward the other side of the hilltop, where another figure stood alone in a black rain cloak, separated from the Wolfblood group.

“Didn’t expect… the intel you gave this time was actually accurate. No petty tricks… It seems your side really is sincere about cooperating this time.”

Duval addressed the solitary figure. That person turned around, revealing a dark-skinned, slightly chubby man. Upon seeing Duval, he smiled and bowed slightly.

“But of course, esteemed Elder. This time, we truly hope the three branches of the Afterbirth Faith can let go of old grievances and unite again. Naturally, we wouldn’t be playing tricks like before.”

“Hmph, you weren’t like this in the past…”

“Well, times change, don’t they? After all, your Gluttonous Wolf King and our Plague Lord were born from the same womb. We are all siblings—of one blood. Friction between brothers is normal, but when it comes to matters of true importance, we must stand together. We are all family, all children of the same Great Mother, are we not?”

Still smiling, the man—named Sander—spoke to Duval. Hearing this, Duval didn’t continue the conversation and instead said coldly.

“No more small talk. Now that all the intel is confirmed, we move tomorrow. If you want to show sincerity, then come along.”

“Yes, sir…” Sander bowed again.

As Duval turned to leave, Sander quickly called out.

“Please wait, Elder. Since you trust my intel now, I can brief you on the next phase.”

“Next phase? What else does that damn pest nest of yours want you to do?”

Duval turned back to face him. Sander, holding a small box, replied.

“Nothing much. Just a gift for you, Elder Duval. According to Chief Karua, this is both compensation for past offenses and a form of insurance for this operation.”

As he spoke, Duval opened the lid of the box. Inside was a small, slick, slimy, grotesque worm—squirming and twisting.

Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire
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    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 report the situation to the Serenity Bureau—but understate the numbers. Report 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.
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      Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire: Chaper 642 : Seizure

      Beneath a gloomy sky, the cathedral district of North Tivian was in a state of busy chaos. Church personnel were moving busily inside and out. The Holy Guard had armed and formed ranks, and lingering civilian worshippers were being urged to leave. The entire district buzzed with noise and movement.

      In a corner near the entrance to the Grand Chapel, three Afterbirth cultists who had infiltrated the Hymn Cathedral gathered together. The werewolf named Blond stood with eyes tightly shut, attempting to mentally link with the dozens of beastkins resting inside the carriage compartments parked outside the district—trying to awaken them.

      These beastkins had been specially prepared by the Wolfblood Society for this operation. According to the original plan, they were to serve as the vanguard and expendable shock troops. Once the main defenders inside the cathedral were drawn away by the distant Crimson-rank decoy, the beastmen would be awakened and unleashed to cause initial chaos—drawing the attention of any remaining guards and creating an opening for the infiltrators to act.

      The Wolfblood Society’s goal was ideally to complete the operation without having to deploy their Crimson-rank member at all…

      “How’s it going? Are they ready?”

      Seeing that Blond had remained silent for some time, Sander, standing nearby, frowned and asked. At that moment, Blond opened his eyes, his expression deeply troubled.

      “No good… I can’t wake my beast servants. I don’t know why—they’re just not responding.”

      “What?”

      Warren, standing beside him, was visibly surprised and quickly added.

      “You can’t wake the beastkins? Could something have gone wrong with the outer arrangements? Should we head out to check?”

      “No. Didn’t you see? The Church dogs have already begun evacuation and lockdown. If we step outside now, it’ll be like walking into a fully activated defense grid. Even with beastkins, a frontal assault would be suicide...”

      Blond responded with grave seriousness.

      Hearing this, Sander hesitated slightly, then asked with a hardened expression.

      “Then what do we do now?”

      “No other choice—we go in directly. Strike fast, get the target before they’re fully ready.”

      Blond made the call. Warren and Sander exchanged a glance, then both turned to look at Blond and nodded solemnly.

      “Let’s begin.”

      With his companions’ agreement, Blond took the lead. The trio quickly left their hiding spot and moved toward their target. At that moment, a Holy Guard sergeant in plate armor, overseeing the evacuation, noticed their suspicious behavior and stepped forward to intercept.

      “You three over there—this area is no longer open to the public. Please follow the evacuation orders and leave immediately, or—ugh!”

      Before the guard could finish his sentence, Blond’s icy gaze locked onto him. In a flash, Blond struck, stepping forward and delivering a crushing punch to the guard’s chest. His armor shattered under the impact, and he was sent flying, slamming into a stone pillar and collapsing unconscious, coughing up blood.

      “Let’s stir things up a bit first.”

      After taking down the guard, Blond said to Sander, who nodded.

      “Got it.”

      In an instant, Sander’s clothing swelled unnaturally. From his collar and sleeves, swarms of flies and mosquitoes spewed forth in a dense cloud, accompanied by a thunderous buzzing as they spread outward toward the curious crowd of citizens and clergy drawn by the commotion.

      As the insects surged forward, panicked screams erupted. Some civilians fled in terror, while others—too slow—were swarmed and bitten. Red welts quickly spread across their skin, and one by one they collapsed, kneeling in weakness, vomiting in nausea.

      “ROAR!!”

      Seeing the scene descend into chaos, Blond and Sander added fuel to the fire. Their bodies swelled and burst through their clothing as they transformed into towering, 4- to 5-meter-tall black-furred werewolves. Their first act post-transformation was to unleash a fearsome howl, amplifying the terror in the area and sending the crowd into further frenzy.

      In seconds, the entire plaza before the grand chapel had become a scene of total anarchy. People ran aimlessly in panic. The insect swarm continued its indiscriminate biting, leaving more and more people collapsed and powerless.

      Seeing that the chaos had been successfully unleashed, Blond led Warren in a swift withdrawal—grabbing Sander along the way. The two werewolves turned into black streaks, sprinting toward another part of the Hymn Cathedral, leaving behind a swarming insect cloud and a panicked mass of civilians.

      …

      “Lady Vania! A massive disturbance has broken out in front of the Grand Chapel! There’s an ongoing mystical assault—we need support!”

      Back in the archbishop’s office, Gaspard burst in urgently, having just returned from delivering orders. He addressed the white-robed nun standing silently on the carpet, who was calmly gazing at a blank wall.

      “I know. I’ve already dispatched one squad of the Holy Guard and a small Crusader unit to handle it. No need to worry too much,” Vania replied coolly.

      Gaspard paused, surprised by her calm, then spoke again.

      “A single squad of the Holy Guard and one Crusader unit… Will that be enough? The chaos there is no minor skirmish—it’s clearly more than just a couple of low-rank heretics.”

      “Yes, that riot isn’t the work of ordinary Beyonders. But even so, all they’ve left behind are flies capable of spreading disease. While it may seem dramatic and widespread, it’s merely bait meant to draw our attention. That number of troops will suffice.

      “Right now, the main force of the invaders is headed elsewhere. They’re moving west along the northern corridor of the Sanctum Hall. Their target is likely the restricted vault. I’ve already ordered nearby units to intercept them, and additional Holy Guard and Crusader units are assembling at the vault entrance. You should head there as well, Cleric Gaspard.”

      Vania spoke coolly, her tone still distant. Gaspard blinked, then nodded quickly as realization dawned.

      “Yes, I’ll go at once.”

      With that, Gaspard left the room. Vania remained alone, silently staring at the blank wall ahead. In her wide eyes, a faint golden halo had begun to form around the edge of her irises.

      At this moment, Vania wasn’t merely staring at a wall—her eyes were piercing through countless material barriers, directly locking on Blond and his companions as they sped through the cathedral district. She was tracking their every move.

      As the acting archbishop of the Hymn Cathedral, Vania had the authority to connect herself with the divine ritual site of this temple-grade ritual site, using it to greatly amplify her abilities.

      Under the strengthening effects of this temple-grade ritual site, Vania’s Lantern vision was dramatically enhanced. She could now not only perceive mystical forces, but also gain extremely potent clairvoyant and x-ray sight. Within a radius of several kilometers centered on herself, nothing could escape her eyes. No barrier could obscure her vision. No trick from Blond or his group could deceive her.

      With such overwhelming true-sight support, Vania could allocate combat forces throughout the cathedral district without the interference of misinformation—preparing a proper "welcome" for Blond and company.

      Elsewhere, in an eastern corridor of the cathedral district, two black blurs—transformed werewolves—raced between the interlinked buildings, sprinting toward their target destination as indicated by earlier intelligence.

      During their advance, they were repeatedly intercepted by Holy Guard forces, who fired upon them with bullets. Among the defenders were squads from the Crusaders, including multiple Beyonders.

      Despite the resistance, the werewolf-transformed Warren and Blond endured the hail of bullets while smashing through anyone who dared to block their path, carving their way forward through sheer brutality.

      Riding on Blond’s back, Sander played a crucial role. As they advanced, he continually released dense swarms of flies and mosquitoes. These tiny insects swarmed the defending soldiers, infecting them with severe rashes through nearly unavoidable bites. Overcome by nausea and weakness, the defenders collapsed en masse. Even Apprentice or Black Earth-rank Beyonders could not endure more than five seconds under such an assault. In fact, the casualties caused by Sander now surpassed those inflicted by the two werewolves.

      “Damn it… so many suicidal blockheads!”

      As he smashed another intercepting soldier into the ground, Blond muttered. He had lost count of how many brave “martyrs” had flung themselves into his path. While he could understand the snipers, he couldn’t fathom where so many fanatical zealots had come from.

      In truth, most of these “fanatics” were actually Dorothy’s corpse marionettes. Using the convenience provided by Vania, Dorothy had long since embedded her marionettes within the Tivian Church, ready to be activated at key moments.

      Finally, after breaking through wave after wave, Blond and company reached their destination: the archive building of the Hymn Cathedral. The restricted vault they sought was located beneath it. All that remained was to cross this final barrier.

      However, this final barrier was no easy crossing. As they rounded the last bloodstained corridor and turned the final corner, they arrived at a wide clearing before the archive building—and the sight before them caused their hearts to tighten.

      Battlefield.

      A fully established defensive line had been set up at the entrance. Thick sandbags were stacked into low walls. Behind them crouched Holy Guard soldiers in uniform, rifles aimed forward. In addition to dozens of standard rifles, seven or eight water-cooled heavy machine guns were mounted on the sandbags, with more positioned atop the building. Their dark barrels now pointed directly at the stunned werewolves.

      Thanks to the time bought by snipers and Dorothy’s marionettes—and Vania’s unaffected judgment—church forces had been perfectly deployed. These heavy-armed guards had been stationed nearby earlier under the guise of training and equipment checks, allowing for swift mobilization.

      “Open fire!”

      At a shouted command, all the gun barrels roared. The sound of gunfire thundered louder than fireworks as metal torrents sprayed from flaming muzzles. Within a split second, countless bloody holes were punched into the werewolves’ towering bodies.

      Both werewolves screamed in agony. Under the suppressive fire of over ten heavy machine guns, they had no choice but to dive for cover—one behind a statue, the other behind a nearby wall.

      “ROAR!!!”

      Once behind cover, the werewolves let out terrifying howls to induce fear, aiming to break the defenders’ morale and force them to flee.

      But this time, the howls failed.

      Not a single soldier flinched. That was thanks to the Commandment Adept deployed among the defenders. Using spiritual discipline, he stabilized the soldiers’ minds, rendering them immune to fear.

      With the fear tactic neutralized, the Radiance forces counterattacked. As if prepared for exactly this, mortar teams behind the line had long since loaded their shells. The moment the werewolves hid behind cover, the mortars launched.

      BOOM!

      A massive explosion tore through the courtyard. The werewolves’ makeshift shelters were obliterated, and the beasts themselves were thrown from the flames—screaming, burning, their fur scorched and flesh seared.

      With their cover destroyed, the werewolves were again exposed to relentless gunfire. Countless bullets tore through them, spraying blood in every direction. They were forced into desperate evasive maneuvers, darting to find new cover. Meanwhile, Sander, also pinned down by gunfire, released another swarm of insects, sending them flying straight at the Radiance line.

      But just then, two great jets of fire erupted from the battlefield, sweeping across the open area and incinerating the insect swarms in one fell swoop. The plague-carrying bugs were reduced to ashes. The two White Ash-rank Flame Acolytes, including Gaspard, had stepped in to counter Sander’s offensive.

      The insect threat was neutralized, but the raging fire also temporarily obstructed visibility and shooting lines. The werewolves seized the moment to strike again. Blond slammed the ground with immense force, launching a hail of sharp stones like shrapnel toward the defenders. Many ordinary soldiers and low-rank Beyonders were wounded or even pierced through, collapsing with groans of pain and clutching their bleeding wounds.

      However, the agony was short-lived. On the battlefield, Sister Anre, a priestess of the Holy Mother Path, immediately began activating her abilities. She comforted the wounded, healed their injuries, and relieved their suffering. More importantly, she wasn’t alone.

      Vania herself was helping.

      As acting archbishop, Vania had extended the domain of the cathedral’s sacred ritual, enlarging her healing range to cover the entire cathedral district and beyond. There was now no limit to how many she could heal simultaneously. Every wounded soldier—and even the civilians earlier harmed by Sander’s insects—were within her care. In her presence, not a single soul would be lost.

      With soldiers rapidly healing and reforming ranks, the two werewolves were also desperately using their spirituality to recover. They panted heavily, glaring with hatred. Their bodies were soaked in blood.

      And the scent of that blood, thick in the air, spread outward—free, unbound—until it was caught by a perception so powerful it nearly defied logic.

      Northern outskirts of Tivian.

      Duval, cloaked in black, stood on a remote path, gazing silently up at the sky. He sniffed the familiar scent of blood on the wind and murmured.

      “…Looks like I’ll have to make a move after all.”
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        Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire: Chapter 643: Leap

        North Tivian, Cathedral District.

        Beneath the overcast sky, outside the archival building in the cathedral district of the Hymn Cathedral, an unequal battle was underway. The three White Ash-rank Chalice Beyonders from the Afterbirth Cult were being thoroughly suppressed by the overwhelming firepower of the Radiance Church. After sustaining numerous wounds, the werewolf Blond finally found an opportunity—he slammed the ground with such force that the flying debris severely injured several mortal soldiers, drastically reducing the suppressive fire.

        Seeing this, Blond and Warren roared and charged toward the Radiance defenses. The two Flame Acolytes on the Radiance defense line immediately ignited their longswords with searing flame, stepping out with the power blessings from a Grace Presbyter to intercept the onrushing werewolves.

        The reduced gunfire gave Sander, who had been nearly immobilized, a moment to breathe. Covered in blood, Sander’s expression sharpened as he stared toward the Radiance defense line. Suddenly, from a nearby storm drain, a flood of red-eyed rats came pouring out—squeaking and surging forth!

        These were spies Sander had stationed in the cathedral district’s sewers long ago. Now, he commanded them to strike the Radiance flank in a surprise attack from the rear.

        However, the Radiance Church’s White Ash-rank Beyonders, as Lantern Beyonders, had acute sensory abilities. The moment the rat swarm neared, they sensed the anomaly and warned the surrounding personnel.

        Still, with both Flame Acolytes already engaged with the Werewolves, the Radiance soldiers temporarily lacked effective countermeasures against such a horde. Fortunately, the Church was well-funded and always well-equipped. When mystical ability fell short, they had the mystical items to compensate.

        Facing the rat swarm, many soldiers retrieved iron throwing devices—imbued with sigils and integrated spiritual storage items—and hurled them at the oncoming rodents. Upon impact, these projectiles burst into violent flames, sweeping through the area and consuming the plague-bearing rats in one go. The rats shrieked and thrashed within the fire before falling charred and lifeless.

        Sander’s ambush collapsed. Meanwhile, the wounded Radiance soldiers had already recovered thanks to mystical healing and returned to manning their weapons, once again aiming their heavy machine guns forward.

        Receiving the signal, the two Flame Acolytes currently battling the werewolves cast a wall of fire and quickly retreated. Though they’d gained the upper hand in close combat, their armor had been nearly shredded by the werewolves’ claws. The werewolves gave chase, only to find countless gun barrels waiting on the other side of the flame wall.

        Suddenly, gunfire roared once more from in front of the restricted vault. The machine guns, now operated by recovered soldiers, resumed their thunderous barrage. Dense streams of metal bullets rained forward, erupting fresh blood blooms across the two werewolves’ bodies and completely halting their charge. Caught between the gunfire and the Flame Acolytes’ attacks, they were forced into a chaotic retreat, seeking cover.

        Unlike the many mystic societies that rely heavily on Beyonders, powerful institutions like the Church and nation-states see mortal forces as a vital part of their military might—especially at the foundational level. These armies often deploy mixed units of Beyonders and mortal soldiers. The Beyonders are tasked with protecting the mortals, who wield heavy firepower to suppress threats, ensuring combat effectiveness even under intense mystical disruption.

        When coordinated well, these mixed units are devastating on the battlefield. Even if outnumbered or out-ranked in mystical terms, they can still gain an overall advantage. Most critically, with the mortals carrying out the bulk of attacks, the spiritual drain on Beyonders is minimized, giving them a massive edge in prolonged engagements. This is one of the key reasons mystic societies rarely dare face official mystical institutions head-on.

        Now, for instance, the three White Ash-rank members of Afterbirth Cult were being utterly suppressed by Radiance’s forces. They’d suffered heavy injuries while barely inflicting any damage on the Radiance defense line. Though the number of White Ash-rank Beyonders on both sides was comparable, if this had been a pure Beyonder brawl, it wouldn’t be so one-sided. Werewolves, known for their raw offensive power among all White Ashes, should’ve dealt tremendous damage in close combat.

        Yet here they were, wasting their precious spirituality just healing bullet wounds—unable even to match the Radiance Beyonders blow-for-blow, much less go injury-for-injury or life-for-life. They were being crushed, forced to burn through their spiritual reserves just to survive. From Radiance’s perspective, trading bullets for spirituality was a bargain.

        “Damn it… there’s no other way…”

        Under the relentless storm of gunfire, Blond—dodging desperately—realized they were nearing a dead end. He could no longer afford to hold back. It was time for his final move.

        In a sudden retch, he spat something from his wide mouth into his claw—a test tube filled with dark red liquid.

        Without hesitation, Blond hurled it toward the Radiance defense line. A Lantern sharpshooter spotted the anomaly and instantly raised their gun, firing a precise shot that shattered the test tube mid-air. The contents splashed onto the ground, releasing a pungent, eye-stinging odor into the air.

        Seeing this, Blond exhaled in grim relief. There was nothing more he could do now—only wait.

        …

        Far Northern Outskirts of Tivian. In a vast, continuous forest.

        Duval, clad in a black rain cloak, stood alone. His gaze was fixed on the distant sky. The moment his extraordinary olfactory sense—so sharp it defied logic—detected the shift in scent, he knew.

        The mark had been placed. The situation was dire. He had to act.

        After interpreting the signal, Duval finally moved. As spirituality surged through his body, it began to change violently.

        Crack, crack, crack…

        With a grotesque squirming of muscles, Duval's frame began to expand dramatically. The cloak tore apart under the pressure of swelling muscles, revealing deep black fur. His teeth lengthened into fangs, nails into claws, and his face jutted forward grotesquely—he was transforming.

        Bigger… and bigger… and bigger still.

        Duval’s size surged uncontrollably after beginning his werewolf transformation—two meters, three, four… eight, nine, ten… until he finally stopped growing at around twelve or thirteen meters.

        Now, what stood among the trees was a towering beast, taller than most of the forest. Razor claws and fangs, muscles taut with power, his body covered in black fur, and a strong wolf tail behind him—every feature radiated raw strength and savagery.

        And atop his monstrous shoulders—two huge, grotesque wolf heads, both gaping wide, their jaws dripping with thick, viscous saliva.

        The two-headed direwolf—this was the terrifying form Duval took after his werewolf transformation. Once the transformation was complete, Duval began moving his massive body. First, he lowered himself, dropping to all fours like a true beast, his savage gaze fixed on the distant horizon.

        Then, with a sudden surge of force, Duval launched himself forward. In the blink of an eye, the enormous creature turned into a blur, sprinting southward toward Tivian at breakneck speed.

        Accelerating—charging—Duval drove all four limbs with full strength, tearing up the ground with each thunderous stride, leaving behind craters with every footfall. Any trees in his path were shattered in an instant as he bulldozed straight through them.

        His speed only grew with each bound. A violent airflow howled in his wake, scattering a swath of leaves behind him. In mere moments, Duval had crossed several kilometers, bursting out of the forest into a vast clearing, where the dense silhouettes of southern urban buildings became visible on the distant horizon.

        Finally, Duval scaled a hilltop. At the summit, he simultaneously pushed off with all four limbs, propelling his massive body into a towering leap skyward.

        BOOM!!

        With a thunderous blast, the hill was blasted into a deep crater from the force of his takeoff. Duval’s body shot upward like a black rocket, soaring high toward Tivian with a sharp, rising arc.

        Driven by immense power, Duval ascended several kilometers into the sky. As he glanced down, the densely packed city buildings below looked like mere specks. Now airborne, this mighty hunter soared across the heavens, drawn unerringly toward the target by his predatory instinct and the scent of blood. Before long, he spotted the towering structure of the cathedral far below.

        When his leap finally reached its apex, Duval began to plummet downward at high speed. As he descended, Vania—seated in the Archbishop's office—suddenly stiffened in alarm and turned her stunned gaze toward the sky outside the window.

        “That is…”

        Jumping—this was the method Duval had chosen for his entry. It was the only way he could avoid the Layered Vision and reach Tivian’s city center in such a short time.

        The Layered Vision was powered by the regular Radiance believers living in Tivian. Within a fixed radius centered around the Hymn Cathedral, every believer could provide a wide-area detection radius of about 1 to 1.5 kilometers. All believers were essentially the Church’s eyes. No matter which direction a Crimson-rank entity approached from—north, south, east, or west—they would be detected near the city outskirts.

        However, this system had a flaw. Because its foundation was ordinary believers, who lived on the surface and were spread across the city, the detection field of the Layered Vision was inherently flat and two-dimensional—forming a flattened, elliptical scan zone. It was excellent for monitoring ground and low-altitude movement but struggled to track high-altitude targets.

        Thus, if Duval had run into the city on foot, he would have been immediately spotted by Vania’s Layered Vision as soon as he entered the cathedral district. This would’ve triggered a response from the Serenity Bureau and summoned Crimson-rank reinforcements. Before he even reached his target, he would have been intercepted by a Crimson-rank Wind Elementalist.

        But entering by leap was different.

        Since the vertical detection range of the Layered Vision only extended about 1.5 kilometers upward, Duval just needed to jump high and far enough to stay outside its detection field for most of his entry. Only upon nearing the target would he fall within the system’s range—but by then, it would be too late. Normally, Lantern Beyonders in the Church could easily spot and respond to airborne threats. But with the cathedral district currently in chaos, no one was paying attention to what was flying overhead.

        And so, Duval became a black blur plummeting from the Tivian sky, homing in on the scent of blood and slamming down into the open square before the archival building.

        BOOM!!!

        A deafening blast shook the ground. A massive shockwave kicked up clouds of dust, blanketing the entire plaza. The Radiance defense line suddenly couldn’t even see their firing targets. All present stared in stunned disbelief at the unfolding scene.

        “What… is that?”

        Staring at the swirling dust, Gaspard couldn’t help but mutter in confusion. But in the very next second—a soul-piercing howl swept all uncertainty away.

        “AWOOOOOOOO!!!!”

        The deafening wolf’s howl erupted from the center of the dust cloud, blasting it apart. A towering monster, over ten meters tall, now loomed before the Radiance forces. It stood within a massive crater formed by its impact. Both of its wolf heads howled in unison.

        After a multi-kilometer charge and a near 20-kilometer leap, the Dread Devourer Direwolf had arrived at its hunting grounds with overwhelming power.

        Right from the start, Duval unleashed a Crimson-rank fear howl. The overwhelming mental shockwave spread through the entire cathedral district and surrounding streets. Worshippers and civilians alike were seized by a sudden, inexplicable terror. Screams filled the air as people fled in a blind panic. The entire area fell into chaos.

        Before the archival building, the Radiance front took a direct hit from the epicenter of the fear howl. Even the Commandment Adepts struggled to shield everyone from such a powerful psychic assault. Their minds reeled, and they staggered under the pressure. In desperation, they shrank their blessing range, retracting the commandments from most of the mortal soldiers and lower-rank Beyonders. They focused their spirituality and stamina on shielding themselves and a few White Ash-rank comrades—only then could they barely withstand the shock.

        But this sacrifice came at a steep cost. The entire surrounding area’s forces—made up of lower-rank Beyonders and mortals from the Church Guard and Crusaders—collapsed mentally. Screaming in terror, they dropped their weapons and fled. Those too close to Duval suffered such intense psychological trauma that their bodies gave out—foaming at the mouth and convulsing before collapsing.

        In mere moments, Duval had obliterated the Radiance front’s low-rank and auxiliary combat strength. Only a handful of White Ash-rank individuals remained standing.

        “Well… that was certainly a dramatic entrance…”

        From her carriage outside the cathedral district, Dorothy gazed at the chaos unfolding beyond the window and couldn’t help but comment.

        <P1 notes, Jeez ain't that scary...>         pressure
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          Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire: Chapter 644: Hunter

          In the square before the archival building in North Tivian’s cathedral district, the dreadful fear howls of the Dread Devourer Direwolf surged and echoed. Countless low-rank Beyonders and mortal soldiers of the Radiance frontline suffered mental collapse in an instant—screaming as they fled their posts and positions, abandoning the battlefield. Many even went into shock, collapsing on the ground foaming at the mouth, utterly unconscious.

          Only a few White Ash-rank deacons survived the effects of that fear howl. Even under the protection of commandments, and having resisted the direct effects of the howl, they still felt a deep, instinctual fear rising within at the sight of the monstrous form emerging from the settling dust.

          “What… is that?”

          “What kind of monster?!”

          The Radiance members were both horrified and confused at the sudden emergence of the beast. At that moment, a string of orange-yellow text appeared abruptly in their field of vision.

          “Deacons, before you stands a Crimson-rank Beyonder from the Wolfblood Society. You are not his match. Abandon all defense assignments and retreat immediately! Repeat, retreat immediately! Aside from the two Flame Acolytes providing cover, do not attempt to engage. Sister Anlei, maximize the life blessing for the two Flame Acolytes!”

          These words—directly visible to the Radiance personnel—were part of an emergency directive Vania issued through the mystical command system of the Hymn Cathedral. Within the cathedral and its surrounding region, Vania could alter the visual perception of Lantern Beyonders, projecting 'ecclesiastical' (relating to the Christian Church or its clergy) orders directly into their sight.

          Realizing the gravity of the situation from Vania’s message, the Radiance White Ash-rank Beyonders wasted no time. They immediately began retreating alongside the fleeing mortal soldiers. Duval, however, had no intention of letting them escape.

          With a low snarl, the massive twin-headed direwolf lunged with speed belying his enormous frame, pouncing toward the retreating White Ash-rank Beyonders. The two Flame Acolytes tasked with covering the retreat forced themselves to suppress their fear and launched a torrent of flames toward the charging direwolf.

          Though fierce in appearance, those flames were little more than sparks to the towering Duval. He ignored the minor burns and easily broke through the firestorm, slashing with his claws at the two Acolytes. One of them, unable to dodge in time, was struck directly. The tip of one of Duval’s claws pierced through his chest and abdomen.

          Completely bypassing the Flame Acolyte’s armor and his Stone protection, Duval’s claw created a wound nearly two decimeters wide. The Acolyte coughed blood, dropped his sword, and lost all strength to resist. Duval then skewered him like a kebab on his claw and raised him toward one of his gaping maws. <P1 notes, What the fxck... what >

          Seeing his comrade about to be devoured alive, Gaspard made a desperate decision. Channeling flame onto his blade and empowered by dual life blessings from Anlei and Vania, he leapt several meters into the air and slashed at the wolf head preparing to consume his ally.

          “Be purified, monster!”

          With a shout, Gaspard’s blazing sword came down toward Duval’s head. In response, the wolf head twisted and caught the burning blade in its jaws, ignoring the intense heat. With a powerful bite, it shattered the blade into fragments.

          But Gaspard wasn’t done. From behind his back, he drew another longsword—one his fallen comrade had dropped. Igniting it again, he aimed for Duval’s eye.

          Gaspard lunged, sword poised for the eye, but Duval had already closed his jaws and instead raised a claw. With terrifying speed, he swatted at Gaspard. Unable to dodge in time, Gaspard was struck by the back of the massive claw. The sheer force shattered his armor instantly, the fragments cracking apart with a spiderweb of fractures.

          Gaspard was flung through the air like a cannonball, crashing through the walls of a tall building. He burst through several layers of masonry, then another building beyond that, before finally coming to a stop amidst a heap of rubble—motionless.

          The other Flame Acolyte, skewered on Duval’s claw, was flung away by the swing, crashing into and shattering a nearby statue before finally landing.Duval had taken down both Flame Acolytes in moments. Even so, his ultra-sensitive nose could still detect the scent of fleeing or dying White Ash-rank Beyonders. Just as he prepared to chase them down, a sudden shift erupted at the edge of the square—black shapes darted out from the surrounding buildings and charged toward him.

          They were savage, brutalized beastkins!

          Howling wildly, they surged at Duval from all directions. Startled for only a moment, Duval roared and counterattacked. With a single sweeping motion, he pulverized dozens of the Flame Acolytes. Against Duval’s power, they didn’t just get knocked away—they were obliterated, torn into pieces that rained down as gore and blood.

          At last, after grabbing two beastkins and shoving one into each of his gaping jaws, ripping and devouring them alive, the square finally fell quiet. All the beastkins had been cleared.

          Duval, gazing at the blood-soaked ground, showed a flicker of confusion in his furious eyes. He had smelled these beastkins before—they had been approaching him. He had assumed they were allies and ignored them.

          But clearly, they had ambushed him.

          These beastkins… were all under Dorothy’s control.

          From the moment the three White Ash from the Wolfblood Society entered the cathedral district, Dorothy had used her formidable intelligence network to locate the beastkin forces hidden around the outskirts. Secretly, she had used manifesting spiritual threads to convert the sleeping beastkins into living marionettes.

          These semi-mindless beastkins were easily subdued by Dorothy’s control, their loyalty stripped from the werewolves and seized by her.

          The Wolfblood Society had prepared a large number of beastkins for this assault. Dorothy made full use of them—all to hinder Duval. With several dozen beastkins at about Black Earth-rank Chalice strength, it took Duval real effort to clean them up.

          Now finished, Duval resumed sniffing out the fleeing White Ash-rank Beyonders. Though they had fled quite far, he could still chase and devour every last one—if he wanted. But that would waste time.

          “Chase… White Ash… tasty…”

          “No. Mission first!”

          The right head growled hungrily, but the left head gave a stern rebuttal.

          The unexpected ambush by Dorothy’s beastkins had prevented Duval from devouring the earlier group of White Ash-rank enemies. Though he was angry, he quickly suppressed it and turned around, striding toward the center of the square, looking at his nearby subordinates.

          At that same moment, Blond, Warren, and the others were still gasping for breath, their bodies bloodied, struggling to recover. After enduring a relentless barrage of heavy machine gun fire and mortars from the Radiance front, even as White Ash-rank Chalice Beyonders, they were badly battered.

          They had nearly burned through all their spirituality just trying to patch up their countless wounds. Even their healing speed had dropped significantly.

          Had Duval arrived any later, the three of them would likely have died right there—worn down by mortal firepower without even dealing any meaningful damage to the Radiance frontline. The Radiance White Ashes wouldn’t have had to risk a thing—they could’ve simply watched the three of them die in humiliation, without wasting their own spirituality or taking any real damage themselves.

          Though still seriously wounded, Blond and Warren nevertheless staggered step by step before Duval. In wolf form, they dropped to all fours and bowed their heads in reverence. Upon seeing these subordinates, Duval let out a cold snort. One of his heads opened its mouth and spoke.

          “What was with those beastkins just now? Where did they come from?”

          Faced with Duval’s questioning, Blond and Warren trembled uncontrollably. Finally, Blond responded fearfully.

          “Elder… those beastkins… they should have been the ones we prepared earlier to storm the defenses, but somehow, just as the operation began, I lost contact with them all. We didn’t expect them to suddenly show up here and attack you…”

          “You lost contact with all of them before the operation even began? Someone stole your command authority? Who did it? Those Radiance zealots? Or some other werewolves? So many beastkins lost—what good are you for?!”

          Duval’s other head roared in fury, voice thick with anger. Blond continued, trembling.

          “I… I don’t know either…”

          Hearing this, the furious head twitched, as if it wanted to grab Blond with a claw and devour him on the spot—but eventually, Duval suppressed the impulse. The other head spoke up again.

          “Tch… forget it. Now’s not the time to argue. Where’s that little rat Sander?”

          “I-I’m here, Elder Duval.”

          Sander limped forward respectfully. Upon seeing him, Duval immediately asked.

          “Where’s the Radiance zealots’ restricted vault?”

          “It—it’s in the basement of that building! Go in from there and you’ll find a passage leading downward!”

          Sander pointed toward the nearby archival building. Duval paused for a moment, then shifted his gaze downward.

          “Underground…”

          As he spoke, both of Duval’s heads lowered to the ground and sniffed intently. Eventually, he seemed to catch a scent.

          “Forget about the secret passage…”

          Said the right head. Duval then raised one massive arm, clenched it into a fist, and smashed it down hard onto the plaza’s surface.

          BOOM!!

          Under the immense force, the plaza’s floor was blasted open, a sizable crater forming. Cracks rapidly radiated from the impact site, and the entire ground trembled violently.

          But it didn’t stop there. Duval continued pounding away, deepening the crater with repeated seismic blows. Blow after blow, the plaza rumbled until, at last, the thick stone floor caved in completely, revealing a massive hole beneath.

          Duval, along with the three who had stood near him, fell down into the newly formed pit, landing in a vast underground chamber. It was pitch-black inside—only the light from the collapsed opening provided any illumination.

          This was a colossal basement hall supported by numerous stone pillars, with a ceiling over ten meters high. Inside, rows upon rows of iron shelving rose into the darkness, and on those shelves were secure lockboxes—composed mainly of jade-like reinforced stone with wrought-iron frames and locks—each firmly welded and embedded.

          This was the Forbidden Archive of the Hymn Cathedral. Despite its name, it didn’t store only forbidden books. Because of its high level of security, it also housed various mystical contraband, hence it was also called the restricted vault. The Church collected mystical texts and heretical artifacts across all of Pritt. If the Historical Scripture Department deemed them worth preserving instead of destroying, they would be sent here for safekeeping. Particularly important ones were sent to Holy Mount.

          In the process of purging heretics and dark societies, consulting their mystical texts was often essential for understanding their behavior. While the Church outwardly preached doctored doctrine and manufactured histories, its high-ranking members maintained a much clearer view of the real history of mysticism. After all, they couldn’t afford to fool themselves.

          Although the archive entrance was beneath the archival building, its size extended beneath the entire plaza. Once Duval realized this, he simply opted to smash through the plaza floor to reach it by brute force.

          Stooping slightly, Duval surveyed the archive before turning a solemn gaze on Blond.

          “Where’s the fragment?”

          “Right here!”

          With a dry retch, Blond pulled a small cloth bundle from his throat. After wiping away some of the mucus, he opened it to reveal a small, torn book page—just a single corner.

          Strangely, red fleshy tendrils sprouted from the torn edge of the page. Once exposed to the air, they stretched slightly, then writhed as if sensing something. Eventually, all the tendrils extended in the same direction, pointing unmistakably ahead.

          Upon seeing this, Blond immediately followed the tendrils’ guidance. They led him to a large bookshelf. After confirming the direction carefully, he pointed at one of the lockboxes on the shelf.

          “Elder, it’s inside this one!”

          Duval moved his massive form forward, knocking over two shelves as he approached. He lowered his head toward the indicated lockbox, raised a single claw, and stabbed it directly.

          As expected, the box was pierced through. Duval withdrew his claw, and Blond reached into the hole. Soon, he pulled out a weathered red-covered mystical text. The torn page fragment in his hand writhed excitedly and crept into the book, merging with its pages.

          “Elder, this is it!”

          Blond held the text high, his voice tinged with excitement. Duval reached out with a massive paw, and Blond placed the book into it.

          Gazing at the tiny red book resting on his enormous claw, Duval opened one of his mouths. Lifting the book up, he brought it to his jaws—but just as he was about to swallow it, something changed.

          Whoosh!

          A sharp slicing sound cut through the air. From the shadows of the archive, a black blur shot toward Duval, slashing across his hand. In a blink, a major artery on his wrist ruptured, spraying blood in torrents, and the book vanished from his grasp before Duval could even react.

          “RAAAHHHHHHHHHH!! Who did that?!”

          Soaked in his own blood, seeing the prize he had nearly obtained vanish, Duval roared in fury. He sniffed the air, locked onto a new unfamiliar scent, and turned toward it. Then, he saw it.

          At the center of the massive archive, atop the rubble left by the collapsed ceiling, a figure stood tall. He wore a bloodstained old shawl and short trench coat, fitting tightly around a lean frame. Knives of various kinds—from daggers to bone saws—hung from his belt and limbs. His boots were caked with blood and mud. Upon his head rested a battered gentleman’s hat.

          In his left hand was the red mystical text he had just stolen. In his right—a rusted, heavy butcher’s cleaver, stained with Duval’s blood. Beneath the hat, his face was wrapped in ragged bandages, leaving only one crimson eye exposed and gleaming with dangerous light.

          The sunlight from the collapsed ceiling shone down onto him—the only illumination in the archive. Yet what it revealed was not holiness or nobility, but something eerie and menacing. The deadly aura radiating from this seemingly small figure was so intense, it rivaled even the towering monster before him.
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  2. Offline
    XZ_Player_1
    + 0 ⋅ 0 -
    #panic# we got missing chapter panic... satisfied
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  3. Offline
    ManOfTheBeans
    + 0 ⋅ 0 -
    #panic# new chapters have been updated
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