Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 401

Chapter 401: Rescue
Waters of the Conqueror Sea, en route to Iwig

The massive ship floated helplessly in the open sea, its power cut off entirely. After the earlier blast rocked the vessel, a wave of panic had swept through the passengers. Following the crew’s instructions, most had taken shelter in their cabins, anxiously awaiting word.

But that uneasy calm shattered with a second blast from deep inside the Thunderfire Pearl’s lower decks. The sound rolled upward, triggering full-blown panic. The fear drove many from their rooms despite orders, storming the upper decks to confront the overwhelmed crew.

A sailor, coated in soot and sweat, scrambled up from below. After a frantic glance around, his eyes landed on the bridge, where Captain Costas stood.

“Captain! Another blast down in the bilges! Hull’s torn open—we’re flooding fast! Can’t stop it!”

The sailor flailed his arms, shouting over the growing din. His warning only deepened the fear gripping the passengers and even some crew, who had struggled to keep order. The image of the great ship sinking was too much; terror threatened to dissolve discipline entirely.

But Captain Costas, still composed in his trim uniform, turned from the bridge and swept his gaze across the chaos below. Calmly folding his hands behind him, he projected his voice across the deck.

“Stay strong, friends! Though misfortune strikes, though peril bears down, we are not forsaken! Behold, the Saint Mother sends deliverance—there! The Holy Fleet approaches! I’ve contacted them, explained our plight. They have heard our cry and come swiftly to our side.

“Take heart! The Light watches over us! Set aside your fear, obey orders, and hold fast. I swear on my oath—none aboard this vessel will be left behind!”

His voice, ringing with surety, cut through the panic. His gesture toward the approaching ships gave substance to his promise. The sight of the fleet—real and growing nearer—began to calm the crowd. The storm of fear broke slightly, allowing order to take fragile hold once more.

With the immediate danger held at bay, Costas’s expression darkened. He turned to the bridge interior, where three lifeless bodies sprawled across the floor. Coldly, he addressed his companions.

“Get rid of them—quickly. Before the church folk arrive. Afterward, overboard. Swim to shore. Rendezvous at the closest safehouse.”

“Yes, sir.”

Several Abyss cultists moved without hesitation to carry out the task. Costas watched them for a moment, then sneered as he surveyed the slowly reorganizing chaos outside.

“A second explosion. This time right into the hull. He planned for this… wanted to force an evacuation. Otherwise, those righteous fools might patch the damage and refuse to evacuate. Clever rat brought enough charges for the job…”

Beside him, Massimo spoke, worry in his voice. “Are we really going aboard those zealots’ ships? Seems like we’re begging to get caught.”

Costas kept his eyes fixed ahead. “No other route. Reclaiming the Deep Blue Heart commits us to this path. The tracking button gets us close, but I can’t confront him alone. We act together—or not at all.

“We’ve got ‘Silence’ artifacts and minor cloaking. The church’s standard scans won’t pick us out. We just play our roles: the dutiful captain, the shell-shocked collector. Even if he notices… exposing us means revealing himself.”

Massimo chewed on that, then gave a nod. “…Risky. But it’s all we’ve got. We find him onboard—and once we hit land, he dies.”

“Exactly.” Costas adjusted his posture, once more wearing the bearing of a ship’s commander. “Then I must get back to commanding. Time to usher our flock to safety.”

……

Below deck, Nevis hurried down a corridor, nerves taut. She stopped before a familiar door and knocked hard. When there was no answer, she eased it open—and found the silver-haired girl calmly sitting by the porthole, coffee cup in hand.

“Miss Dorothy! What are you doing here?! The ship’s sinking—we need to go topside now!”

“Relax, Senior Nevis,” Dorothy said without even turning. “This ship weighs ten thousand tons. It won’t vanish in minutes. Sit down. There’s plenty of time for another cup. Charging up to the deck now would just clog things up for the poor captain.”

Nevis hesitated, then stepped inside and closed the door behind her, clearly distressed. “But… aren’t you the least bit concerned? The lower levels are flooding!”

Dorothy finally sipped her drink and replied evenly, “Of course they are. I rigged the charges myself. But don’t worry—I calculated the timings carefully. She won’t fully go under for four or five hours. And look,” she gestured toward the glass, “the Holy Fleet is already in sight. More than enough time to get everyone off safely.

“No sense fighting the crowd up top right now. It’s noisy, dangerous—you could fall overboard. Not worth the effort.”

Nevis stared in disbelief. This thirteen-year-old had brought explosives aboard and spoke of sinking the vessel like she were discussing the weather. Is this… is this really how someone so young thinks? She’s terrifying. The full weight of Dorothy’s rank in the Scarlet Cross hit her.

Her mind flicked back to her own youth—safe, pampered, full of family warmth. What trials could twist a child into this level of composure and cold efficiency? What sort of training? What pain? Poor girl… forced into these hidden wars so early…

And yet… if life had been kinder—could she have just been a normal girl? So pretty… no calculating eyes… maybe she’d even call me ‘big sister.’ Nevis’s thoughts drifted wistfully.

Dorothy suddenly snapped her eyes up. “You’re staring. Is something wrong with my face?”

“Eh?! Oh—n-no! I just spaced out, that’s all!” Nevis stammered, blushing fiercely. No way she could admit what she’d been imagining.

Dorothy gave her a side glance but said no more. She turned her gaze back to the fleet nearing outside the window. “They’ve arrived. Let’s finish our drinks. Let the deck clear a bit. No need to elbow through a crowd when we can board peacefully.”

“Mmh… drinking coffee on a sinking ship… never thought I’d check that off my list…” Nevis muttered, finally sitting down. Dorothy refilled her cup, offering a faint smile.

……

As time slipped by, the Holy Fleet edged up toward the stricken Thunderfire Pearl. The massive ships stopped at a safe distance, unable to draw too close without risking a collision. The order went out: ferry the passengers via lifeboats.

Dozens of small boats splashed into the sea and began rowing toward the motionless liner. Aboard the Pearl, Costas led the evacuation, barking commands and directing the lowering of gangways. He coordinated the careful transfer of passengers into the waiting lifeboats below.

One boat after another was filled and sent off. Each time, they returned, collecting more of the stranded. Any poor soul who slipped was quickly pulled from the sea. It was slow, but orderly.

Despite the earlier chaos, the imposing presence of the Holy Fleet lent calm. Most passengers cooperated, even if some outbursts had to be quelled. The rhythm of rescue set in.

Lifeboats weren’t swift, but they were steady. Bit by bit, the passengers were dispersed across the many ships. Hours passed. The Thunderfire Pearl began her slow, undeniable descent. With every minute, the decks sank lower, but ironically, the reduced drop made evacuation easier.

Fewer people remained. After three grueling hours, the decks had nearly emptied.

In one of the final lifeboats headed for the Holy Fleet, Dorothy sat beside her puppet guardian, watching the vessel fade. Half the ship was already swallowed by the sea.

Bringing down something so massive… my handiwork. Quite the sabotage… Pride stirred inside her—odd, but undeniable. A flicker of amusement danced through her thoughts. Would anyone dare ask me to pay for this?

Doubtful. I’m thirteen. Children blow things up. It’s what we do. With that thought, she turned from the dying ship as the boat carried her onward.

Once aboard the passenger liner, Dorothy joined the rest of the survivors being checked over. Priests and nuns moved among them, giving brief health checks. As Dorothy scanned the crowd, a gentle voice called out to her and her towering guardian.

“Mister, I need to confirm you and your daughter are unharmed. Please cooperate for a quick inspection.”

Dorothy turned with a perfect smile, innocent as could be. Sister Faylinn stood before them, robes spotless, glasses glinting.

“Sure thing, Sister!” Dorothy chirped, sugar-sweet.

……

Night fell over the waters. The Holy Fleet rocked gently in the dark. The Thunderfire Pearl, now devoid of life, drifted toward her final rest. The evacuation had ended. All that remained was the paperwork.

In the lavishly decorated captain’s office of the fleet’s flagship, Costas presented his account of the incident to Commodore Jord.

He explained a cascade of boiler failures—issues long ignored—that had led to an explosion during a scheduled inspection.

“Boiler systems… just as we feared,” Jord muttered. “The cause… will stay buried, like the ship.”

Through the window, the Pearl’s final form sank lower. Only the upper decks remained.

“Yes, Commodore,” Costas said, wearing a sorrowful expression. “What truly went wrong? That question… lost to the depths. It is my burden now—my shame. I should have seen it coming.”

Jord shook his head, sympathetic. “You are not alone in blame. The sea strikes without warning. Many good men have been undone by it. The ship is lost, but the lives aboard are not. That is what matters.

“Captain Costas, your handling of the crisis was admirable. You did your duty. Should any inquiry arise, I will vouch for your actions.”

A flicker of raw emotion crossed Costas’s face—half relief, half rage. He dipped his head. “Your words offer comfort, sir. Without your intervention, this would’ve ended far worse. On behalf of every soul aboard… thank you.”

“Hah! Thank the Saint Mother. She guided us, not I.”

“…Praise be,” Costas replied through clenched teeth, masking the venom behind the words.

He paused, then cast one more glance at the Pearl’s final descent. Only her topmost rail remained.

“There is one last question, sir. Where will the fleet take us?”

Jord didn’t hesitate. “Our heading remains Iwig—but circumstances demand change. With limited supplies, we can’t support so many extra passengers for the entire voyage.

“We’ll head north. To Castiglia. The closest port is Nawaha. By tomorrow, all of you will stand safely on dry land.”