Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 413

**Chapter 413: Dream Interrogation**
**Conqueror Sea, Nawah – Northern Shore**

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows across Nawah’s narrow streets, Dorothy wandered them alone, eyes sharp and mind focused. She had scattered her miniature corpse puppets throughout the city, directing them to infiltrate the homes of those afflicted by Wither-sleep Sickness. Before long, one puppet made a notable discovery inside a long-abandoned patient’s house: a sealed wardrobe that concealed a strange altar.

Encouraged, Dorothy pressed on, continuing her reconnaissance with the puppets across several other infected homes. What emerged was a consistent pattern—though varying in form. She found a strange moth-like symbol discreetly hidden in each household. In the wealthier residences, these symbols were part of entire makeshift altars built into private corners of the house. In poorer homes, the moth motif was roughly etched onto inconspicuous furniture, like bed frames. The homes where all family members had already been committed to psychiatric care were eerily empty and left to decay. Meanwhile, families with active sufferers seemed to live under a constant fog of spiritual erosion.

After enough examples, Dorothy felt near certain: this “sickness” wasn’t medical—it was symptomatic of a hidden religion centered on something called the Panmoth. The pattern fit: symptoms manifested gradually in those who began worshipping this entity, culminating in psychological collapse and forced institutionalization.

The spread of this belief appeared to be strictly word-of-mouth—passed only among family members or intimate circles—explaining why the illness seemed to cluster within households. Moreover, relatives of those not yet institutionalized already showed signs of mental decline themselves.

This led to the pressing question: what exactly was the Panmoth, and how did worshipping it bring about such symptoms?

*Panmoth… Bringer of lovely dreams… Secretly revered in this sleepy city… But what is this moth, truly?*

Walking slowly as she munched on a piping-hot potato pancake from a street vendor, Dorothy mulled this over. The name reminded her of other eldritch entities—like the Spider Queen, Gulwolf, or the Abyssal Serpent. Could Panmoth be a similar kind of being, one perhaps linked to dreams?

*The inscriptions near that altar expressed yearning for beautiful dreams… The one who tried extracting secrets from Faylinn wielded dream-manipulating abilities… The so-called Wither-sleep is rooted in dream disturbances…*

*Everything points to dreams. Dreams link to the spiritual forces of “Shadow” and “Enlightenment.” Since “Enlightenment” primaries are all but extinct now, this cult must be made of “Shadow”-dominant, “Enlightenment”-auxiliary practitioners… That’s exactly Fox’s domain—the Dream Divination path… Could they be connected to Fox somehow?*

*And the strangest part… Even auxiliary-“Enlightenment” users are scarce these days. Only exceptional people like Teacher Adel or Audrey gain access to such powers through rare luck or artifacts. Advancements usually rely on ancient ruins. So how is it that Nawah plays host to an entire functioning sect of “Enlightenment”-touched dreamers? It makes no sense.*

She chewed absently on her snack while her mind pieced things together. Faylinn’s report mentioned they had sent two scouts. One was immediately consumed by the backlash from forbidden knowledge, perishing on the spot. The other fled in fear. If their faction was willing to expend two dream-walkers—both presumably Black Earth-level auxiliary-“Enlightenment” operatives—it suggested these practitioners weren’t considered a rare asset by their leaders.

*Sending two Black Earth-ranked dream-walkers like they were expendable implies their sect sees them as abundant—like standard agents in larger organizations. But if that’s true, and they even have a Gold-ranked leader to overcome cross-tier disadvantages, couldn’t they dominate other sects with sheer divination force alone?*

*And if they lack Gold-level leadership, then despite numbers, they’d be easily crushed by stronger factions. Why haven’t they been dismantled and picked apart by larger powers already? How is such a group still operating freely in Nawah?*

As she licked the last bit of oil from her fingers, Dorothy found herself even more intrigued. She resolved to broaden her investigative efforts into the sect’s internal workings.

She planned to keep a close watch on the families that still lived with active sufferers. How did their rituals work? How did this cult proselytize in secret? There had to be inner leaders embedded within these social clusters. By maintaining prolonged surveillance, she could trace the chain of command—and expose the sect from within.

Moreover, despite the unnaturally high concentration of psychiatric cases in Nawah, neither the Church nor Castiglia’s covert bureaus had responded. That could only mean one thing: the local city council must be compromised. Someone high up had to be shielding the cult. Even the psychiatric hospital had been ordered to take down its signboard. Dorothy had anticipated this and had already planted corpse puppets inside Nawah’s city hall to observe any suspicious activity.

Under ordinary conditions, she might have located the cult’s base by now. But the imposing presence of the Church’s naval fleet nearby seemed to have thrown the sect off balance, stalling their usual movements and making them harder to pin down. Although she’d gained promising leads, the central nest of this dream-worshipping group still eluded her. She’d have to be patient.

“Whew… Sun’s almost down. I’ll head back and resume monitoring from the hotel. Meanwhile, I’ll dig deeper into this ‘Panmoth’ situation.”

Dusting off her palms, she glanced up at the darkening sky, muttering to herself before turning down a quieter road leading to her hotel.

That evening, after enjoying a local Castiglian dish at a restaurant nearby, she returned to her room. Settling at her desk, she retrieved her Magic Box, then took out the *Sea of Literature Navigation Record<e/m>*. Flipping to the page assigned for Grey’s correspondence, she hesitated briefly before picking up her pen. Writing in an alternate script, she penned her first coded message to her older brother—assuming the detective’s identity for the time being.

—

**North Tivian – A calm residential avenue**

At dusk, a carriage came to a stop at the curb. Grey stepped down lightly, wearing a tailored vest and carrying both his briefcase and coat. He thanked the coachman with a polite nod and turned toward the apartment block.

Today marked a rare moment of freedom—an early return from the Bureau after weeks of overtime. He was on his way home to freshen up and find somewhere decent to eat.

*Ugh, eating out every day is starting to feel like a waste. Should I just eat at the Bureau cafeteria? But that’s always too late. And let’s be real—I still can’t cook.*

*Wonder how Dorothy feeds herself in Tivian. Probably sticks to the school cafeteria since I never give her much cash. Never asks for more either… Still the same frugal little village girl at heart.*

*Though for this trip, I gave her a bit extra. Hope she’s enjoying some comfort at least.*

Despite having a sizable income that placed him firmly within Prithvi’s upper class—and more than enough to support Dorothy in elite fashion—Grey kept her allowance conservative. He wanted to instill thrift and resilience, worried that wealth might sap her drive. His plan was to let her in on their true finances only after she’d finished secondary school. He imagined the look of joy and surprise on her face.

As these thoughts swirled, Grey arrived at his building, unlocked the door, and entered. He made for his bedroom to change, but paused.

Something tugged at him. A subtle but unmistakable sensation stirred in his core.

“…The detective? Sending a signal?”

His brow creased as he turned back, abandoning the idea of changing clothes. He headed to his desk and pulled open a drawer, retrieving a plain notebook.

It had arrived alongside a letter in the aftermath of the Duke’s assassination attempt. Since then, this notebook had served as a stable link with the detective’s group. According to the letter, spiritual communication was reserved only for emergencies—unlike methods used by factions like the Spider Queen’s Soul Cage or the Placenta Sect’s Five Portion Altar.

The feeling just now had matched the alert signal described in that letter. Flipping to the most recent pages, he watched as fresh handwriting appeared—unfamiliar, yet unmistakably meant for him.

Grey scanned the words carefully. His expression darkened.

“…He wants me to ask… the fox?”

—

Time slipped by. Full night blanketed Tivian.

Having eaten out quickly, Grey returned home, turned on his gramophone, and let music fill the room as he wrote tomorrow’s Bureau report. Once finished, he yawned, filed the document into his briefcase, and went to shower. He donned his pajamas, glanced at the clock, and crawled into bed, flicking the light off.

Using lucid dreaming techniques, Grey drifted quickly into slumber. Inside his mental realm, he recited the Mimicry Incantation. His form twisted, becoming a massive black hound. With a thunderous bark, a glowing portal shimmered open in his dream.

Without pause, the black hound leapt through the portal and emerged into the Dream Lands. The ground beneath was his personal cocoon, and from that perch, he surveyed the sky-draped canopy of towering dream-trees.

“Yo~ Fido! On time again, huh? Looks like you finally broke free of overtime prison.”

A chipper voice greeted him. Looking down, he saw the small white fox waiting at the Dream Anchor rune portal, her tail swishing with anticipation.

“Yeah… Fox Miss. Finally back on a regular sleep schedule.”

He descended from the high boughs and met her on the dream-slick grass. The fox gave him a once-over, then nodded.

“Nice, nice. Regular sleep means you’re synced back up. You dropped off the radar for weeks. I thought something bad happened and even asked the Dragon Lord. Turns out, you were just buried under paperwork.”

“Another week and that might’ve become prophecy,” Grey quipped, tail flicking.

The fox turned, preparing to leap through the portal.

“Come on! Found a dream-spot close to Dragon turf. Should be safe… maybe we’ll land a big one tonight.”

Just as she was about to leap, Grey called out.

“Wait—Fox Miss. I’ve got a question.”

“A question? What kind?”

She turned, curious.

“About… a dream phenomenon. Have you ever heard of Panmoth?”

At that, the fox froze. A long pause followed before she replied, voice loaded with tension.

“Panmoth?! How do *you* know that name? How can you *identify* the False Dream Lord?! Did you run into the traitors who left the Dream Way?!”

Her reaction was fierce, bordering on alarm. Grey blinked at the intensity, but pressed forward.

“False Dream Lord? Traitors? Fox Miss—what is Panmoth really? Who are these people you’re talking about? What’s your history with them?”

That barrage of questions made the fox falter. She clamped her jaw shut—clearly having said too much in a burst of emotion. Struggling to compose herself, she answered with caution.

“Panmoth… How did *you* come across that name? Depending on your answer… I might talk.”

Grey wasted no time.

“Via Detective Hodges. One of his field associates—overseas—ran into something troubling and asked for intel on Panmoth.”

The fox eyed him warily. *Why go through me, a fringe contact, instead of one of Hodges’ direct Dream Way liaisons? Are they testing me?*

After considering the angles, she relented.

“Alright. Describe what Hodges’ friend encountered. If it matches something I know… I’ll share.”

Grey then relayed everything: the outbreak in Civitá, the covert cult centered on Panmoth, the signs of dream-induced madness.

The fox’s fur bristled. Her ears twitched.

“Wither-sleep? Moth cult?” she muttered, breath catching. “That means… Dream fishers are cultivating false Panmoth Imagos. The city’s residents are caught. Dream harvesters are feeding off them… speeding up their transformation into manic dream cocoons…”