Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 416

**Chapter 416: Jolt Awake**
*Conqueror Sea Coast, Nawaha*

In the dead of night beneath Nawaha, the massive pseudo-dream cocoon concealed in the city’s subterranean layers began to develop at a rapid pace, spurred by an ongoing activation rite. Several Temporal Dream Cocoons that had yet to be fully drained were forcibly absorbed by the swelling main chrysalis. The moment it reached maturity, cracks split across its thick surface. A powerful hypnotic wave burst outward from the monstrous pupa, blanketing Nawaha in a wave of psychic compulsion. Every conscious living being still active in the city fell under its influence, succumbing to enforced sleep—including Dorothy, who had been surveilling the area.

She had grown increasingly cautious after witnessing the peculiar state of the Moth Sect faithful and the strange torpor of the Exhaustion Plague patients housed in the asylum. So, when the potent hypnotic current surged through the city, her sharpened vigilance granted her a brief chance to push back. She knew surrendering to this sleep was dangerous—entering the Hazy Dream meant falling completely under the mercy of the Black Dream Hunters. Only one option remained in that fleeting instant.

“Mmmgh… Nnaaaah!!”

In her dimly lit hotel room, Dorothy, seated stiffly on a wooden chair, clutched her arms around herself as tremors wracked her frame. A biting jolt shot through her body, dragging startled cries from her lips. Her eyes rolled back, revealing white.

Never had she imagined she’d experience being electrocuted—by her own hand, no less. Though she regulated both voltage and current through her Thunder Caller powers, the shock was harsh and unforgiving. This self-inflicted electrocution was likely the worst trauma her body had suffered since she transmigrated.

After the surge passed through her, she collapsed slack in her chair, mouth agape, eyes glazed. Her feet remained on the ground while her hands twitched at her sides. She looked half-dead, but she was conscious. The surge had rattled her brain just enough to clear away the veil of sleep, staving off the overwhelming hypnotic effect and keeping her from falling into the depths of the Hazy Dream.

“Guh… Haah… I didn’t expect my first proper test of Thunder Caller would involve shocking myself awake…”

Still breathless, she slowly straightened up. There was no time to rest—this clarity had to be used immediately. Pain had bought her a sliver of freedom. She couldn’t waste it.

“While I still have time… I need to get ready…”

Bracing herself, she shut her eyes and delved inward. Dorothy initiated self-hypnosis, preparing her mind for lucid dreaming.

But only moments after she began, another massive surge of hypnotic force exploded from deep below the city. It moved with speed and precision, homing in on her location. The awareness she had just clawed back was smothered once more beneath a wave of irresistible fatigue.

This time, she did not fight it with electricity. Instead, she allowed herself to be pulled under, giving in to the sleep that came—but not mindlessly.

As she slipped into unconsciousness, her awareness transitioned swiftly into the dream realm. Her presence solidified within a constructed dreamscape. She recognized it immediately—Greenshade Town, House No. 17. Her study.

Through her lucid dreaming method, Dorothy had managed to enter sleep while keeping her consciousness intact. Without this mental preparation, she’d have fallen into a deep, unaware Hazy Dream, cut off from her agency. But here, within the lucid state, she retained control, ready to assess and act.

“At last… a moment to think. Something is casting repeated waves of influence across the entire city… What just happened down there? What’s caused Black Dream and their nurtured Pseudo-Moth to move?”

She spoke quietly to herself, sitting at the desk in her dream-study. Only a short while ago, she’d just begun probing the situation around the Black Dream Hunters—and now, everything had exploded.

From what she’d seen earlier, many citizens had dropped where they stood, overcome by the sleep spell. This wasn’t a targeted attack—it was city-wide hypnosis. To generate something of this magnitude required immense power. According to what Kyla had reported, only the Pseudo-Moth being cultivated by the Black Dream Hunters could potentially do this.

Kyla’s classification of the Pseudo-Moth placed its stages as follows: Egg equated to Apprentice, Larva to Black Earth, Pupa to White Ash, and Adult to Scarlet. If the hypnosis had blanketed an entire city, that suggested something very near the Scarlet rank had been unleashed.

‘Scarlet level… Did they succeed in evolving their Pseudo-Moth? And it happens just as I show up to investigate? Am I seriously that unlucky? What kind of timing is this?’

The thought made her groan and press her palm to her forehead. If that cocoon had truly birthed an adult Pseudo-Moth, things had escalated far beyond expectations.

‘Regardless… sitting around in this dream won’t yield results. I need to check on the real world—see what’s going on. First priority: my body. I have to protect it… or maybe even wake it up.’

Resolved, Dorothy tried to force her body to awaken. But despite her focus, her consciousness remained trapped. Her brow furrowed.

‘Deep sleep. As expected. That hypnosis plunged me far too deeply to escape through sheer will. I’ll need another way.’

She thought back to Faylinn, who had once fallen victim to a similar dream-based assault. Dorothy had learned from that incident. She’d devised measures in case she ever encountered such a trap herself.

Sitting firmly in her dream-chair, she centered her energy. Lucid and focused, her supernatural abilities were fully accessible. She didn’t turn to Thunder Caller immediately—she couldn’t risk overusing that power. The shock might work once, maybe twice, but not indefinitely. Repeated use would shred her body.

Instead, she activated her Thread Control Mage skills. Through “Active Puppetry,” she connected with the puppet mark she had long ago carved into her own skin. She’d prepared that sigil for precisely this kind of crisis.

Through that tether, she sent a command.

In the waking world, her slumbering body stirred. Her eyes slowly blinked open. And within her dream, a viewing screen came to life, revealing what her physical eyes now saw.

Dorothy—still asleep but lucid in the dream—had seized direct control of her physical form like a puppet. She could now observe and interact with the waking world without fully awakening.

Better yet, since her actual consciousness remained deeply asleep and only her puppet-form moved, further waves of hypnosis would have no effect. Hypnosis couldn’t affect what was already unconscious. As long as her real self stayed asleep in the dreamscape, she was untouchable.

Lucid dreamer. Puppet master. Immune to hypnosis.

“This really does feel like piloting a giant mech from the cockpit…”

Looking at the visual feed projected in her study, she couldn’t help but chuckle. With a snap of her fingers, her surroundings shifted—her dream morphing into a high-tech command bridge. She now sat in a sci-fi pilot seat, lacking only a launch command.

“All right… mission objective: figure out exactly what’s happened.”

With that, Dorothy made her puppet-body stand.

———

Over at Nawaha Port, the Church’s fleet remained anchored.

The hypnotic wave sweeping the city reached the docks swiftly. Patrols and sentries crumpled one after another. Even the most devout prayers whispered in the ship bellies were silenced as intercessors collapsed in prayerful positions, overwhelmed by the magical fatigue.

Jaques, working late in his cabin, was struck too. As the sleep overtook him, he slumped forward at his desk. Across the fleet, even other White Ash-ranked non-ordinary individuals fell without resistance.

If even White Ash fell, the ordinary ranks didn’t stand a chance. Within moments, silence claimed the entire fleet.

Aboard the flagship, in a small private chamber, a gaunt figure sat in meditation—barefoot, robed, bald. A man in his fifties, cross-legged on the floor before an open Sacred Text and a humble shrine to the Saint Father.

He looked peaceful, clearly overtaken by the hypnosis mid-prayer.

But something strange occurred.

Behind him, a translucent whip—faintly golden—formed in mid-air. It lashed forward without prompting, striking the monk squarely across the back. Though it tore neither flesh nor cloth, the pain was very real. He woke with a sharp gasp, body jerking upright.

Blinking in confusion, Werner glanced around, watching the golden whip dissipate like smoke.

“…Asleep during prayers… Forgive me, Saint Father.”

He bowed his head, murmuring penitence to the shrine. But another wave of drowsiness came, threatening to reclaim him. He acted instantly, slamming the Sacred Text closed and intoning with steel in his voice:

“Discipline: Thou Shalt Not Sleep.”

Golden light flared at the edges of his eyes. The spell broke instantly, the heavy veil of exhaustion lifted like a fog burned away by sunlight. Werner stood, fully alert.

“…Did not expect to encounter ‘Shadow’ of this strength here…”

He muttered as he grabbed the Sacred Text, chaining it securely to his belt. He strode into the hallway, paying no mind to the bodies of unconscious sailors scattered along the corridor. He headed straight for the captain’s quarters.

Inside, Jaques still lay slumped over his desk. Werner summoned his radiant whip again.

“Sleeping at your post… even a captain must be corrected.”

Without hesitation, he struck Jaques across the back. The ghostly lash drew a pained yell from the man, who tumbled backward from his chair in shock, hitting the floor hard.

“ARGH! Wha—Brother Werner? What’s going—ow!”

Clutching his head, Jaques stared up in confusion. But the exhaustion hadn’t loosened its grip. It dragged at him again, pulling him toward unconsciousness.

“Jaques Schneider. I command you—Discipline: Thou shalt not sleep.”

Werner’s voice rang like sacred steel. Under its weight, the sleep pulling at Jaques fell away. He gathered himself, shaking, but awake.

“Hah… That hypnosis was beyond me… even I couldn’t hold it back… This is an attack! ‘Shadow’ has struck!”

“Indeed,” Werner confirmed, his tone brisk. “The fleet lies under enchantment. After my Disciplinary Lash woke me, I came straight here. The threat is real.”

“You’ve my thanks. Clearly, we underestimated Nawaha’s dangers,” Jaques said, mind already racing. “Brother Werner—wake Santos. Wake all who can resist. We must secure the fleet and prepare for confrontation.”

Werner gave a terse nod and turned to leave. But before he could take a step, a deafening explosion echoed from the city.

Both men froze.

Then, without a word, they rushed to the main deck. Turning toward Nawaha, their gazes fixed on the impossible sight that now loomed above the skyline.

It rose above the rooftops, a thing of nightmare.

A massive spectral Moth, grotesque in shape, was rising into the sky. Its wings—triangular, translucent—rippled with patterns resembling glaring, hypnotic eyes. Its immense, glowing body was bloated with pale fungal sacs that pulsed and twitched. Dozens of tendrils writhed beneath its belly like ghostly snakes. Its head held no normal features—just clusters of enormous, unblinking, alien eyes.

Monstrous. Distorted. A nightmare made flesh. And it drifted noiselessly above Nawaha.