Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 433

**Chapter 433: Provocation**
The Conqueror Sea, heart of the Summertree Archipelago.

At dawn, within the central lodge on the main island, elders from across Summertree’s scattered isles, along with other influential leaders, had gathered for a critical assembly. The outcome of this meeting would steer the fate of their people. After many hours of deliberation, consensus had finally been reached.

“Very well. If that’s settled, then we proceed. Everyone shall abide by the ancestral guidance and adopt the prescribed techniques to quietly protect our devotion to the Goddess. We must steer our people’s routines gently over time—this won’t be swift.”

“Luckily, the Glorious Church doesn’t require instant allegiance from those newly converted. Once we publicly announce our conversion, they’ll dispatch missionaries to instruct us over an extended period, gradually nudging our populace toward their Holy Trinity. It’s during this prolonged indoctrination that our efforts will take root. It will be demanding, yes, but the ancestors left us detailed instructions. Later, I’ll assign the specific duties to each of you.”

Seated in his place of prominence at the head of the lodge, Anan—the Priest of Plenty—addressed the gathered Summertree leaders. His tone was solemn. As his voice trailed off, heads began to nod around the room. No one raised a new objection.

Summertree’s leaders had orchestrated the seizure of the pilgrims to shield their worship of the Goddess of Plenty. It had been a desperate gamble, a move that could easily provoke the wrath of the Glorious Church and risk utter annihilation. Yet faced with no better alternatives and the Church’s sheer might, it had seemed the only leverage available. No one truly wanted a war against the Glorious Church.

Now, Anan had offered a better solution—one that promised reconciliation while preserving their secret faith. The plan came from sacred ancestral visions, clearly intended for their unique predicament. Why would they refuse it?

Agreement had become nearly unanimous. As Anan prepared to speak again, a voice rose from the floor—it was one of the seated elders.

“Priest Anan, I still have a concern. While the false-faith strategy revealed by our ancestors is truly clever—enabling us to appear converted while covertly maintaining devotion to the Goddess—it assumes that the Glorious Church will first accept our conversion and initiate teaching. But how can we be certain they’ll accept it at all? We took their people hostage. Then, all at once, we let them go and declare conversion? That’s too abrupt.”

“Such a drastic reversal will undoubtedly catch their attention. It could easily be seen as suspicious—possibly a ploy. If they doubt our sincerity, we may never get the chance to implement the plan.”

The elder facing Anan spoke with worry. Anan, unsurprised, nodded slightly and responded with calm confidence.

“Elder Duodo makes a valid point. A sudden reversal would indeed raise alarms. The Church might suspect ulterior motives, and that would sabotage our efforts before they begin. So, we must have a compelling rationale for our change of heart. We can’t let it seem like we’ve reversed course without cause.”

He paused, letting the words settle. Elder Duodo pressed again.

“Priest Anan… you’re implying you’ve already found such a reason? What exactly will we claim as the cause of this abrupt decision?”

Anan’s lips curled into a knowing smile. He shifted his gaze toward Bahoda, seated nearby, and spoke deliberately.

“Bahoda, if I remember correctly… among the captives from those three ships you intercepted, there was a nun of the Glorious Church—Vania, was it? You mentioned that during the voyage back, you approached her for healing, seeking aid for our wounded men. She tended the Glorious Church marines, and afterward even volunteered to treat our own warriors?”

Bahoda nodded solemnly. “That’s right. At first, we only allowed her to treat their wounded—thought it might strengthen our hand in later negotiations. But we didn’t expect her to offer aid to us as well. Despite being our enemy, she offered help without hesitation.

“At first, I doubted her intentions. But a few of our wounded tried her healing. Nothing strange happened. She was genuine. She went on to heal nearly everyone among our injured. No tricks. Only compassion. It was… unexpected. I’ve never encountered a Glorious Church member with such sincerity.”

Anan stroked his beard, eyes glinting with satisfaction. He turned once more to the room at large.

“So even within the Glorious Church, there are those whose hearts are open—who see no boundary between friend and foe when it comes to life. This nun, full of grace, saved the very people who captured her. Faced with such kindness, how could we not be stirred?”

“She serves the Glorious Saint Mother, and yet she healed us with impartial compassion. Her mercy reminded us of the Goddess herself. We mistook her for a divine emissary. Her presence radiated sanctity. Through her, we glimpsed a righteous path.”

He chuckled briefly. “I’ve read much of the Glorious Church’s literature. They love tales of saintly figures who sacrifice themselves for their faith.”

The elders sat in contemplative silence. Glances passed between them. They understood Anan’s meaning immediately.

Yes. They needed a plausible cause for their sudden interest in conversion—and what better than being touched by the deeds of a virtuous soul? Their turning point could be inspired by one woman’s actions. And that woman was already present among them.

“Exactly! We can build the entire story around that nun! Let her heal more of our people within the city. Then the Glorious Church will believe she brought the Saint Mother’s grace to Summertree. We’ll invite her to a public theological debate—and lose on purpose! Make it look like her words changed us. Work with her. Let the Church think our faith turned because of her teachings!”

Elder Duodo clapped, eyes lit with realization. The room erupted again into spirited discussion. They debated how best to frame Vania as the spiritual guide who brought them into the fold—all while continuing their secret devotion. Anan observed, quietly pleased.

Eventually, everyone agreed. This nun would be their mask—the symbol of their supposed conversion. She’d be summoned to the gathering, gently encouraged to heal and preach, and a staged debate would follow where Summertree would feign defeat, justifying their “change of heart.”

“Well, since we’re all in agreement, Bahoda, go and fetch Nun Vania. Have her wait just outside. We’ll bring her in when the moment’s right.”

Bahoda bowed his head and departed to carry out the task. The rest resumed their planning—refining the performance that would fool both Vania and the Glorious Church. All contributed ideas—save for one: Obuye, seated in the shadows of the corner.

*Disaster… Things are unraveling. How did Anan suddenly get ‘ancestral guidance’? If Summertree avoids war, if the Church doesn’t bring down righteous fire upon them, then everything we’ve done is worthless.*

Frowning deeply, Obuye struggled to remain still. A loyal follower of the Abyssian Cult, his assignment was to ensure a direct clash between Summertree and the Glorious Church—to ensure Summertree’s fiery demise.

He had been tipped off by the cult about the vulnerable pilgrimage fleet. Then, acting on that, he incited Summertree’s leaders to capture it. He had expected to slip away before the Church’s retaliation arrived. But now? If Summertree released the hostages and declared conversion, all was lost. This was not part of the plan.

*Anan’s so-called revelation is too convenient. One night of meditation and he devises this? Something disrupted the plan. If this continues, Summertree won’t fall. Even if I inform the Church later, the window will have passed. And Anan’s whole approach even blocks that route—it’s too thorough…*

Frustration built within him. Just then, Anan turned toward Obuye.

“Obuye, I’ve a task for you.”

“Ah… yes, Priest Anan? What would you have me do?” He tried to compose himself as he stood.

Anan extended his staff. “Since we’re going forward with this conversion charade, we can’t keep the pilgrims in captivity. Take my staff to the holding sites. Instruct our warriors to release all Glorious pilgrims. Move them to Sunder Bird Woods. Ensure they are cared for. Do this quickly.”

Obuye hesitated, a sliver of panic passing through him, but then accepted the staff.

“Yes, Priest Anan. I’ll see it done.”

With that, he left the lodge, cane in hand. As he descended the steps, his mind raced. Should he detour home and alert White Tear Island using the Quintuple Shrine Altar? But his home lay on another island—too far. Delaying would invite suspicion. No, better to follow orders for now.

Once outside, he moved through the clearing—until a figure stopped him in his tracks.

A young woman, clad in radiant white, stood alone. Fair-skinned, with platinum-blonde hair. Vania. The very nun they intended to use in their deception. Clearly, she awaited her summons.

Obuye intended to ignore her, pressing ahead with his task. But as he passed, she spoke softly, her voice lilting in Ivigian—a tongue rarely used by islanders.

“You are Obuye… the one here who enacts the Master’s will…”

He halted, startled. He answered in the same language, keeping his tone low.

“How do you know my name? I don’t serve your so-called Holy Trinity.”

“Of course you don’t. Nor do I. You serve the Master. And so do I. Not the Trinity. Not the Goddess of Plenty. Only Him.”

Her words made his breath catch. Muscles tensed. He turned to her, disbelief in his eyes.

“You’re…”

“We are His instruments,” she replied. “His purpose flows through us. We’re being watched. I can’t explain everything. But the plan has gone awry. We must act—now—if we’re to salvage it.”

She spoke in low tones, her expression unreadable. Obuye stood frozen. Then he asked, voice measured:

“What must we do?”

He struggled to keep calm, barely processing that the nun Anan spoke of in reverent tones… was one of them.

“I’ve perceived everything said within the lodge—through methods beyond the ordinary. Summertree seeks to cover its hostility with false conversion. We must not let them succeed. Their destruction must be immediate. They hope to soften the conflict? Then we force it wide open.”

Her eyes glinted coldly. Obuye blinked.

“You mean… escalate things?”

“Yes. Turn it into open hostility. If we push far enough, no gesture of reconciliation will be accepted. And the power to do so lies with you.”

Obuye glanced at the staff in his grip. Understanding surfaced.

“You mean… use Anan’s authority to issue a false command? Order the prisoners executed?”

“Exactly. Those warriors—they’re eager for blood. They’re only waiting for a word. Give the order, and they’ll obey. Once the pilgrims are slain… no peace will follow. No forgiveness. No more games. Just war. A pure, unending war.”

She leaned in closer. Obuye’s breath shortened.

“But then I’ll be hunted. Anan will come for me.”

“You’ll be gone before he moves. You’re one with the sea, yes? The Abyssal Serpent protects its own. The Summertree elders worship a false ocean god. They won’t touch you.”

Obuye’s eyes darkened with zeal. He nodded.

“Yes… the true sea is mine. The Depths will cloak me.”

The nun nodded sharply.

“We have no more time. Prolonged talk will invite suspicion. May the Blood Cup guide your path. May we dine again someday at the Banquet.”

She traced a sharp, downward motion over her chest. Obuye recognized it instantly—the secret gesture of devotion to the Cup Mother.

*A nun of the Glorious Church, the very image of saintly compassion… a servant of the Cup Mother all along? What grotesque truths hide behind her pious veil? How many bodies has she consumed in secret? How many lies does she wear like silk?*

*Blasphemy… but exquisite…*

His lips curled into a mirror of her eerie smile. He returned the unspoken blessing, then strode off, gripping the staff with firm purpose. Within moments, he disappeared into the forest beyond.

Vania remained motionless, watching him vanish. Slowly, her gaze lifted toward the doorway of the lodge.

The door creaked open.

A figure stepped out—Anan, the Priest of Plenty, his face shadowed with weight.

“Master Anan,” Vania murmured, her eyes locking onto his, “Have you now seen what I tried to reveal? Treachery festers here… rooted deep in Summertree…”