Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 438

**Chapter 438**
**Wandering Wall Practitioner**

North Ufia, Torea.

Amid Torea’s profound nighttime quiet, the city rested in silence. Yet near the coast, within a modest villa on the outskirts, one figure remained vigilant, illuminated by a lamp.

Seated on a window-adjacent sofa, a handsome young man read by the faint light, the rhythmic sound of crashing waves accompanying him, a trace of fatigue visible on his face.

As the wall clock marked the passing hours and darkness deepened, the youth yawned. He retrieved a new pocket watch, noted the time, shut his book, and placed it back into the travel bag resting on a nearby cabinet.

He stood, walked to the room’s washroom for a quick wash, and returned. Shedding his coat and trousers, he extinguished the gas lamp. Lying on the soft bed and pulling up the covers, the steady rhythm of the waves soon lulled him into a deep sleep.

The young man slipped into dreams. The clock continued its quiet, persistent ticking. Time flowed onward, the moon descended from its peak, and Torea sank into the deepest night.

About an hour after the man succumbed to sleep, a subtle disturbance unsettled the dark, soundless chamber. An unnatural swelling appeared on one smooth wall. As it grew, a figure emerged gradually from the solid structure.

Silent as a phantom, a lean man clad in black, his face masked, solidified within the room. His eyes scanned the pitch-black space before fixing on the opposite wall. Soon, that surface also began to undulate. A taller figure slid soundlessly from its substance and stood upon the floor.

By this uncanny means, two masked men infiltrated the private quarters. After exchanging a look, they advanced noiselessly toward the room’s bed.

Reaching the bedside, the smaller man scrutinized the sleeping youth before pulling a tiny vial from his pocket. Carefully, he positioned it beneath the young man’s nostrils, uncorked it, and released a wisp of white vapor. This mist was drawn deep into the sleeper’s lungs with each unconscious breath.

Seeing the vapor fully inhaled, the man sealed the vial. He waited silently for several minutes, glanced at his timepiece, and snapped his fingers beside the sleeper’s ear. When the sleeper showed no reaction, remaining profoundly insensible, both intruders exhaled in shared relief.

“Done. He’s deeply under now,” the slender masked man stated, pocketing the vial. His larger companion voiced doubt.

“Seemed too straightforward. Is this the one demanding extra caution? Doesn’t appear tougher than our usual targets. Didn’t require both of us.”

“Call it precaution. Buying three grimoires at once likely means he’s no common individual. Perhaps the Old Man was overly wary.”

Sharp features beneath the mask surveyed the room again. “Work now. Be quick. Remove everything from him. Separate possessions from the person. Leave nothing on his body.”

Immediately, they moved. The larger man headed for the youth’s luggage chest. The slimmer one approached the overcoat hanging nearby. After thoroughly searching the coat, he even drew back the bedcovers and meticulously patted down the half-dressed, unconscious form.

“Found the purchased grimoires. Besides these, just a revolver and some Life-Nourishing Charms. Nothing particularly special. Feels like a poor haul. Anything on your end?” The luggage searcher spoke, his gaze on the disheveled contents lit by a small lantern’s orange glow.

“Nothing unusual here either… But confirmation must wait… I need to search him fully before we illuminate…”

As he spoke, the man assigned to the personal search began efficiently removing the youth’s clothing. He stripped each garment meticulously from the sleeping figure. Finally, pulling aside the innermost shirt to expose the youth’s chest, he frowned.

“What in the…”

Before him lay a male torso scarred with numerous severe, deep old wounds. Gaping marks disfigured the skin, several positioned over vital organs. The sheer evidence of violent survival caused disquiet.

“Not right… Something’s amiss with this man… He seems…”

Before the slender man could complete his urgent whisper, the supposedly comatose youth suddenly snapped his eyes open. Seizing the moment while the man’s attention was divided, the youth known as Branden jackknifed violently upright, his arms locking like iron bands around the slighter intruder in a crushing embrace that halted movement.

Accompanying this vicious hold came an intense wave of prickling numbness that flooded through the captured man. His body convulsed under the electric agony, eyes bulging in pain. Yet, even suffering, he didn’t lose consciousness instantly. His continued struggles forced Branden to exert every muscle to maintain the vice-like grip.

“Unh… Unhghh…!”

Faced with this abrupt reversal, the trapped man fought wildly against his captor’s impossible, electrically charged strength, to no effect. The larger man near the luggage, momentarily frozen in shock, abandoned his search, drew a stout knife, and surged forward to aid his pinned comrade.

Just then, the wardrobe door burst open. Several tall corpse puppets, dressed in varied attire, poured out. The leader held a revolver and, seeing the helper rushing toward Branden, fired instantly. A sharp gunshot cracked. The bullet struck true, hitting the larger man squarely in the chest. Stunned, he staggered back and crashed down. Undeterred, the wardrobe-born corpse puppets descended upon the fallen man.

But unexpectedly, the grievously wounded man gasped back into motion. Before the puppets could secure him, he scrambled up, evading their initial clumsy lunge, his form gliding impossibly *through* the wall corner behind him.

Denied their target, the corpse puppets pivoted instantly, charging the spot where he’d vanished, trying to corner him against solid surfaces. Overwhelmed by numbers closing in, the larger man coalesced through the floor far from the fray. He reappeared abruptly beside Branden, who still struggled to immobilize his captive. Knife firmly gripped, the larger man lunged upward from the wooden floorboards, aiming a lethal slash at Branden’s exposed neck – his clear intent: kill the youth, free his partner!

The subterranean ambush was brutal. The keen blade sliced cleanly through Branden’s forearm. The limb fell uselessly. For an instant, Branden’s crushing hold on the smaller man weakened. Yet, as the severed arm began to drop, a bizarre reversal occurred.

The severed limb reattached itself painlessly mid-fall, the skin sealing instantly without a drop of blood. Branden retained his intact form, his relentless grip clamping with undiminished force on the smaller man, whose struggles, now feeble, resumed weakly. The dismemberment seemed illusory.

The unnerving sight locked the knife-wielder in shock. But hesitation was impossible. His hand shot out again, driving the blade deep into Branden’s throat. Yet this mortal strike, too, failed to fell the youth. Instead, a mirrored, excruciating jolt surged back through the buried steel into the attacker’s own nerves. His entire body locked involuntarily.

Seizing this critical paralysis, the trundling corpse puppets previously clustered at the far wall surged forward like an uncoordinated wave. They hurled themselves onto the vulnerable attacker, metal hands and cloth-bound fists tightening with numb finality. This time, gripped from all angles and lifted bodily off the floor, away from any solid surface, the larger man’s frantic kicks and struggles thudded uselessly against unyielding holds. Escape was now impossible.

With both intruders subdued, matters became simple. Ruthless hands clamped hard over mouths and noses, stifling breath. Squirming struggles turned into frantic, choked gurgles muffled by unrelenting pressure. Minutes passed. Bodies tensed once more in a final spasm before collapsing into limp stillness. Only then, confirming the lifelessness, did the heavy pressure ease. The brief, brutal struggle was over.

Elsewhere in the sleeping city, within the sanctuary of a rented hotel room, Dorothy involuntarily relaxed—releasing a ragged sigh as hazy light filtered in. Words escaped her gently compressed lips.

“Hu… finally managed. More surprises than expected… Never imagined it would actually be two Wandering Wall practitioners who arrived…”

Rubbing her temples wearily, Dorothy’s momentarily slack expression firmed into focus. While her trap ultimately succeeded, satisfaction eluded her. The outcome fell short of optimal.

‘From their words, they planned to take both the man *and* the stolen goods back… What I didn’t foresee was their need to strip the victim completely first.’

Dorothy mentally scowled. Her initial plan assumed they would simply carry the unconscious Branden back to their hideout. But the discovery of Branden’s extensive, lethal scar tissue instantly signaled his true nature as a puppet. Forced improvisation demanded neutralizing both intruders on the spot.

Despite success, this harsh countermeasure caused unforeseen problems.

‘These Wandering Wall practitioners… showed startling resistance to electrocution. My Conducted State strike on the smaller man failed to instantly subdue him! That same charge instantly incapacitated a Water Cultivator aboard the *Shining White Pearl*.’

‘Used against a Wandering Wall practitioner? Such resilience? Did the innate Stone path’s hardening traits grant unexpected resistance I underestimated? His prolonged writhing forced Branden into a prolonged grapple, draining focus and prolonging the fight.’

‘More critically… my corpse puppet fired two point-blank shots into the sturdy foe’s torso. Yet he recovered moments later, unharmed enough to phase-translocate! Are bullets ineffective? Wandering Wall practitioners train in Shadow supported by Stone—since when can mere Apprentice-tier hardening resist direct gunfire?’

Plagued by these questions, Dorothy directed a remote puppet to tear the surviving captive’s clothing: examining the bullet wound. The impact site showed skin fissured like spiderwebbed crystal, thin blood trails beneath. She recognized this pattern—identical to bullet strikes on Keule Bone Artificers encountered long ago in Igwint. Yet worryingly, *those* practitioners wore Earthbounds’ fortified hides.

Seeing both were clearly Wandering Wall practitioners, Dorothy had gambled that Apprentice-grade skin-calcification couldn’t stop bullets—hence ordering immediate gunfire. She hadn’t anticipated not only incredible bullet absorption but continued lethality. Only the attacker’s tactical blunder—trying to rescue his pinned comrade—gave her a second chance. Otherwise, clean escape…

Ultimately, the practitioners’ unnaturally hardened defenses and unexpected electrical resistance catastrophically derailed Dorothy’s meticulous plans—costing significant spiritual energy.

The instant Branden’s arm was severed aiding the criminals, Dorothy triggered reflexive injury transfer—shifting Branden’s crippling wound onto distant, non-combatant reserve puppets—allowing Branden to maintain his hold. The steep price? Wasted Cups reservoirs—power expended on reconstructing flesh due to combatant vulnerability.

‘Regardless, definitive proof is now mine: that clockwork merchant peddling Path-Marking Talisman-laced goods conspired against me. Fraudulent Beacon Emblems tracked clients, identified lodgings, incapacitated targets—systematically plundering assets, likely kidnapping… This behavior… fits agents under the White Stone Craftsmen’s Guild? Theft for gain is one thing… but kidnapping? To what foul end?’

Dorothy pondered sharply, shifting focus to the *Sea of Literature Navigation Record* on her desk. Earlier that day, she’d transmitted detailed observations about a possible malign takeover of the Torea White Stone Craftsmen’s outpost via this linked tome to Beverly’s address. Before leaving Tivian, she’d established a contact circuit—providing Beverly with a permanent notebook link. Yet Beverly was lax with portal signatures, ignoring vital warnings streaming across their encrypted channel.

Unlike Vania or others within her sphere, Dorothy hadn’t implanted Puppet Marks on Sister Beverly. Thus, real-time notification was impossible. Her alert simply waited within the unread passages for whenever Beverly might glance at it. Unseen since midday, Dorothy had deployed minimal defenses against escalating reconnaissance.

Branden occupied a carefully chosen spot: an oceanfront estate near Torea, selected for absent owners. Dorothy secured unseen entry herself before dispatching Branden as a long-term tenant. The purpose: bait the Beacon Emblems hidden within the distributed tomes, awaiting night visitors. Only, the treacherous intruders were lethally skilled—two Wandering Wall practitioners, not the hoped-for authorities.

‘Practitioners unnaturally hardened beyond reason. A guild branch manifesting inexplicable decay. Buyers becoming prey… It seems I’m neck-deep in Stone path matters this time… Untangling this Gordian knot requires contacting Beverly. Doubtful she checks the leisure pages I gifted her regularly…’

Dorothy continued directing remote puppet cleanup while flipping through her *Sea of Literature Navigation Record*. On Beverly’s dedicated leaf, she’d meticulously copied daytime surveillance documenting the Clockmaker storefront’s abnormalities. Only waiting remained.

Staring at the blank page, contemplating Beverly’s likely response time, print-like letters abruptly materialized on the parchment. Text flooded rapidly—perfectly etched, like typewriter precision.

Beverly had answered. Dorothy’s prolonged tension finally eased. Reading the ink swirling into intricate rows, she sat bolt upright, concentration razor-sharp.

“Evening greetings, my dear neighbor lady. I pray this reply finds you in time—my note-compiling habits mean I scan your exquisite gift-circuit roughly thrice weekly. I hope the urgency implied by your mysteriously timed missive didn’t arise three days prior?

Foremost, I wish you rich enjoyment of your arranged southern ventures across mesmerizing Casgi. Regarding your observations on Torean affairs: profound apologies that counterfeit goods, purportedly from Craftsman sources, impacted your purchases. Should validation link the dissemination directly to Guild channels, formidable compensatory restitution shall be claimed to ameliorate inconveniences. Worse fortune suggests the merchant acted independently, representing interests utterly estranged… belonging to utterly treacherous practitioners defiling reason…

Their collective designation: ‘Gloom Gold Society’… Based on your evidence, our lamentably compromised Torean branch now lies helplessly under embedded invasion, wholly consumed and supplanted… trading brand credibility to endlessly drain Toren’s hidden ecologies voraciously—precisely mirroring their predatory designs elsewhere.

Perhaps the title ‘GloomGold Society’ is unfamiliar within your current acquaintance… Key comprehension centers on one essential poison: this GloomGold Society ranks among the few anathematized enemies officially recognized under the neutrality charter governing longstanding White Mason internal documents. Cruel pragmatism drives their predatory networks flourishing nightly through dark commerce.”