Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 442

**Chapter 442
*The Northern Shore of the Conqueror Sea, Tleyuvat.*

Night had fallen. In the basement of a nondescript house on the outskirts of Tleyuvat, dim light flickered.

The underground room was cluttered, gaslight barely illuminating crates, weeds, and forgotten tools. In the midst of the shadows stood three men.

Of these three, the most striking was the one in black, suspended in the air. Thick hemp ropes bound him tightly, strung up from a ceiling beam. His toes hovered above the ground, body swaying faintly. His eyes were shut—motionless, as though unconscious.

Nearby, one man sat, the other stood, both dressed plainly. They kept an alert watch on their surroundings and especially the man strung up, evidently his guards.

Time dragged on in the silence. At last, the man in black stirred. His eyelids fluttered, then parted slowly. Groggy and disoriented, his gaze darted around, struggling to make sense of the room. But as awareness sharpened, the tension in his brow returned—he remembered.

The memories hit hard. He was an operative of the Gloom Gold Society. Tonight’s mission was supposed to be a routine operation—extract certain anomalous items and capture the target. Instead, he and his partner had walked straight into a trap. Their enemy had not only expected them, but had laid preparations in advance.

He thought back carefully. The moment they entered the premises, everything had gone wrong. His partner had been seized almost instantly. He’d tried to intervene, but the opponent’s unnatural regeneration rendered resistance useless. Outnumbered, his efforts collapsed swiftly, and darkness claimed him.

*“Damn… What a disaster. That target was no ordinary mark. They were waiting for us. The whole job was compromised from the start. Who the hell are these people?”*

Now fully conscious, he began to assess the room. The two men standing watch. His own elevated position.

*“Captured. They’ve taken my gear, no doubt. Suspending me like this—clever. Keeps me from touching the floor, disables any chance to phase through it… Well-planned.”*

*“No clue what’s happened to Ralk… Probably in another cell—or worse. Still, I need to get a message to Mister Ben, fast…”*

His mind made up, he resumed his act, keeping his eyes half-lidded as he took stock of the bindings.

*“They used hemp. Thick, but still—this might work. They suspected something about my abilities, but clearly not the whole picture. Suspending me like this—they thought it was enough. But they’re wrong.”*

Relief washed over him. He saw their logic—they wanted to isolate him from walls and floor, avoiding his escape through surfaces. Suspending him seemed like a solid plan.

It *would* have worked—had their knowledge been complete. Suspension *was* a reliable tactic against a practitioner of the Wandering Wall Technique. But the kind of rope used mattered greatly. And the hemp they’d chosen, while sturdy, was flawed.

The logic came from esoteric doctrine. All living plant matter belonged to the “Cup” domain. But once the life left them—once the plants dried or died—they shifted gradually into the “Stone” domain.

So, a lush forest still rooted in the earth belonged to “Cup”. But a wooden building made from those same trees—”Stone”. The same principle applied to flax. A green stalk was “Cup”. Dead and braided into rope? That was now “Stone”.

A Wandering Wall user wasn’t limited to just stone or soil. They could pass through *anything* classified as “Stone.” That included wooden structures—and yes, hemp ropes. His original downfall had only occurred because he’d been held fast by human arms. Human flesh—being “Cup”—remained impassable.

The guards momentarily turned their attention elsewhere. The bound man closed his eyes and summoned his will.

Not all “Stone” was equal. Pure rock allowed for the fastest travel. Other materials required effort—intense concentration and deliberate control. Some composites could be navigated with greater ease depending on their mineral makeup.

Breathing steadily, the man channeled his Wandering Wall ability. His body began to lose its solidity—and moments later, he slipped effortlessly through the hemp bindings. He dropped like a stone, hitting the ground with a heavy *thump*.

The noise cracked the silence. The guards whirled around, already drawing their sidearms.

“Stay where you are!”

“How the hell did you—?!”

But the moment their aim caught up with his crouched form, he vanished—melting into the floor, disappearing into the stone surface with practiced urgency. Guns aimed at nothing, the guards stood in shock.

Stillness returned to the basement. The frayed ropes swung idly in the air. After a beat, the two men exchanged a knowing glance. Both smiled—slowly.

—

Midnight, edge of Tleyuvat.

A sprawling estate, surrounded by thick walls, loomed on a quiet street. Though late, the mansion’s interior glowed with steady lamplight.

Within, a gathering had formed in a study overlooking the courtyard. The man in black—now free—knelt before an ornate chair. In it sat a distinguished older man in his fifties, refined in a tailored suit, silver at the temples, a cane in hand. Beside him stood a sharp-eyed young servant in uniform. A balding, mustachioed man stood at his other flank, worry creasing his brow. Additional subordinates lined the room’s edges in silence.

“Haa… haa… My apologies, Mister Ben. The mission failed,” gasped the kneeling figure. “They were waiting for us. It was a trap. Ralk and I—taken. We didn’t stand a chance. I only got out because they underestimated me. Ralk… I don’t think he made it.”

Ben listened, stone-faced. When Banum fell silent, his low voice rumbled. “A trap… So they noticed the marker on the goods. We knew buying *three* grimoires at once would draw eyes—hence why you and Ralk went. And yet, it wasn’t enough. We misjudged…”

He leaned forward slightly. “Tell me. What exactly happened? Who did you face? How were you restrained?”

His words were measured. Banum gave a thorough account: the moment they were ambushed, the powers their adversaries displayed, the loss of control, and his escape.

Ben’s expression grew darker as each detail emerged.

“Accelerated healing… unnatural strength… jerking muscle spasms… All traits linked to a ‘Cup’ Affinity,” he muttered, thoughtful. “But they purchased ‘Stone’ texts. Why would someone with a ‘Cup’ nature stockpile ‘Stone’ manuals?” He scowled, running through known ‘Cup’ factions in his mind—none made sense.

He turned back to Banum. “And you’re certain you slipped away while they weren’t paying attention? They subdued you both, yet you escaped with such ease?”

Skepticism edged his tone. Banum met his gaze. “Yes, sir. They took us by surprise. In a head-on fight, we could’ve held our own. But they didn’t fully understand our skillsets. Suspending me with rope gave me the opening. They were careless—even in their victory. Had I not lingered for Ralk, I’d have escaped sooner.”

His certainty rang clear, but Ben’s doubt lingered. He continued, voice casual but probing, “Banum… when did you join my ranks?”

“March, four years ago, sir. I was based in Yazes—” Banum responded without pause. His answers came clean and consistent. Still, Ben pressed with more queries about Banum’s history. Every response matched up.

Finally, Ben nodded toward the uniformed servant. “Arlauro. Fetch the Holy Gleam Lamp. Use the high-output version.”

“At once, sir,” Arlauro replied and left. Ben addressed Banum again, tone low. “Once the lamp is active, do not shield yourself with Shadow Affinity.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Banum replied. Arlauro soon returned, lamp in hand.

He set the gleaming device before Banum and activated it. A wash of radiant brass light swept over him. Banum remained still. Several Spirit Storage units burned out to keep the lamp running, yet no traces of falsehood or enchantment surfaced.

Ben gave a slow, final nod. “That’s enough. You’re dismissed, Banum. Remain awake, however. We leave Tleyuvat at first light.”

“So soon? Understood, sir. I’ll make ready,” Banum replied, then left.

The mustachioed man—Pharell—stepped forward. “Sir, is dawn departure not premature? We’ve yet to secure several key sites in Tleyuvat. And if this ‘Cup’ group was so incapable, does it warrant a full retreat?”

Ben’s gaze sharpened. “It’s not fear, Pharell. It’s prudence. The problem isn’t what we’ve seen—it’s what we *haven’t*. The unknown holds danger.”

He leaned on his cane. “We came here to dismantle the White Stonemason Guild and extract what we could. We’ve succeeded. Staying longer invites complications we can’t afford. Whoever they are, they’ve already reacted to our interference. That’s enough warning.”

“Focus on closing operations. By dawn, we’re gone. Understood?”

Pharell bowed and departed. Ben took a long glance around the room, then turned to make his own preparations.

—

Night blanketed Tleyuvat. Atop a nearby rooftop, a small cloaked figure crouched, watching Ben Gilcrest’s estate from afar.

“Heh… So they’re packing already? Beverly was right—their paranoia borders on admirable,” Dorothy whispered to herself, hood drawn low.

“All-night prep, no sleep… makes things inconvenient. But I have options…” She settled cross-legged, dropping into meditative stillness as she activated the Wakeful Slumber Technique. Her awareness slipped into a lucid dream as her physical body slumped.

In that dream-state, her powers ignited. Her real body stirred. From within her cloak, she retrieved a metal vial—taken from Banum during his capture.

Inside was a compressed “Shadow”-aligned gas, a product of the Slumber Rune wound inside. Once triggered, the rune ignited, releasing sleep-inducing fumes. The vial allowed for precision usage.

Opening it, Dorothy’s real body inhaled deeply. Immediately, her consciousness dropped into deeper slumber.

Within the dream, she activated her Manipulated Aura Threads. Using the Puppet Imprint she had secretly affixed to Banum earlier, she targeted him.

Back at the estate, mid-task, Banum was struck by overwhelming exhaustion. His limbs went limp, eyes fluttered shut. He slumped, asleep.

In that instant, Dorothy seized his body.

Rising under her control, Banum quietly checked for onlookers, then moved toward the window. He threw it open.

Outside, perched on the sill, was a large eagle. Beside it—resting in a cloth sack—lay bundles of dynamite.