Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 447

Chapter 447**Northern Shore of the Conqueror Sea, Tülwa.**

As dawn broke, Tülwa began to awaken. Commuters filled the walkways, heading briskly toward their destinations. Carriages began to crowd the roads, while boys shouted the day’s headlines at every crossing. It was, at a glance, an ordinary start to a day in Tülwa.

Inside one such carriage clattering over cobblestones, two men sat in silence. They appeared to be in their late thirties or early forties. One wore a steel-grey coat and spectacles, the other was simply dressed in a yellow ensemble. While one watched the city flow by through the window, the other scanned the pages of a newspaper, unfolded wide in his lap.

“Anything worth noting in there? Anything interesting reported lately?” asked the man in the grey coat, eyes tracking the passersby outside. The man in yellow flipped through a few pages, gave them a cursory glance, and answered evenly.

“Nothing extraordinary. The only item of note is a fire in the western sector the day before last. Entire structure reduced to ash. The official explanation’s a gas leak… but it may have ties to our ongoing matter.”

“Just one building flattened? From a detonation of that magnitude?” The bespectacled man pulled his gaze from the street to eye his companion. “If someone handled a Stone Golem and several Wandering Walls with conventional means, half a block should’ve been reduced to rubble.”

“Good point,” the yellow-clad man conceded, folding the paper slightly. “Yet there’s been no word of mass damage. Which suggests, if the Gloom Gold agents really were eliminated, the one responsible likely relies on psychological or soul-based techniques. Physical confrontation against a Stone Golem is rarely effective.”

The man in grey, Boroschek, gave a slow nod. “That’s plausible. Especially if this alleged mercenary truly dismantled the Gloom Gold presence alone…”

“You sound doubtful, Boroschek,” his yellow-clad companion, Madlord, said with raised brows. “Not disbelief,” Boroschek replied. “It just feels… improbable. Consider this—number 5 reached out from the Tülwa outpost on the fifth. Then, by the sixth, we hear from the Foundry that the outpost had already been compromised by Gloom Gold and then promptly destroyed by some hired mercenary. We were asked to confirm it. But even if the person who called on the fifth was an impostor, their operatives were definitely present. And then, first thing the next morning, we’re told they’re all gone, eliminated by a local contractor. When did such a merc show up in southern Castiglia?”

Madlord took a moment before answering, voice thoughtful. “Your skepticism is valid. Everything seems too neat. Still… the intel originated from the Foundry. That alone lends it credibility. We must assume it’s accurate. Possibly, the mercenary in question was a personal contact of someone influential within the Foundry.”

“That would make sense,” Boroschek said, but his tone remained wary. “But even then, don’t you find the whole operation… too hasty? The Foundry is usually meticulous about maintaining neutrality. They hardly ever involve outside agents. This time, not only did they bring one in—they did it almost instantly. Something about it doesn’t sit right.”

Madlord nodded in reluctant agreement. “It’s out of the ordinary, yes. But the instructions from the Foundry have been verified. Our job is to carry out this mission… with vigilance.”

Boroschek said nothing in return, sinking into silence. Madlord turned to glance out of the window again. A moment later, he gave a nod. “Looks like we’ve arrived. Let’s get going—and stay alert.”

He tapped the roof of the carriage, signaling the driver to stop. The two men stepped onto the sidewalk, the early morning stillness broken only by the occasional passerby. They gathered their belongings from the rear of the carriage, then turned their eyes toward a rather unassuming hotel just ahead.

They entered the modestly designed building, ascended the stairwell, and soon found themselves walking down a higher floor corridor. They quickly identified their target.

“Room 504. Here it is.”

Madlord read aloud from the plaque beside the door. He knocked sharply. A voice responded from inside, calm and male.

“Just a moment.”

They heard footsteps. The door creaked open, revealing a young man dressed in a waistcoat and shirt, pleasant-looking and composed.

“Ah, you’ve made it. Gentlemen from the Mason’s Guild, yes? I’m Brendan,” he said, extending a hand with an amiable smile. The two men exchanged glances, and Madlord returned the handshake.

“Let’s skip the formalities. Shall we proceed, Mister Brendan?”

“Certainly. Come in.” Brendan gestured them inside. The room was modest but spacious, sparsely decorated. At the center lay a stretcher, a white sheet draped over a clearly humanoid outline.

“The leader of the black market operation is right there,” Brendan said, gesturing without much fanfare. The two men stepped forward, pulled back the sheet, and revealed an older man’s body. Boroschek gave it a quick once-over, murmured to Madlord, and then opened a case. He pulled out various tools and began a precise examination.

Meanwhile, Madlord turned to Brendan. “So, you were the one who eliminated the Gloom Gold mercenaries in Tülwa?”

“Not quite. The individual I serve was responsible. I’m merely handling the handoff,” Brendan answered easily. Madlord leaned forward slightly.

“The person you work for… Few have the strength to dismantle a Gloom Gold unit in southern Castiglia overnight. I take it you’re not native to these parts?”

“Correct. We were merely passing through Tülwa when my employer noticed signs of local tampering. They contacted an old connection in your Guild, took the job, cleaned up the problem. Now you’re here to validate that outcome.”

Brendan’s tone was friendly, but measured. Hearing this, Madlord felt his earlier guess firming up—this mercenary wasn’t just some hired sword. This was a favor, likely granted to someone at the top of the Foundry’s hierarchy. Whoever this employer was, they had ties deep enough to bypass protocol and deliver results directly.

Just as Madlord prepared to ask more, a startled voice rang out from behind him.

“This… this isn’t possible…”

Recognizing Boroschek’s voice, Madlord spun to find his colleague crouched beside the corpse, eyes wide with shock. Madlord frowned and asked quickly,

“What is it? Is the body fake? Not a Stone Golem?”

“No… No, I’ve confirmed the identity. This is ‘Shatter the Flesh’ Ben, one of Gloom Gold’s top assets. Definitely a Stone Golem,” Boroschek murmured, staring. Then he abruptly stood and addressed Brendan.

“Mister Brendan, the body has been verified. Everything checks out. On behalf of the Mason’s Guild, we thank the individual you serve. I’m Boroschek. One of the agreed tokens for your employer is here.”

Madlord watched in stunned silence as Boroschek opened another case and retrieved a wrapped package, offering it with respectful hands. Brendan accepted with a nod and an easy smile.

“Appreciated. I’ll report back. Farewell.”

With that, Brendan turned and departed, closing the door behind him. Madlord and Boroschek were alone again in the quiet room.

Madlord glanced at the corpse and then at Boroschek, unease settling in his chest. He moved closer.

“So it really *was* Shatter the Flesh Ben? Good riddance. But your reaction was… extreme. Why?”

Boroschek pointed down. “Look at that wound.”

“Wound?”

Madlord knelt. The corpse’s clothing had been pushed aside, revealing a gaping hole in the chest—a perfect circle, punched clean through. Madlord’s breath caught.

“This… is physical damage? That precise? But Ben was a Stone Golem! How could something punch through like that?”

He stared at the corpse, stunned. Stone Golems were White Ash rank—practitioners of the Stone path with skin harder than tempered iron. Who could manage this?

On the way here, they’d theorized possibilities—mind-based suppression, soul techniques, maybe pressure through Cup resonance. None would leave a wound like this. Even Shadow-based energy would leave lacerations, not a hollow core.

They’d assumed a physical approach was unlikely. Now, that assumption lay shattered in front of them.

Conventional weapons couldn’t harm a Stone Golem significantly. A hole like this was unthinkable.

“Incredible… To do this to a Stone Golem… What kind of power can create this?” Madlord muttered, clearly disturbed.

“And there’s more,” Boroschek said darkly, crouching once more. He pointed to the inner edge of the wound. “Check this detail—the lining.”

Madlord leaned closer. His eyes narrowed.

“A ring of scorched tissue? That’s… thermal cauterization? Are you saying this was a fire-based attack? Solar Flare path?”

The words slipped out, but he immediately hesitated. “No… no, wait. Ben was a Stone Golem. Immune to elemental absorption. How could any fire breach his defenses so cleanly? What kind of flame produces heat that focused?”

Disbelief tinged his voice. Boroschek exhaled slowly.

“Stone Golem bodies absorb and neutralize elemental forces. For fire to burn through would require output vastly beyond that threshold. That’s not achievable by anyone at White Ash level.”

Silence fell again. Madlord remembered the “gas leak” fire from the newspaper. They had brushed it off. But if that small fire was where this happened, then it meant the mercenary didn’t need to cause much damage. They’d ended a Stone Golem with minimal effort.

It aligned perfectly with the notion of rank disparity. This wasn’t a simple hireling—this was someone far beyond the targets they fought.

Madlord spoke slowly. “So… the mercenary Brendan spoke for. Someone of that power… Could they be a Holy Fire Saint? A member of the Church?”

“That’s likely,” Boroschek replied gravely. “Which would mean the Foundry didn’t just outsource. They entered a tactical alliance with the Church. Unless some Saint-level independents are walking around unclaimed…”

The thought settled between them like a stone. Neither man spoke for a long moment.

“Best not to dwell,” Madlord said, shaking himself. “This isn’t a knot we’re meant to unravel. Let’s package the body and move. Now.”

“Understood.”

———

Elsewhere in Tülwa, in the well-appointed room of a luxury hotel, Dorothy sat at a breakfast table by the window. A sausage in one hand, the open `Compendium of Navigated Seas` in the other, she scribbled across a page with her pen.

“*Your agents have validated the delivery. Are you prepared to exchange information now?*”

She took a bite, brushing crumbs away. A moment later, elegant text appeared in return.

“*Confirmation received. Quite efficient of them. No need for further verification. Now then, Miss Neighbor. You were asking about the Star Chronology Scribe Society, correct?*”

“*Indeed. I’m seeking substantial knowledge about their hidden ruins.*”

“*Hidden ruins? I’m afraid I don’t know any directly. But I do know who frequents them. Miss Neighbor… are you familiar with the Bone Sand Society?*”

“*Bone Sand Society? Who are they?*”

“*A collective of grave-robbers. They target all kinds of ruins, but among them, they’re uniquely documented as having looted multiple Star Chronology Scribe Society sites. Their stock of stolen ‘Enlightenment’ items has made them rich—and among all tomb-raiders, they’re the ones with the deepest ties to the Scribe Society’s remnants.*”