Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 450

Chapter 450

Beneath the gusting sea winds and the foam-swept surface, a vast armada carved its course across open waters. Atop the spacious deck of the leading vessel, a nun dressed in white stood, a sense of foreboding tightening in her chest as she listened to the priest addressing her. After hesitating briefly, she finally spoke.

“A-ah… A reception hosted personally by the Archbishop? With so many distinguished guests in attendance? Isn’t that… a bit excessive? We’re merely pilgrims… I honestly feel it’s unnecessary to go to such lengths…”

“What do you mean, unnecessary?” The priest, Andre, gave her a calm and encouraging look. “Sister Vania, you’ve just brought enlightenment to tens of thousands from the Summertree Tribe, guiding them toward the light of the Saint Mother and revealing the world’s ultimate truth. That’s no small feat. A ceremony in your honor is the least you deserve.”

Although Andre’s voice was gentle, Vania’s anxious expression hardly changed.

“Ah… but I wasn’t trying to achieve anything grand. I only acted out of compassion, and, well, to ensure our survival. I simply hoped to help them a little. I never thought they would genuinely embrace the teachings of the Saint Mother. I truly didn’t foresee this outcome…”

She spoke awkwardly, her tone like someone who had accidentally caused a commotion and now didn’t know how to handle it. Andre paused for a second, then his expression became firmer.

“Sister Vania, whatever the intent behind your actions, the result remains the same—the Summertree people have pledged themselves to the faith, and you were their guiding hand. That makes you the central figure in this conversion. Don’t question your role.

“Your accomplishment is already in the press. That means, from now on, you must carry yourself as the one who delivered Summertree into the light—no matter who you’re facing. Understood?”

Andre’s voice took on a grave tone. Vania gave a small shiver before nodding.

“…Yes, I understand.”

“Haha, no need to be so tense. Get some proper rest now, Sister Vania. You should attend that banquet at your best.” His tone softened again, and a smile appeared. “Thank you, Father Andre. I’ll return to my quarters now.”

She turned and made her way off the deck, navigating the long corridor until she reached her cabin. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, she leaned against it and released a long, breathy sigh.

‘To be thrust into the spotlight like this… it’s overwhelming. I had no idea the reaction would be this intense. A banquet, arranged by the Archbishop himself… and it’s even in the newspapers…’

She clutched her chest, thoughts whirling with anxiety. Even though she’d been warned something like this might happen, she hadn’t anticipated it would become such a spectacle.

From her perspective, she’d only managed to sway a few people from the margins—much like the Tivian Church’s usual missionary efforts in far-flung territories. Acts like these were acknowledged, certainly, but hardly ever earned so much attention, let alone roused the interest of someone like Archbishop Iverg.

She still felt embarrassed recalling the day the Church Navy had come to collect her from Summertree in full ceremonial display. Not long ago, she’d been just an ordinary girl studying scripture within the Church. The abrupt attention now heaped upon her left her feeling disoriented.

‘Lady Dolythea told me I should act as surprised and confused as possible when I return to the Church fleet. I’d been worried I might not pull it off convincingly… but looking at all this, I might not even have to pretend…’

As she crossed her cabin and approached the bed, Vania reflected silently. Her fears, it seemed, needed no performance—everything about her nervousness was authentic.

‘What’s going to happen once I set foot in Adria? I hope this spotlight fades soon. Being constantly watched… it’s suffocating.’

She settled onto the edge of her bed. After briefly gazing out the window at the endless waves, she retrieved her personal copy of the holy scripture, opened to a familiar page, and began writing.

“Lady Dolythea, forgive me for reaching out again. I have new developments to report. A priest told me we’re expected to arrive in Adria tomorrow. Archbishop Iverg has personally arranged a banquet. I may even need to meet someone of Eminence rank in person… I’m not sure I’m prepared for this…”

———

Far away across the open sea, another vessel sailed steadily onward. In a well-appointed first-class cabin, Dorothea—dressed in an elegant white gown with naval touches—sat reading from the *Sea of Texts Navigation*, scanning the latest missive from Vania.

‘Summertree’s conversion… I didn’t expect the Church to react with such intensity. Coverage in multiple papers, all in different countries, and now even an Archbishop staging a banquet… This is more than I anticipated.’

She studied the familiar writing style on the page, then turned her eyes to a stack of newspapers neatly spread beside the book. All the headlines screamed the same story: pilgrims’ ordeal, a nun of the Holy Mother preaching salvation, and the deliverance of an entire tribe.

Dorothea had picked up these editions while traveling across Tivian, aiming to gauge the extent of the Church’s media efforts. The coverage was far more extensive than she’d predicted.

She had assumed that converting over a hundred thousand outliers would stir the waters within the Church, but not to this degree. What she discovered was a well-coordinated media blitz orchestrated by the Church, spreading Summertree’s story across numerous coastal cities along the northern edge of the Conqueror Sea. Stripped of the hidden realities, the tale had been polished into a modern paragon of divine mission fulfilled.

It was clear: the Church was actively molding Vania into a new exemplar of sainthood, using the Summertree episode as a moral legend for modern times. Onboard passengers chatted animatedly about the news. Some especially devout travelers were visibly stirred, already referring to Sister Vania as the next saint under the Saint Mother’s blessing.

‘They’re pushing the Summertree story hard—too hard. They were just about to send forces to purge the whole island, and now, barely days after the announcement, they’re already crowing about victory. Something isn’t right.’

‘With all this hype around “Saint Vania,” don’t they realize they’re boxing themselves in? If another remote tribe resists, this precedent makes swift cleansing harder to justify. And the whole incident exposed flaws in the Church Knights’ escort arrangements. This kind of attention surely isn’t doing their department any favors either…’

Seated cross-legged on her bunk, Dorothea reviewed Vania’s message again. If she were the one calling the shots, she would still promote the event—but more cautiously, and definitely more discreetly. This kind of premature celebration seemed tailored to benefit specific factions within the Church… and discredit others.

To Dorothea, it was confirmation that internal power struggles were alive and well. The same fervor that drove fanatics to purify also fueled others who preached mercy and transformation. Behind it all pulsed the conflict of rival factions.

‘So there are rifts within the Church after all… and Vania is being wielded as a tool in that conflict.’

Her thoughts sharpened. But far from troubling her, this actually played to their advantage. The more Vania was used, the more innocuous she appeared to those in authority—less threatening, more controllable.

Dorothea found comfort in this. Individuals that are used too easily are rarely taken seriously as threats.

In truth, Dorothea had long laid the groundwork. Senior Church figures were aware of the actual cause behind Summertree’s shift: the discovery of Abyssian Cult infiltration and the tribe’s manipulation of the Church. Vania was merely the visible face in this affair. From the Church’s point of view, Summertree had exploited Vania. Now, one Church faction was doing the same, leveraging her image for their own purposes. In turn, their rivals viewed her as a pawn being passed around.

Who would ever consider such a figure a danger?

And so Dorothea had instructed Vania from the beginning: adopt the mask of a sweet, naïve, and wholly unworldly girl. The more awkward and easily embarrassed, the better. She must appear devout, humble, and simple-minded—a harmless, if pure, vessel of the Saint Mother’s light. The better she played this “clueless girl” role, the safer she’d be.

Fortunately, Vania didn’t have to pretend much—her natural disposition already leaned that way.

‘Still, even if the act comes easy, the burden she’s carrying is immense. Secrets the Church forbids… all while living beneath an ever-watching gaze. I can tell the pressure’s growing. She’s been praying to Alka more often. And she contacts me more than ever. It’s becoming obvious…’

Indeed, Dorothea had noticed the change. In the past, Vania only wrote when necessary—fully aware of Dorothea’s position within the Rosicrucians. Their exchanges were measured. But lately, the messages had grown frequent.

At first, she’d tack casual remarks onto serious reports. Then came messages that were thinly veiled pretexts for a chat. Now, she was reaching out just to share her thoughts.

For Vania, Dorothea and the enigmatic Alka were the only ones who knew her full truth. Amid the dangers of Church life, only in their conversations could she feel safe enough to speak freely. Dorothea welcomed this. Every “update” Vania sent was, more often than not, a request for reassurance, and Dorothea was glad to offer it. Vania’s psychological stability was critical.

Reading her latest message now, Dorothea let out a breath and began composing her response.

“A banquet hosted by the Archbishop? Understood. But don’t be alarmed—just because it’s in his name doesn’t mean he’ll attend in person. Most likely, someone else will stand in for him. You don’t need to worry too much…”

She wrote calmly, offering comfort in measured words. Once finished, she looked out the cabin’s small round window and did a rough mental calculation.

“At our current speed, we’ll likely reach the harbor around midday. Vania was held up on Summertree to help the Church finish tidying things up… I’ll probably arrive in Adria before her. If timing allows, I’ll arrange to meet her—might help ease her nerves.”

———

Time passed quickly. By late morning, after nearly two days of sailing, Dorothea’s ship reached its destination: Adria, coastal metropolis and headquarters of the Iverg Archdiocese.

Wearing her signature white sailor-inspired dress, Dorothea stepped off the steamer with her father-puppet in tow, the latter dutifully managing their bags. She looked around the vibrant port and released a soft sigh.

Together, they made their way to a major road just beyond the docks, where rows of hansom cabs waited to ferry passengers. However, Dorothea’s attention was caught by the shoreline, where numerous narrow boats bobbed gently in the water. Each vessel had a boatman dressed almost like a carriage driver. Strangely, most travelers skipped the cabs and instead boarded these boats.

It made sense. Adria, after all, was known as the “Hundred-Isle Capital,” its layout composed of dozens upon dozens of natural and man-made islands, its infrastructure built around its winding canals. Water travel here was not only common—it was essential.

Curious about the city and drawn to its uniqueness, Dorothea opted for a boat. She directed the father-puppet to one of the slender craft. After helping load the luggage, the boatman turned to them.

“Where are we headed, sir? Or would the young miss like to enjoy one of our most scenic routes through the waterways?”

“Hmm… My daughter and I just arrived and would prefer to find somewhere to stay before anything else,” replied the father-puppet, a rounded man with neat facial hair and an understated cap. The boatman smiled knowingly.

“Of course! I know some excellent inns—comfortable and reasonably priced, I assure you.”

“Heh, thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We’d like to explore a bit ourselves. Tell me, are you familiar with the Net Flow Cathedral? We’d like to pass through that district.”

The puppet’s polite, fluent Ivergian confirmed he wasn’t a tourist easily duped. The boatman nodded in agreement.

“Ah, absolutely. To the Net Flow Cathedral it is. Please, relax and enjoy the ride.”

With practiced strokes, he pushed them off from the dock and into the harbor’s edge. Soon they turned into a canal threading deeper into the city. Flanked by tightly packed buildings, their vessel slipped forward along the water’s lazy current.

Dorothea’s scarlet eyes gleamed with interest as she observed the differing facades lining the canals. She took in the murmur of water, the occasional bridge overhead where carriage wheels clattered faintly, the distant chatter of pedestrians. Gondolas floated past, ducks swam in neat little groups, and the canal network buzzed with life.

Eventually, the canal veered, opening into a wide square. On the far side, towering above everything else, loomed a grand cathedral. At its highest point, something glittered—taller even than the Sanctuary Cathedral in Tivian. The gleam was so intense it made Dorothea squint.

“Take a look, Miss and Sir! That’s the Net Flow Cathedral! And see that bright shine? That’s the Crown of Immanuel—the famed Gleaming Diamond! The jewel of Adria itself!”

“The Diamond…?” Dorothea echoed quietly. Intrigued, she focused on the flash atop the spire, and sensing an unusual energy, activated her inner sight.

The blinding white sparkle transformed before her into threads of glowing amber-gold—the unmistakable hue of the Lamp’s resonance.

Without doubt, that radiant crown adorning the Net Flow Cathedral was no mere ornament. It was a genuine artifact imbued with the power of the Lamp—its aura gleaming with concentrated holiness.