Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 453

Chapter 453**North Ufia Adriatic, Adrios Coastal Region.**

The sun dipped towards the western horizon, dusk settling as twilight washed over the Adriatic under the setting sun’s glow. The port of Adrios hummed with movement. On a pier where berths stood vacant, a throng assembled near the water.

A packed assembly of over a hundred people pressed close to the shoreline—an uncommon occurrence for the docks at this hour. The gathering included journalists straining for position, police struggling to hold a fragile line, curious dockworkers observing from afar, severe-faced Adrios civic leaders and social elites, and numerous formally attired church dignitaries.

At the heart of this assembly, within a small perimeter guarded by several heavily armed knights, stood three individuals. One was a bespectacled middle-aged man in a bishop’s cassock—the local bishop of Adrios. Another was a young man in a sharp suit and bowler hat—leader of the Adrios secret police and local commander of the Iwig Deep Concealment Guard.

These two effectively governed all official extraordinary matters in Adrios. Normally, their combined presence would command any event. Today, however, the focal point rested squarely between them. Positioned at their center stood an elderly man in considerably more elaborate canonical robes, his expression kind. All nearby Adrios officials showed solemn deference, permitting no hint of carelessness. This was Antonio in person—the Archbishop arriving from Pace, capital of Iwig—the supreme ecclesiastical authority for the entire Iwig diocese.

Since the Summertree incident, Antonio had maintained intense oversight, even prioritizing the affair. To better manage the Summertree situation, he had journeyed personally to Adrios—homeport of the church’s fleet—days earlier, remaining there to direct the crisis.

Antonio had stayed in Adrios nearly ten days because of Summertree. Now, as the episode neared its conclusion and the commandeered pilgrims prepared to arrive, Antonio’s final duty was to wait patiently for the fleet’s harbor entry and personally host a welcome banquet for the returnees before the matter could be laid to rest.

Antonio peered toward the distance. Mirroring him, nearly every eye in the crowd followed his gaze across the horizon. Against a backdrop of hopeful expectation, the silhouettes of warships gradually emerged from the seam where ocean met sky. As the fleet approached, its disciplined formation grew ever larger in the onlookers’ sight. Finally, as the flagship berthed at the slip nearest them, every spectator stretched their necks towards the imposing vessel.

With the flagship secured, the gangway was quickly lowered. To the accompaniment of the pre-positioned band’s opening music, figures began descending from the upper deck. The fleet’s senior officers approached Antonio amidst applause. After rendering crisp military salutes and deep, respectful bows, they promptly stepped aside.

Focus intensified as attention snapped back to the gangway. There, a nun in white descended with clear nervousness. Scanning her surroundings anxiously, she stepped firmly onto the dock. The instant she appeared, the journalists lunged forward like predators sighting quarry, only to be physically blocked by the police cordon.

Deeply unsettled, the white-clad nun moved slowly towards Antonio. Facing the elderly man who offered her a kindly smile, she stumbled over her words.

“Um… You… You…”

“You must be Sister Vania. At last, we meet. Allow me: I am Antonio, Archbishop. The voyage must have been taxing. Praise be, the Lord has guided you safely home…” Antonio addressed the nun in fluent Prithvi Pratter, his smile steady. His words finally pierced the nun’s bewilderment. She instantly adopted a posture of profound reverence.

“Oh… Archbishop Antonio, I am Sister Vania Chaverin of the Glorious Church in Tivian. By the Holy Mother’s grace, forgive my impropriety…”

“Sister Vania, you are the vessel of the Lord’s gracious victory in Summertree; you are this evening’s central figure. Perhaps undue formality is not required here. Come, others await you inside the hall…”

With that, Antonio turned and left, closely flanked by his two companions. Seeing this, Vania promptly followed.

……

Time moved swiftly. Soon, the sun’s final rays vanished entirely, yielding the city to night. Fires ignited as lights blossomed across Adrios; shimmering reflections above mirrored the undulating patterns below as harbor lamps cast beams upon the rolling waves.

Nightfall saw brilliant illumination enveloping the Adriatic Viceroy’s Mansions, a holding from the Age of Heroes’ zenith. Within halls once part of the Governor-General’s residence, a grand banquet commenced.

Chandeliers radiating prismatic brilliance from electric lamps flooded the vast chambers’ depths. Tables sagged under the weight of exquisite dishes. Uniformed choristers and orchestral musicians combined, weaving ethereal harmonies. Members of Adriatic high society and representatives of the freed pilgrims circulated in purposeful clusters, engaged in muted conversation. An air of cultivated calm filled the hall.

A single discordant note disrupted this refined harmony: a distant corner where journalists clustered like scavengers around carrion. Jammed against a wall, they bombarded a white-robed figure with unrelenting questions.

“Sr. Vania, how precisely did you bring enlightenment to those frontier barbarians?”

“Sr. Vania, reports say you actively treated your own captors. Is this true? What gave you such courage?”

“Sr. Vania, many faithful here in Adrios speak of a miraculous Divine Intervention—a luminous act from the Holy Mother herself aiding you against savagery. What do you say to these claims?”

“Well… I… I simply did my duty; it merits no grand proclamation…”

An endless barrage of demanding questions pummeled Vania like a relentless gale. Utterly unused to the assault, she visibly floundered. Only intervention by staff forcibly clearing reporters allowed her eventual retreat.

Palpable relief swept over Vania once the journalists dispersed. Collecting a goblet of fresh fruit juice from a nearby refreshment table, she withdrew towards a nook formed by tall, jeweled windows. As she sipped half her drink, a familiar voice sounded behind her.

“Ah, Sr. Vania! How fares the distinguished feast?”

Recognizing the voice, Vania spun to see Antonio approaching, his tranquil smile unchanged. Startled, the nun quickly set her goblet down and began the ceremonial gesture of deference.

“Holy Mother shield us, Your Grace Archbishop! Your meticulous arrangements are deeply pleasing. The setting is splendid, the music enchanting, the food delightful, and mingling with such distinguished company… I’ve never known a feast so lavish! Though…” she faltered, “…Such grandeur seems… rather much for someone like me…”

“Excessive cost? Not at all! Not for one who saved hundreds of pilgrims and guided over ten thousand souls on Summertree back to salvation’s embrace!” Antonio countered smoothly. “Your deeds stand as tangible proof of the Holy Mother’s favor within our church. Upon completing your Promoted Order ceremonies, far greater rewards await your sacred service! If this modest hospitality feels opulent, perhaps you need better alignment with your new stature, Sr. Vania. You are certainly no longer merely an ordained Priestess performing routine duties…”

His amiable expression fixed on her. Vania shifted uncomfortably, a subtle undercurrent of unease surfacing before she ventured cautiously:

“Your Grace Archbishop… I know converting ten thousand souls is significant… yet… I find the sheer burden suddenly placed upon my conscience… disconcerting.”

“Disconcerted?” Antonio’s brow furrowed slightly. Vania continued softly.

“Precisely. Please understand that during my captivity on Summertree, I *did* provide medical care to those… indigenous elders… I earnestly tried spreading the Holy Mother’s tidings… Yet it proved practically useless! They resisted strongly! Despite fervent efforts to convey sacred wisdom… the reception was virtually empty, signaling my ineffective preaching.

“Venerable Archbishop–their sudden collective declaration embracing Divine Truth was inexplicable! One moment they spurned doctrine; the next they collectively proclaimed my guidance transformed them? Reason suggests something beneath this surface of divine unification…”

She delivered her version of Summertree’s recent events laced with trepidation. Before Vania could elaborate on her perceived role further, Antonio’s expression hardened.

“Sr. Vania, you indulge in excessive thought…”

“Huh? I… overthink…?”

“Indeed. Excessive mental exertion. Sr Vania, regarding Summertree’s awakening, you must set aside groundless concerns. Do not question your assigned role. *You* released the captive pilgrimage fleet. *You* guided tens of thousands towards redemption upon Summertree’s shores! *This* is unalterable fact! Unassailable by men, by spirits, even by your own pragmatic self-understanding! Is that clear?”

Antonio’s voice held undeniable conviction carrying a subtle, commanding insistence on the point. His piercing gaze locked onto hers. Vania visibly recoiled, swallowing audibly. Words formed and died on her parted lips. After a palpable hesitation stretching uneasy seconds, a faint murmur finally escaped.

“I understand Your Excellency Archbishop. I secured the Conversion of Summertree… I will cast aside lingering uncertainties…”

“Ah… sound judgment… a most fitting reply…” His enigmatic smile returned, serene yet steely beneath the calm exterior. “The Holy Mother above sees the inherent sincerity shining within you, Sr Vania…”

Antonio regarded her with that inscrutable look. Aware of this unassuming nun’s pivotal role in the complex machinations unfolding on distant Summertree, Antonio understood her naivety was inversely proportional to her strategic importance. She remained utterly unaware; her vision saw only the surface mirage, obscuring the deeper political games beyond her grasp. Revealing the unsettling secrets of coastal conversion warfare involving Abyssal Sect agents offered no advantage—in Antonio’s strategic calculus, ignorance best protected this minor piece.

Internally, Archbishop Antonio noted Sister Vania’s unique reaction: bestowed heavenly acclaim and impending national renown met unexpected doubt, raw honesty highlighting narrative inconsistencies—even knowing confession might risk accumulated honors! This revealed formidable integrity beyond superficial piety. Witnessing such ethical fortitude in a young servant of the faith sparked unexpected warmth in Antonio’s guarded soul.

‘As for Summertree’s… peculiar circumstances… let history determine the truth. Sister Vania… proves a worthy vessel embodying inherent spiritual virtues – steadfast substance beyond mere pious show.’

He acknowledged inwardly, preparing to offer final pleasantries before leaving. Unexpectedly, Vania addressed him again, her voice still hushed:

“Incidentally, Your Grace Archbishop… one more matter requires mention.”

“I received a confidential letter from Summertree Elder Anman. Entrusted secretly as my voyage began. Instructed for explicit hand-delivery solely to the High Lord Archbishop presiding at the ecclesiastical seat in Pace…”

“Ahem, written in their native script… impossible for me to decipher. Elder Anman insisted on absolute secrecy—passed only from my hand to yours. Initially despairing of arranging an audience… providence brought Your Grace directly within reach…”

Her hand delving into her vestment sleeve, Vania produced a sheet of coarse paper, meticulously rolled, extending it tentatively towards Antonio. The composed Archbishop accepted the parchment crisply, his expression instantly sharpening. Employing discreetly maintained Path powers, Antonio probed for concealed extradimensional energies within the document—erecting cautious defenses against potential hostile occult craft.

Confirming the physical material was clean of explosive charges or invasive compulsive influences, Antonio took the paper cylinder, began unfurling its edges while activating his decoding faculties.

Upon examination, the script indeed used the ancient Syllabary Language native to the volcanic islands of the ‘Summertree’ archipelago—a confirmed cultural marker within the submitted lexicon. Antonio, however, possessed specialized fluency, requiring minimal analysis due to extensive governmental negotiation experience far exceeding average linguists.

Within moments, the dense symbols imprinted comprehension along neural pathways: a complete understanding formed instantly.

The communication contained a core request: petitioning the establishment of a discrete ecclesiastical communications channel.

According to the message penned by Anman, political restructuring was actively underway concerning influence formerly held by infiltrator cells allied with Mythos-worshipping titanic depths—the current priority being the guaranteed capture of remaining foreign cabalists for purification rites, including permanent elimination upon conviction for recorded seditious treason. During cleansing operations, Elder Anman had uncovered irrefutable evidence suggesting the conventional direct telegraph link routed to the Pace Ecclesiastical Command might already be compromised by clandestine reconnaissance from the abyssal covert priesthood.

Consequently, Elder Anman proposed coordinating the reestablishment of an alternative coded cipher communication relay, specifically bypassing the traditionally sanctioned operational circuit—utilizing a present mountain temple outpost coordinated via frontier-conquest-era autumnal copper lines stretching far beneath the silent ocean trenches, carried by undersea aurora fields.

Written directly on the parchment: fearing sea cultists might uncover valuable internal logistical command chains leveraging spiritual energies optimized for intercontinental quantum transmissions, they prohibited familiar Church intermediaries from storing cryptographic keys beyond antique Cypher machine terminals. Henceforth, trust was placed exclusively in a reliable courier—Sister Vania carrying the encoded packet across strange waters to deliver the truth!

The inscriptions provided a simple electrogrammatical positional marker alongside the alphanumeric cipher combination needed for authentication. The operational window for signal exchange was strictly mandated within Central Meridian temporal parameters—daily communication permitted only between astronomical noon and the eighteenth hour, using ratified galactic positioning markers. The present administration governing the New Crest religion tribal alliances maintained strictly defined field telegraph transmitting offices stocked with imperative strategic assets requiring prioritized decryption at Ordo headquarters. They rejected assurances using primitive impregnated brass networks vulnerable to compromise.

Antonio scanned the detailed entries rapidly.
‘Establishing a clandestine telecom safeguard against reverse-engineered Abyssal Sect penetration? Logically sound countermeasures. The specific contact parameters seem drastically narrowed… noon till late afternoon exclusivity exploits peak scintillating sun glare radiophonic interference—sending cryptographic triggers… necessitates operating near a coastal telecommunication multiplex terminal… ah… delaying the morning departure traversing landlocked Iwig territories complicates reaching functional Telepost Continent stations maintaining the required harmonic concentration…’

Holding the cipher snippet firmly, Antonio formed immediate logistical conclusions without external consultation. Documents announcing urgent Abyssian tactical intelligence absolutely warranted securing immediate receipt! However, adhering to the planned maritime departure would involve protracted overland travel through areas without functional silver-wire communications, primarily connecting port cities—making it impossible to access vital tactical bulletins effectively!

Completing the initial review, Antonio refrained from announcing immediate operational changes. Stepping briefly beyond the festive zone, he motioned to subordinate staff tasked with contacting the Summertree ecclesiastic headquarters via standard fractal channel supersonic wave broadcasts—diligence that returned disturbingly void, confirming explicit deadlink status! Antonio was thus assured the parchment’s intelligence identified a critical strategic necessity.

Recognizing the correspondence’s absolute authority, Antonio initiated final tactical adjustments to delay the primary convoy’s departure; securing Apostolic confirmation by deciphering Abyss tactical integration profiles remained the paramount church imperative. The temporal sacrifice of a minor schedule change was negligible bureaucratic inconvenience against long-term counter-insurgency objectives.

Equally critical: such clandestine operations demanded inherent security enveloping major ecclesiastical command structures involved in geopolitical strategy. Accordingly, the explicit itinerary change remained concealed from the broader banquet attendance, politically contained within historically restricted circles privy to classified truth channels emanating from nerve centers controlling operations veiled like angelic messengers under a crippled dawn sun.

……

Within the nocturnal breath of the Adriatic, while Viceroy palace festivities continued unabated, elsewhere, in a tranquil bayfront restaurant’s profoundly distant private chamber, sat Dorothy—before a lavish spread of abundant delicacies—sketching symbols on a tight parchment slip.

Simultaneously, seated opposite, leaning over a watercolor pamphlet bearing obscure crests—a figure draped in shimmering attire, displaying darker, oily skin adorned with distinctive primitive tattoos belonging to a specific coastal clan symmetry impossible to ignore… plainly indicating a museum prospectus for Stellar Baptist cathedrals encircling a plaza location.

That was quite Neve, jointly navigating the terrestrial islands of host city Adriatic: scanning spectral architectural drafts in a guide publication while her reflective gaze pierced the window portal, meeting the luminous electric arcs outlining a distant structure in the Intellect district—an intellectual fascination etching constantly emerging biochemical emanations penetrating deep into the cellular cartilage within her orbital cavern!