Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 457

Chapter 457

In the still hours of the night, within the church square of Adria and before the towering Net Flow Cathedral, Anthony—who moments earlier had worn a look of defeat—suddenly stiffened at Oliver’s report. His eyes snapped to the young man, filled with disbelief.

“They didn’t neutralize the path-guiding marker? That’s impossible. They were stealing King Immanuel’s Crown, weren’t they? How could they leave the marker intact?” Paul interjected, voice raised with incredulity. A legendary item like the Crown of King Immanuel would, without a doubt, be protected by a Blood Seal Token—an embedded mark that professional thieves should never overlook. The notion that they’d bypass such a basic precaution was baffling.

“Maybe they just forgot?” Oliver offered hesitantly. “Or perhaps the seal placed on the Crown was one of those deeply inscribed types? The kind that can’t be erased with standard countermeasures? They might’ve tried, just didn’t succeed?”

But Anthony, narrowing his eyes, didn’t buy it.

“Very unlikely. That thief—he was a Scarlet. Someone of that caliber would never miss something as vital as disabling a seal. A Crimson-class infiltrator would definitely have the skill and tools to clear a deep mark. No, it wasn’t negligence or failure. There’s a bigger picture here…” he murmured, frowning deeply. The further he followed this trail, the clearer it became that this was no simple theft. The entire job reeked of layers—something hidden beneath the surface.

He drifted into contemplation, lost in thought, until Oliver ventured another question.

“Um… Your Excellency Anthony, that marker—it’s on the move now, heading southeast, fast. Should we give chase?”

Anthony paused for a beat. Then, casting his doubts aside, his gaze sharpened with resolve.

“Pursue. Immediately. We head to the port, board the Surging Wave, and give full chase. No delays! That crown is a sacred symbol for Adria. Its loss cannot be allowed to stand.”

His voice rang with command. Fortunately, the city of Adria housed one of the Church’s primary naval bases, and it currently hosted the returning fleet that had just completed a pilgrimage escort. This port held a formidable array of military non-ordinaries as well as several high-speed craft tailored for pursuit operations.

Anthony suspected a trap, and he wasn’t taking chances. He issued orders for all fast vessels to be mobilized, accompanied by elite Church non-ordinaries. The pursuit force would move at full tilt, with overwhelming force.

This wasn’t just about recovering an artifact. It was a matter of the Church’s dignity. And Anthony had no intention of letting the thief slip away.

…

Deep into the night, far out across the Sea of Conquest.

Galeb shot through the ocean like a torpedo, half-shark in form, the power of the shark spirit fused into his body. His affinity with the sea, amplified by his third-rank “Cup” path spiritual essence, propelled him forward faster than anything in the water—or even the sky. But he didn’t slow for even a second.

Faster. He had to keep pushing. He needed more distance. He had to outpace not just pursuit, but the detection radius of Anthony. He had to vanish beyond reach before the Crimson-rank Cardinal returned fully from the spirit realm. A “Lamp” path practitioner of that level possessed horrifying sensory range—an awareness wide enough to blanket a city. Galeb dared not stop.

Wounds from the earlier confrontation in the spirit world still throbbed with pain. As a support-focused “Cup” path adept, his recovery powers were modest—not like those trained in the Blood-Shadow or Saint Mother paths. The gashes across his body continued to bleed into the sea as he surged ahead, his body burning with effort.

He swam. On and on. Pushed by sheer spiritual force and willpower, he hadn’t stopped for hours. By all logic, he should’ve escaped Anthony’s awareness long ago. But he didn’t trust logic anymore. He wouldn’t risk a pause.

He pressed onward as the moon dipped low, as darkness began to lift, as morning took shape over the water. Not until the sun reached its peak in the sky, flooding the sea with daylight, did Galeb finally begin to slow. Exhaustion had hollowed him out. Even with third-rank strength, swimming injured for such a stretch was brutal. Every stroke now sent fresh waves of agony through him.

Then he saw it—an island, green and glistening beneath the morning sun. Gritting his teeth, he forced out one final push, dragging his battered body toward the shore. He barely reached land before collapsing onto the warm sand.

First, he severed the possession. The shark spirit was expelled, locked away again within its bone shard. Then, wobbling on failing legs, Galeb managed a few staggering steps inland before crumpling beneath a tree’s shade, gasping for breath, utterly drained.

“Haaah… Haaah…”

He sat there, half-broken, barely able to move, for over thirty minutes. When enough strength returned for thought, he turned his gaze to the vast stretch of ocean he had left behind. Surely, by now, he was beyond even Anthony’s grasp.

*Safe… finally. I wonder how many of Semir’s men made it out. This whole mission turned into a disaster… How did that bastard Anthony catch on?*

The questions gnawed at him. Originally, the plan had been straightforward: acquire the divination relic now, then hit that Star Chronology Scribe Society site come April. But now—after this catastrophe—he was unsure who had survived. His core team may have been decimated. Plans for the ruin expedition would have to be shelved. He would need time to rebuild.

*So much went wrong… But at least I still have it. As long as I possess this relic, the mission wasn’t a complete loss… I can still make something of this.*

His hand dropped to the pouch secured at his belt—the prize they’d risked everything to obtain. This was Azam’s famed inheritance, the object of their long quest. Reinvigorated slightly, he untied the bag and began to take out its contents, one by one.

A goblet. An earring. A dagger. An ancient arrowhead. Each piece he examined with a veteran’s eye. Galeb had enough experience with antiquities to recognize their regions and historical periods. While he had never seen the actual divination device, he knew it was from North Ufia—Azam’s artifacts had always originated there. Yet most of these relics… were clearly from Ivig.

A tight knot formed in his chest. His hands moved faster. He rummaged deeper into the pouch until he reached its bottom. Only one object remained—a cloth bundle, carefully wrapped.

That only deepened his confusion. Why had that rookie taken the trouble to wrap just this one item? Brow furrowed, Galeb began to unwind the fabric.

As the cloth came loose, a piercing brilliance burst forth. His breath caught.

Inside lay a crown—undeniably of Glory Church craftsmanship, glowing with a holy light. Interwoven strands of radiant metal composed its frame, and at the crown’s peak, a flawless diamond sparkled beneath the sun.

“King Immanuel’s Crown!”

His voice broke as he gasped the name, almost dropping the crown in shock. How? How had this ended up in their haul? A holy relic like this—marked beyond doubt with an altar seal—was never supposed to be touched. It was a beacon, a death sentence!

*Why is this here?! I told him—just take Ebeni’s donations! This thing was never part of the plan!*

Panic surged as his mind raced. His first thought was that the rookie had disobeyed out of greed, drawn by the value. But the more he considered the sequence of events—the suspicious return of Antonio, the botched timing, this crown slipping into the bag—it all reeked of manipulation. A setup.

His fingers trembled. And then he saw something tucked beneath the crown—a small white card. He snatched it up. There, in plain Ivig, a message had been printed. As he read the words, his chest heaved. His pupils shrank to pinpoints.

After several strangled breaths, he ground out a single name.

“Thief… K…”

He’d been played.

Roaring in fury, Galeb slammed a fist into the tree beside him, shattering it instantly. The crown flew from his hands, landing on the beach.

He had to run. Now. He had no tools that could break the seal. His only option was escape. But as he rose to his feet, he spotted it—something on the edge of the sea, far in the distance.

Thick smoke trails climbing into the sky. Beneath them, warships. Dozens of them. Cutting through the ocean like knives, closing in fast.

…

Back in Adria, the sun rose on a new day.

The morning light swept over the city—Adria, the Pearl of Ivig, beloved jewel of the North Conqueror Sea. Seabirds cried out as the city stirred. Tourists mingled with locals, beginning their morning wanderings. The Net Flow Cathedral, always a draw for visitors, opened its doors early.

But something was clearly wrong.

Barricades had been erected. Police blocked every entrance into the square. Officers patrolled the bridges and alleyways. Where crowds usually milled, the space was now eerily empty. Authorities claimed it was for “large-scale renovations”—but no one believed that.

This level of lockdown for repairs? Nonsense. Rumors erupted instantly, whispered through alleyways, shouted in coffee shops, passed in hurried gossip along the waterfront.

Some said a violent gang clash had taken place overnight, dozens killed. Others speculated that a high-ranking nun from the city had disappeared—possibly abducted—and the church was in frantic search.

But the rumor that truly seized the city—spread like wildfire—was that Thief K had struck again. That K had broken into the Net Flow Cathedral and stolen King Immanuel’s Crown.

The tale spread from within the church itself, and from a local insurance firm. Apparently, a flood of mysterious letters and postcards had arrived yesterday morning—boldly announcing that Thief K would soon “admire” Adria’s famed morning treasure. The volume overwhelmed the clerks. So many people saw them—staff, customers, visitors alike.

Though management had tried to hush it, the secret was impossible to contain. The story spread like a game of whispers: “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but…”

At first, most dismissed it as a hoax. But when the church square stayed closed the next morning, curiosity ignited. Then came the final proof: the light of King Immanuel’s Crown had vanished from the cathedral’s spire. No one had ever seen the shutters closed before. Telescopes confirmed it.

The silence from the tower only confirmed the theft. The whole city buzzed with awe, fear, and admiration for the legendary K’s latest feat.

In one upscale restaurant, at a sunlit window table, Nevis sat in a violet gown, her gaze flicking from table to table as diners animatedly discussed the crown’s disappearance. Anxiety touched her expression as she addressed her companion.

“Miss Dorothy… do you really have to send so many of those cards? Couldn’t you limit it a bit? Maybe just a few—targeted ones? Instead of blanketing the whole city?”

Dorothy, stirring her soup, replied easily, “And how would that accomplish anything? One card might just get dismissed as a prank. I needed quantity—so the message wouldn’t be ignored by the right people.”

She paused, then looked back at Nevis, continuing in smooth, practiced Pritian.

“After all… who would believe someone would send a warning *before* stealing something? They need to start understanding that this is the signature of a legend. Don’t you think so, Miss Thief K?”