Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 468

Chapter 468**Pritter, Tivian.**

Late at night, in a deserted warehouse along the southern edge of Tivian, Gregory stood alone beneath flickering overhead lights. Dressed in ill-fitting borrowed clothes and bearing the false visage of another man, he remained still at the center of the space. His eyes were fixed on the motionless body lying before him.

“A White Ash… really dead. I actually brought down a White Ash…” The words slipped out, carried on a breath of disbelief as he gazed down at Atterbury’s lifeless form.

Being part of the recognized non-ordinary system, Gregory understood precisely how rare those who bore the White Ash designation were. Even in the heart of Tivian’s main Security Bureau, the number was in the single digits. Across every branch of the Security Bureau in Pritter, there couldn’t be more than thirty. The figures for the army and noble houses remained uncertain, though Gregory doubted the tally was any greater. In his best estimate, there were fewer than ninety confirmed White Ash-ranked non-ordinaries in the entire kingdom—certainly no more than a hundred. That rank meant someone was an irreplaceable asset.

To Gregory, reaching White Ash had always felt like an impossible summit—something meant for the commanding officers overseeing critical operations, or for the elite leaders of sinister groups he’d been trained to fear. When he first joined the Bureau, his ambition had been to hit that rank by his fortieth year, a distant yet noble goal, perhaps the final milestone of his career. And now… without even attaining the rank himself, he’d just ended the life of someone who had. The moment felt unreal—like something he might wake from at any second.

Trying to steady himself, he let out a slow breath and looked down at the weapon still clutched in his hand. The blade had tiny iron-barbed darts embedded in it. As he watched, their magnetic hold weakened, and they slid from the steel, clinking onto the floor.

‘This wouldn’t have been possible without the Detective… and the Lady,’ he thought, his inner voice heavy with unease. ‘Their abilities… they’re beyond anything I’ve seen. Not just strange, but unnatural—like illusions made solid. It’s frightening… Thank the stars they’re not part of some hostile faction against the Bureau. If they were enemies…’

He couldn’t help but think of the shadowy strength behind the Detective. Just imagining such an organization turning against Pritter sent a chill up his back. What could the Bureau—or he himself—possibly do against that kind of force?

‘There’s still so much we don’t know about them. If only I could see through even a sliver of their curtain…’

His musings were cut short by a voice coming from behind.

“Pondering the weight of your actions, Obscurer Gregory?”

Startled, Gregory spun to face the warehouse entrance. There, stepping inside as if she’d been waiting for her cue, was the woman known to work with the Detective. Her face remained obscured behind her ever-present mask.

“Nothing quite so deep,” Gregory replied respectfully. “Just… adjusting. I’ve never taken down someone of this level before, Lady…”

Adelle’s lips curled slightly beneath her mask. “A decent showing for your first time against a White Ash.”

“You’re being too kind,” he said, shaking his head. “Without the Detective’s involvement—and yours—I’d have stood no chance. Against him…” He motioned at Atterbury’s remains. “…I doubt even ten of me would’ve lasted long.”

“Hah. Humility suits you, Obscurer. But let’s not linger in flattery. The mission’s complete—the threat eliminated. Now, the priority: where’s the captive we’re here to retrieve? The Detective mentioned someone.”

Gregory gestured toward a modest brick chamber nestled along the wall. “Inside there. I already checked—he’s alive, just unconscious.”

Adelle nodded crisply. “Very well. He’s intact. I’ve already summoned my team from the perimeter. They’ll handle the scene and get him out. If you’re tired, Gregory, you’re dismissed. As for… spoils,” she added, glancing at the corpses nearby, “my arrangement with the Detective ensures my payment arrives separately. Most of what’s left here belongs to you. We’ll catalog everything and deliver it once we’re sure it’s secure. Or, if you’d prefer to take them now, you may—but any removal or inspection is entirely on you.”

She tapped her gloved fingers lightly against her hat’s brim. Gregory considered her offer and looked around at the aftermath. The fallen enemies. The untouched valuables. And yet the Detective and his associate weren’t claiming the bulk of it? That was unexpected. Maybe this job wasn’t as thankless as it had seemed.

“I’ve no way of safely examining them on my own,” he confessed, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. “Keep them for now. I need… real sleep.” He saluted her briefly, then turned and left, disappearing into the night without another word.

Adelle watched him go, her voice barely above a whisper. “He turns down the spoils of a fallen White Ash… Either remarkably trusting, or completely drained. Intriguing.”

Turning back to the silent scene, she began preparations for the careful cleanup that would erase every trace of what had taken place.

……

In the hours following the confrontation in the South District, Adelle dispatched a signal to her operatives waiting just beyond the warehouse. They swept in with practiced precision, removing every sign of non-ordinary combat. Every trace of the struggle was purged, the bodies collected—including the unconscious Nunot—ready to be taken to Adelle’s facility in eastern Tivian.

There, within the secured confines of her estate, Nunot was brought to a private infirmary overseen by her personal physician. His injuries, sustained under cruel interrogation, were swiftly treated. Fresh bandages were applied where his skin had been torn. The doctor examined him further, noting the reason behind his unresponsive state: a strong chemical compound that had plunged him into forced slumber. If left untreated, he would wake on his own in due time—soon, even.

As predicted, by mid-morning the next day, Nunot stirred. His eyelids opened slowly. His mind worked sluggishly at first, then faster, panic blooming as he registered the unfamiliar room around him. His body went tense. The voices outside, though calm and reassuring, failed to convince him. They spoke of safety and rescue—but he didn’t believe them. He was certain this was part of some psychological trap laid by his former captors to break him down further.

Anticipating this reaction, Adelle produced a page Gregory had given her the night before—a seemingly unremarkable scrap torn from the edge of a particular notebook. Her assistant carried it silently into the room and placed it before him. Nunot eyed it with suspicion.

But as he watched, the page began to reveal something unmistakable. Words—specific and personal—began to appear in a hand he recognized instantly. His breath caught as the message became clear.