Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 470

Chapter 470**Northern coast of the Conqueror Sea – Ivig**

The nation of Ivig, perched along the northern rim of the Conqueror Sea, is a land of considerable influence. Its borders trace a sweeping peninsula that pushes down from the mainland and juts forcefully into the ocean’s expanse.

Stretching down the heart of this landmass are the Razor Mountains—a continuous range that splits the Ivig Peninsula vertically, carving it into east and west.

Throughout history, these mountains have played an integral role in Ivig’s fate. Along their perilous passes lie critical military fortresses and sites of breathtaking scenery. Today, they serve dual purposes—guard posts and tourist draws. Still, neither the scenic allure nor the strategic importance accounts for the Razor Mountains’ greatest fame. That distinction belongs to their southernmost point.

At the farthest southern curve of the peninsula, where the land meets ocean and stone gives way to open water, lies Lecher Valley. Revered across the globe, this place holds immense spiritual weight as the holiest sanctuary of the Saint Mother Faction within the Glorious Church. It is the sacred end point for throngs of devotees whose life journeys lead them here in pursuit of divine connection.

This valley, nestled where the Razor Mountains descend into the sea, is a lush sanctuary of rich greenery. Sloping hills cradle a river so pure it seems to glow as it flows from deep within the gorge toward the valley mouth. Every few paces along the riverside, moss-covered stele emerge—ancient stone pillars wrapped in vines, each etched with scripture extolling the Saint Mother.

Small rowboats moved steadily against the current, carrying pilgrims from every corner of the world. These travelers, exhausted from their arduous voyages, now pushed their vessels upstream, hearts full of devotion.

The culmination of every pilgrim’s journey is the Salvation Cathedral, hidden deep within the valley, said to rest just beneath a waterfall. Legend claims the river itself flows directly from the church’s foundation. And so, the final ritual of the pilgrimage demands the faithful themselves row to it, braving the waters with their own hands.

It was the end of March, and a new tide of pilgrims had gathered. Across the globe, travelers arrived and shared these narrow boats, their arms working tirelessly as they approached the culmination of their spiritual path.

As they pressed deeper into Lecher Valley, boat after boat advanced toward the waterfall beyond. Meanwhile, at the valley’s entrance, a broad marble plaza spread out under the shadow of a colossal obelisk. Here, a far larger crowd gathered—not just pilgrims, but visitors and sightseers who had come to witness what they could of the famed holy site.

Entry to the valley’s inner sanctum, however, was tightly restricted to maintain its sanctity. Only a limited number of pilgrims were granted access each day, mostly individuals selected by the Church for their unwavering devotion or service. The general public could not go beyond the plaza; at best, they might glimpse the outer beauty of the valley and bask in the atmosphere of spiritual renown. The view may have offered little insight into the mysteries within, but Lecher Valley’s name alone drew throngs of onlookers without fail.

Amid this crowd, before the base of a towering statue of the Saint Mother, a broad-shouldered, weathered man stood with his son—no more than twelve—staring up in astonishment. Their plain clothing marked them as commoners, likely from a distant rural village. The size and majesty of the statue overwhelmed them, far eclipsing anything found in their home town.

“It’s massive, Dad! Even bigger than the one… no, way bigger than the one at the town church. How’d they carve something so huge? Why make it *this* big?”

“Hmm… only a sacred place would build a thing so grand,” the man muttered, scratching his head in thought. “Why so big? Maybe… maybe the Saint Mother’s love’s bigger than anything, so her statue oughta be the same?”

The boy frowned, trying to piece it together. “So only sacred places get giant statues? What makes this spot holy, then?”

“Er… why here…” The father’s brow creased as he struggled to find a satisfying answer. His knowledge fell short.

Just then, a gentle voice, clear and bright, answered from nearby.

“Because this is where the Saint Mother first appeared in this world.”

Both father and son turned, surprised. A young nun, likely no older than sixteen, approached them. Dressed in white robes and spectacles, she smiled kindly as she stepped closer.

“A nun… dressed in white?” the father murmured.

“Oh! A sister nun!” the boy exclaimed eagerly. “So you’re saying this place is holy ‘cause the Saint Mother came here?”

“Yes,” the girl replied. “This valley is where the Saint Mother first took human form. Over thirteen centuries ago, she stood here in Ivig, walking beside our ancestors, shielding them from a catastrophe that rose from the sea.”

As she spoke, the boy’s eyes lit with fascination.

“A catastrophe from the sea? You mean like… huge waves?”

“No,” she replied softly, “worse than any wave. It was a dark god. A being of ruin. One of the Three Beasts of Calamity…”

“The Lord’s Adversary? And the Three Calamity Beasts?” The boy’s voice trembled with a mix of awe and curiosity as the nun turned her gaze toward the southern sky, as though peering through time itself.

“The holy texts tell us,” she continued, “that the Savior descended in radiant glory. In only four days, He cleansed the land, casting out every foul creature. But evil rallied. Its forces united in hatred against Him, and from their ranks emerged the greatest of them all.

“From the southern ocean came a beast. A female. Ravenous. Corrupted. Unclean.

“Its hunger knew no bounds—it consumed every living thing in its path. When the sea could no longer feed it, it turned to the land.

“Its breath carried rot; a single whiff spread incurable disease. Even before it reached shore, sickness tore through the countryside.

“It was both beautiful and vile. It bent kings to its will. Its womb spawned endless horrors. Its spawn overran the world. It was the Beast of Calamity, the Mother of Calamity.

“It surged out of the southern deep, the seas parting before it. The oceans turned crimson. With every step, storms followed. It hurled waves upon cities and dragged all life into its tide. Then, it made war on the Savior from Sanctum Rock, sweeping north in fury. None escaped its wake.”

As Vania quoted the sacred texts, her voice steady, the boy and his father stood frozen in attention.

The boy, voice hushed, asked, “That sounds terrifying. Did the Savior win?”

The young nun smiled faintly and continued.

“The beasts came from all sides—north, west, and south. They meant to crush all the Savior had redeemed. From the mountaintop, He watched their approach, and in that moment, split into three beams of divine light. One light streaked south—into this very valley. That light became the Saint Mother, goddess of mercy and grace.

“She appeared here, in Lecher Valley. She healed those poisoned by the beast’s foul air. She broke the charms that enslaved the hearts of the mighty. She purified the waters turned to blood. And she drove the Southern Beast and all its children into oblivion. That is why this valley is sacred. The Saint Mother claimed it with her grace.”

Her tale complete, the novice watched the boy’s eyes widen with understanding. Then he grinned.

“So… that’s it! She came here and beat the monster! Now I get it. Thanks, Sister!”

The father echoed his gratitude, rubbing his neck. “Really appreciate you explainin’ all that. I didn’t know how to answer the lad myself. Guess we both learned something today.”

“It’s my duty and joy,” Vania replied with a bow. “If even one soul remains unaware of the Lord’s works, we must speak.”

The father nodded respectfully. “A true sister of the cloth, you are.”

With that, father and son wandered off to see more of the site. Vania remained by the statue, gazing out at the horizon.

‘The Saint Mother’s descent… I’ve read it countless times. I’ve always believed it. But now, repeating the story aloud like that—it feels… different.’

Her thoughts drifted.

‘The Southern Beast… its description in the scriptures… it’s too close to the deity the Placenta Sect worships—the Cup’s Mother. There are just too many similarities. Could they actually be the same?

‘But that would mean… the Saint Mother, a Composite Deity, defeated the Cup’s Mother—a Monochrome Deity? That’s not possible, is it? Miss Dorothy always said Monochrome Deities surpass Composite ones in power. So how did the Saint Mother win? Or… maybe the scriptures don’t tell the full truth?’

A chill ran down Vania’s spine as she stared to the south—the path from which the Southern Beast had supposedly come. The weight of doubt sat heavy on her chest.

‘No… These are sinful thoughts. Blasphemous, even. How can I—of all people—doubt the Three Saints? This is shameful, Vania…’

She gave her temple a soft rap with her knuckle, berating herself. The holy doctrines demanded unwavering belief. To question them—even in thought—was the gravest error a sister could make.

‘I’ve been around Miss Dorothy too often. She questions everything, even the divine… Her skepticism is rubbing off on me.

‘Maybe I should pull away from her for a while. Refocus my heart. But then again… there’s no one else in the Church I can speak to so openly… Lord, what do You want from me?’

Her heart swirled with unrest beneath the Saint Mother’s massive likeness. Just then, a voice broke the silence.

“There you are, Sister Faylinn.”

Turning, Vania saw an elderly priest approaching.

“Father Werner? You were looking for me?”

“Yes. The final boats are almost ready. We must make for the dock. The chapel awaits. Your promotion ceremony is fully prepared.”

She blinked in surprise.

“Oh… already? I thought the ritual would follow the pilgrimage.”

“That was the original plan,” Werner nodded. “But things have changed. You are the one who converted the Summertree Tribe. This pilgrimage now honors their inclusion in the Church. Your role has grown—so your title must rise with it. We moved up the rite accordingly.

“All conditions are in place. Let’s proceed.”

Vania took a breath, then gave a firm nod.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

She accompanied Father Werner to the docks. There, she stepped into a modest rowboat and dipped her paddle in symbolic motion, heading into the depths of Lecher Valley. As she drifted upriver, she let her gaze roam across the riverbanks lined with sacred steles and vibrant wilderness. After more than an hour, their boat arrived at the valley’s innermost point.

A tremendous waterfall roared between stone cliffs. Beneath it, a towering church spanned the chasm like an enormous arch. It was flanked by clusters of smaller shrines and religious buildings. This was surely the famed Salvation Cathedral.

Yet instead of docking, the boat pressed on beneath the cathedral’s arch, moving directly toward the thundering curtain of water. Vania tensed, but Werner raised a calming hand.

“Do not fear, Sister Faylinn. We are bound for the Sanctuary Cathedral’s hidden heart. All is well.”

“Hidden…?”

She swallowed and watched as the boat entered the waterfall. The deluge roared above—but none of it touched them. The vessel glided dryly through the raging torrent.

They emerged into a shadowy limestone cavern, dimly lit by swaying lanterns. Their boat followed an underground river through narrowing tunnels. After nearly twenty minutes, they passed through a final corridor—and burst into a sunlit realm beyond.

Another valley spread before them—even more fertile and secluded. The water flowed peacefully through carpets of thick grass and fields of wildflowers. Wildlife drank without fear beneath ancient trees. At the river’s source stood a cathedral three times the size of the outer church, its towers spearing skyward. Its bells pealed a grand welcome.

And beyond it stood something more astounding than all else: a colossal tree.

Its roots plunged into the earth. Its trunk was wider than any structure. And it rose so high, it disappeared into the clouds. Its canopy shaded nearly the whole valley.

The sight froze Vania in place.

Not from awe alone—but recognition. She had seen such a tree before—at Plenty’s Riteground, far across the sea. But even that mighty sentinel was dwarfed by the one now before her.

This one stood alone—at the heart of the Saint Mother’s secret sanctuary.