Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

Chapter 644 : Hunter

In the square before the archival building in North Tivian’s cathedral district, the dreadful fear howls of the Dread Devourer Direwolf surged and echoed. Countless low-rank Beyonders and mortal soldiers of the Radiance frontline suffered mental collapse in an instant—screaming as they fled their posts and positions, abandoning the battlefield. Many even went into shock, collapsing on the ground foaming at the mouth, utterly unconscious.

Only a few White Ash-rank deacons survived the effects of that fear howl. Even under the protection of commandments, and having resisted the direct effects of the howl, they still felt a deep, instinctual fear rising within at the sight of the monstrous form emerging from the settling dust.

“What… is that?”

“What kind of monster?!”

The Radiance members were both horrified and confused at the sudden emergence of the beast. At that moment, a string of orange-yellow text appeared abruptly in their field of vision.

“Deacons, before you stands a Crimson-rank Beyonder from the Wolfblood Society. You are not his match. Abandon all defense assignments and retreat immediately! Repeat, retreat immediately! Aside from the two Flame Acolytes providing cover, do not attempt to engage. Sister Anlei, maximize the life blessing for the two Flame Acolytes!”

These words—directly visible to the Radiance personnel—were part of an emergency directive Vania issued through the mystical command system of the Hymn Cathedral. Within the cathedral and its surrounding region, Vania could alter the visual perception of Lantern Beyonders, projecting ecclesiastical orders directly into their sight.

Realizing the gravity of the situation from Vania’s message, the Radiance White Ash-rank Beyonders wasted no time. They immediately began retreating alongside the fleeing mortal soldiers. Duval, however, had no intention of letting them escape.

With a low snarl, the massive twin-headed direwolf lunged with speed belying his enormous frame, pouncing toward the retreating White Ash-rank Beyonders. The two Flame Acolytes tasked with covering the retreat forced themselves to suppress their fear and launched a torrent of flames toward the charging direwolf.

Though fierce in appearance, those flames were little more than sparks to the towering Duval. He ignored the minor burns and easily broke through the firestorm, slashing with his claws at the two Acolytes. One of them, unable to dodge in time, was struck directly. The tip of one of Duval’s claws pierced through his chest and abdomen.

Completely bypassing the Flame Acolyte’s armor and his Stone protection, Duval’s claw created a wound nearly two decimeters wide. The Acolyte coughed blood, dropped his sword, and lost all strength to resist. Duval then skewered him like a kebab on his claw and raised him toward one of his gaping maws.

Seeing his comrade about to be devoured alive, Gaspard made a desperate decision. Channeling flame onto his blade and empowered by dual life blessings from Anlei and Vania, he leapt several meters into the air and slashed at the wolf head preparing to consume his ally.

“Be purified, monster!”

With a shout, Gaspard’s blazing sword came down toward Duval’s head. In response, the wolf head twisted and caught the burning blade in its jaws, ignoring the intense heat. With a powerful bite, it shattered the blade into fragments.

But Gaspard wasn’t done. From behind his back, he drew another longsword—one his fallen comrade had dropped. Igniting it again, he aimed for Duval’s eye.

Gaspard lunged, sword poised for the eye, but Duval had already closed his jaws and instead raised a claw. With terrifying speed, he swatted at Gaspard. Unable to dodge in time, Gaspard was struck by the back of the massive claw. The sheer force shattered his armor instantly, the fragments cracking apart with a spiderweb of fractures.

Gaspard was flung through the air like a cannonball, crashing through the walls of a tall building. He burst through several layers of masonry, then another building beyond that, before finally coming to a stop amidst a heap of rubble—motionless.

The other Flame Acolyte, skewered on Duval’s claw, was flung away by the swing, crashing into and shattering a nearby statue before finally landing.

Duval had taken down both Flame Acolytes in moments. Even so, his ultra-sensitive nose could still detect the scent of fleeing or dying White Ash-rank Beyonders. Just as he prepared to chase them down, a sudden shift erupted at the edge of the square—black shapes darted out from the surrounding buildings and charged toward him.

They were savage, brutalized beastkins!

Howling wildly, they surged at Duval from all directions. Startled for only a moment, Duval roared and counterattacked. With a single sweeping motion, he pulverized dozens of the attackers. These beastkins lacked the protection of double Stone defense and life blessings like the Flame Acolytes. Against Duval’s power, they didn’t just get knocked away—they were obliterated, torn into pieces that rained down as gore and blood.

At last, after grabbing two beastkins and shoving one into each of his gaping jaws, ripping and devouring them alive, the square finally fell quiet. All the beastkins had been cleared.

Duval, gazing at the blood-soaked ground, showed a flicker of confusion in his furious eyes. He had smelled these beastkins before—they had been approaching him. He had assumed they were allies and ignored them.

But clearly, they had ambushed him.

These beastkins… were all under Dorothy’s control.

From the moment the three White Ash from the Wolfblood Society entered the cathedral district, Dorothy had used her formidable intelligence network to locate the beastkin forces hidden around the outskirts. Secretly, she had used manifesting spiritual threads to convert the sleeping beastkins into living marionettes.

These semi-mindless beastkins were easily subdued by Dorothy’s control, their loyalty stripped from the werewolves and seized by her.

The Wolfblood Society had prepared a large number of beastkins for this assault. Dorothy made full use of them—all to hinder Duval. With several dozen beastkins at about Black Earth-rank Chalice strength, it took Duval real effort to clean them up.

Now finished, Duval resumed sniffing out the fleeing White Ash-rank Beyonders. Though they had fled quite far, he could still chase and devour every last one—if he wanted. But that would waste time.

“Chase… White Ash… tasty…”

“No. Mission first!”

The right head growled hungrily, but the left head gave a stern rebuttal.

The unexpected ambush by Dorothy’s beastkins had prevented Duval from devouring the earlier group of White Ash-rank enemies. Though he was angry, he quickly suppressed it and turned around, striding toward the center of the square, looking at his nearby subordinates.

At that same moment, Blond, Warren, and the others were still gasping for breath, their bodies bloodied, struggling to recover. After enduring a relentless barrage of heavy machine gun fire and mortars from the Radiance front, even as White Ash-rank Chalice Beyonders, they were badly battered.

They had nearly burned through all their spirituality just trying to patch up their countless wounds. Even their healing speed had dropped significantly.

Had Duval arrived any later, the three of them would likely have died right there—worn down by mortal firepower without even dealing any meaningful damage to the Radiance frontline. The Radiance White Ashes wouldn’t have had to risk a thing—they could’ve simply watched the three of them die in humiliation, without wasting their own spirituality or taking any real damage themselves.

Though still seriously wounded, Blond and Warren nevertheless staggered step by step before Duval. In wolf form, they dropped to all fours and bowed their heads in reverence. Upon seeing these subordinates, Duval let out a cold snort. One of his heads opened its mouth and spoke.

“What was with those beastkins just now? Where did they come from?”

Faced with Duval’s questioning, Blond and Warren trembled uncontrollably. Finally, Blond responded fearfully.

“Elder… those beastkins… they should have been the ones we prepared earlier to storm the defenses, but somehow, just as the operation began, I lost contact with them all. We didn’t expect them to suddenly show up here and attack you…”

“You lost contact with all of them before the operation even began? Someone stole your command authority? Who did it? Those Radiance zealots? Or some other werewolves? So many beastkins lost—what good are you for?!”

Duval’s other head roared in fury, voice thick with anger. Blond continued, trembling.

“I… I don’t know either…”

Hearing this, the furious head twitched, as if it wanted to grab Blond with a claw and devour him on the spot—but eventually, Duval suppressed the impulse. The other head spoke up again.

“Tch… forget it. Now’s not the time to argue. Where’s that little rat Sander?”

“I-I’m here, Elder Duval.”

Sander limped forward respectfully. Upon seeing him, Duval immediately asked.

“Where’s the Radiance zealots’ restricted vault?”

“It—it’s in the basement of that building! Go in from there and you’ll find a passage leading downward!”

Sander pointed toward the nearby archival building. Duval paused for a moment, then shifted his gaze downward.

“Underground…”

As he spoke, both of Duval’s heads lowered to the ground and sniffed intently. Eventually, he seemed to catch a scent.

“Forget about the secret passage…”

Said the right head. Duval then raised one massive arm, clenched it into a fist, and smashed it down hard onto the plaza’s surface.

BOOM!!

Under the immense force, the plaza’s floor was blasted open, a sizable crater forming. Cracks rapidly radiated from the impact site, and the entire ground trembled violently.

But it didn’t stop there. Duval continued pounding away, deepening the crater with repeated seismic blows. Blow after blow, the plaza rumbled until, at last, the thick stone floor caved in completely, revealing a massive hole beneath.

Duval, along with the three who had stood near him, fell down into the newly formed pit, landing in a vast underground chamber. It was pitch-black inside—only the light from the collapsed opening provided any illumination.

This was a colossal basement hall supported by numerous stone pillars, with a ceiling over ten meters high. Inside, rows upon rows of iron shelving rose into the darkness, and on those shelves were secure lockboxes—composed mainly of jade-like reinforced stone with wrought-iron frames and locks—each firmly welded and embedded.

This was the Forbidden Archive of the Hymn Cathedral. Despite its name, it didn’t store only forbidden books. Because of its high level of security, it also housed various mystical contraband, hence it was also called the restricted vault. The Church collected mystical texts and heretical artifacts across all of Pritt. If the Historical Scripture Department deemed them worth preserving instead of destroying, they would be sent here for safekeeping. Particularly important ones were sent to Holy Mount.

In the process of purging heretics and dark societies, consulting their mystical texts was often essential for understanding their behavior. While the Church outwardly preached doctored doctrine and manufactured histories, its high-ranking members maintained a much clearer view of the real history of mysticism. After all, they couldn’t afford to fool themselves.

Although the archive entrance was beneath the archival building, its size extended beneath the entire plaza. Once Duval realized this, he simply opted to smash through the plaza floor to reach it by brute force.

Stooping slightly, Duval surveyed the archive before turning a solemn gaze on Blond.

“Where’s the fragment?”

“Right here!”

With a dry retch, Blond pulled a small cloth bundle from his throat. After wiping away some of the mucus, he opened it to reveal a small, torn book page—just a single corner.

Strangely, red fleshy tendrils sprouted from the torn edge of the page. Once exposed to the air, they stretched slightly, then writhed as if sensing something. Eventually, all the tendrils extended in the same direction, pointing unmistakably ahead.

Upon seeing this, Blond immediately followed the tendrils’ guidance. They led him to a large bookshelf. After confirming the direction carefully, he pointed at one of the lockboxes on the shelf.

“Elder, it’s inside this one!”

Duval moved his massive form forward, knocking over two shelves as he approached. He lowered his head toward the indicated lockbox, raised a single claw, and stabbed it directly.

As expected, the box was pierced through. Duval withdrew his claw, and Blond reached into the hole. Soon, he pulled out a weathered red-covered mystical text. The torn page fragment in his hand writhed excitedly and crept into the book, merging with its pages.

“Elder, this is it!”

Blond held the text high, his voice tinged with excitement. Duval reached out with a massive paw, and Blond placed the book into it.

Gazing at the tiny red book resting on his enormous claw, Duval opened one of his mouths. Lifting the book up, he brought it to his jaws—but just as he was about to swallow it, something changed.

Whoosh!

A sharp slicing sound cut through the air. From the shadows of the archive, a black blur shot toward Duval, slashing across his hand. In a blink, a major artery on his wrist ruptured, spraying blood in torrents, and the book vanished from his grasp before Duval could even react.

“RAAAHHHHHHHHHH!! Who did that?!”

Soaked in his own blood, seeing the prize he had nearly obtained vanish, Duval roared in fury. He sniffed the air, locked onto a new unfamiliar scent, and turned toward it. Then, he saw it.

At the center of the massive archive, atop the rubble left by the collapsed ceiling, a figure stood tall. He wore a bloodstained old shawl and short trench coat, fitting tightly around a lean frame. Knives of various kinds—from daggers to bone saws—hung from his belt and limbs. His boots were caked with blood and mud. Upon his head rested a battered gentleman’s hat.

In his left hand was the red mystical text he had just stolen. In his right—a rusted, heavy butcher’s cleaver, stained with Duval’s blood. Beneath the hat, his face was wrapped in ragged bandages, leaving only one crimson eye exposed—gleaming with dangerous light.

The sunlight from the collapsed ceiling shone down onto him—the only illumination in the archive. Yet what it revealed was not holiness or nobility, but something eerie and menacing. The deadly aura radiating from this seemingly small figure was so intense, it rivaled even the towering monster before him.