Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

Chapter 747 : Maze

East Coast of Pritt, Tivian.

In Tivian’s northern district, upon the vast plaza before the Hymn Cathedral, thick beams of light descended from the heavens, enveloping the evil entity trapped within the ritual array. Originally, the shackles of Faith and Silence had tightly bound it—but an abrupt incident had suddenly loosened those restraints.

The Silent Wardens, by nature, were extensions and derivatives of the secrecy power tied to the Secrecy Sovereign of Pritt. Thus, when Charles IV, the current Secrecy Sovereign, suffered backlash during his secret ritual inside the Crystal Palace, the Silent Wardens stationed around the cathedral’s ritual array were likewise affected. Their forms became unstable, wavering as if on the brink of disintegration. With their suppression weakened, a layer of the restraints on the evil entity vanished.

Seizing this opportunity, Gaskina began forcefully breaking the remaining seals on her body. She recited the sacred name of the Lady of Pain in her heart with renewed devotion, and her master responded—unreservedly bestowing divine power upon her.

“You… can no longer… bind me!!”

Crackling sounds echoed from her bones as Gaskina’s form visibly expanded. Suppressed extra limbs began regrowing from her sides. Her face split apart in multiple directions, revealing massive, blood-red eyes. Her once-pale skin was now covered again by dense, black, needle-like hairs—hardened and aligned like a mat of spikes.

With divine power granted by the Spider Queen, Gaskina transformed once more into a monstrous form, resisting the descending divine force. As she slowly broke free of the cage that held her, her terrifying gaze locked onto Archbishop Samuel of Pritt, clad in ornate clerical robes.

At that very moment, from the previously empty sky, several razor-sharp longswords suddenly descended—piercing the air with a shrill whistle and driving straight into Gaskina’s body, nailing her head, torso, arms, and chest. Each sword was attached to a thin iron chain stretching into the distant sky, glowing faintly as it anchored her in place. Her body halted slightly, her movements slowed.

These swords were the work of the Twilight Devotion, a saint steel battleship concealed within the clouds above. Seeing the situation spiraling out of control, it had begun full-force intervention—assisting Samuel in attempting to subdue Gaskina.

Yet even with Twilight Devotion’s support, they could not stop Gaskina’s escalation. Her transformation continued. The suppression was only temporary—it could not change the inevitable outcome.

As the monster before him grew increasingly divine, Archbishop Samuel maintained the Layered Shackle with a solemn expression, glancing toward the flickering and fading Silent Wardens. His heart sank.

What had happened to King Charles IV? That question now weighed most heavily on Samuel’s mind. He didn’t know the specifics, but he could tell the Silent Wardens had clearly originated from the king.

Now, with Gaskina’s godhood intensifying, all Samuel could do was hope Charles recovered swiftly. If Gaskina broke through the chains of Faith, no one in Tivian—or all of Pritt—could stop her.

She was a Gold-rank god-chosen, a terrestrial avatar of a true god! A divine being more powerful than typical Gold-rank entities.

“Where is Her Eminence Secrets Cardinal…? The situation is spiraling out of control!

“We must… notify Holy Mount immediately!”

While still maintaining the final layer of divine suppression, Samuel diverted a portion of his focus—violating the instructions once given to him by "Artcheli"—and, using the cathedral’s mystical systems, sent an emergency alert to Holy Mount, informing the other Cardinals of the current crisis.

…

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Tivian, at three remote corners of the city…

On the rooftops of inconspicuous buildings in isolated areas, three groups of robed figures had gathered. Each wore pale white robes marked with moth insignias on their backs. Their eyes vacant, they chanted softly as they looked up at the sky.

“The time has come… yet no rain falls…”

“The sigils have not activated… the tendrils of harvest… fail to unfurl…”

“The plan has failed… yet the plan must succeed…”

“If others cannot be harvested, then we must harvest ourselves…”

“For the moth to descend, there must be sacrifice. If not them, then us…”

Each group formed a circle around a central figure. These three individuals, cloaked in slightly more elaborate robes, also stared blankly at the sky. The torrential rain they had expected had not come. The plan had reached its appointed time—but the ritual could not begin.

Yet to these hypnotized cultists of the “Moth”, the ritual must proceed. If the required conditions were absent, they would create them—even at terrible cost.

“For the moth to descend, there must be sacrifice. If not them, then us…”

The central figures repeated this phrase. Around them, their lower-ranked companions began pacing slowly in ritual circles, chanting in low, eerie unison.

From beneath their feet, three massive circular arrays began to glow. Each central cultist stood directly at the heart of their respective formation.

As the rites progressed, semi-transparent projections emerged from the three ritual leaders. After circling briefly around them, the images rapidly expanded and shot skyward.

In three distant corners of Tivian, gigantic phantom forms suddenly appeared. Each over 20 to 30 meters tall, they had enormous moth wings, bodies embedded with countless white cocoons, bloated abdomens, featureless heads, and torsos sprouting numerous illusory tendrils.

These were pseudo-moths—or as Blackdream called them, mature scaled moths. They now hovered over Tivian, gazing down at the tiny lives below. With their arrival, waves of hypnotic pulses radiated outward, sweeping across entire city districts—sending entire crowds into deep, dreamlike slumber.

Despite appearing, these pseudo-moths did not engage in battle. They merely floated in place as their colossal forms began dissolving into shimmering light, scattering across the sky.

Decomposition. Yes… The first action these moths took was self-disintegration. In seconds, their enormous bodies were reduced to countless glowing motes, which then surged skyward.

This was sacrifice, a vital phase of the Eight-Spired Nest’s intended ritual. Originally, they had planned to activate widespread marks hidden within festival souvenirs, spreading across all of Tivian. In this ritual, hundreds of thousands of ordinary citizens were to be sacrificed—their spirituality fueling the next stage.

But the rainclouds had been blocked over the sea, and without rainfall, the marks on the souvenirs did not activate—the first stage could not proceed. Thus, Blackdream initiated a backup plan.

The essence of the first stage was sacrifice—harvesting massive amounts of spirituality. So now, they shifted the target from citizens… to their own pseudo-moths.

Each pseudo-moth had consumed vast amounts of spirituality from the dream cocoons of ordinary people to mature. Their quality of spirituality was higher and denser. Moreover, these three remaining moths had linked themselves to thousands of followers scattered across the globe—hypnotized civilians, purchased slaves, and execution slaves provided by the Eight-Spired Nest.

With each moth’s death, all linked individuals would be sacrificed, their spirituality funneled into Blackdream’s next phase.

As this stage unfolded, waves of hypnotic pulses swept across Tivian. Almost every ordinary citizen—and even low-rank Beyonders—succumbed to slumber.

Above Tivian, countless motes of spirituality floated skyward, converging into a massive ritual array that stretched over half the city. As it shimmered, the intricate symbols of the formation became transparent, revealing—beyond the real world—a glimpse of something utterly other.

In the resonance between this array and something within the Inner Realm, the barriers between worlds began to thin.

The grand ritual that Blackdream had long prepared—spanning both the real and inner realms—was now fully underway.

…

As surging undercurrents roared beneath Tivian, and all sides launched their secret struggles, a fierce clash in the Dreamscape—a world apart from reality—was reaching its most intense stage.

When the roar of an ancient being from another world echoed through the forest, the archaic and primeval cry transformed into a force of wild, primal power. Emerging from the dragon’s throat, it smashed down from above, toppling countless Dreamscape trees and sending shockwaves rippling far into the distance.

Over a crater several hundred meters wide, the great dragon spread its wings and dove straight into the swirling dust below—aiming for the deepest, most central point of the impact zone. Its enemy had taken the brunt of that roar and had been driven into the earth. If they hadn’t been pulverized completely, they would surely be here.

The dragon dove through the clouds of dust and crashed into the crater’s bottom, causing a massive tremor upon impact. But the sensation beneath its claws didn’t feel quite right.

With a powerful flap of its wings, the dragon summoned a violent gust, clearing the lingering dust. As the air cleared, the crater’s interior was finally revealed.

Instead of a broken body, there lay countless shattered, white, shell-like fragments scattered across the ground—like the remains of a hardened cocoon.

“These are... chrysalis shells. That thing must’ve used one of its old cocoons as a makeshift defensive artifact to absorb the impact.”

Said a stern voice, as a soft shimmer in the air revealed a translucent, spectral black cat floating near the dragon’s head.

This was none other than the grandpa cat, Saria the little fox’s guardian. He had left a projection of his consciousness via an imprint to accompany and assist Dorothy's dragon form, providing real-time battlefield support.

“There are traces of a Dreamscape teleportation. It likely escaped while the attack was blocked. I can still track the portal’s fluctuations. Please hold on, Your Excellency—I'll open a gate to pursue it right away!”

After a quick assessment of the scene, the black cat spoke up. The dragon-form Dorothy gave a slight nod, and the cat’s eyes began to glow faintly as he channeled his power.

A large, radiant Dreamscape portal quickly formed before the dragon. With a tremendous sweep of its limbs, the dragon launched itself through the gleaming gate, heading to another corner of the Dreamscape.

Moments later, the dragon emerged from the portal into a new region—an unscathed stretch of Dreamscape Forest. It scanned the area immediately, sweeping its gaze across the trees until it found its quarry.

Beneath a giant tree not far off stood a figure—Gu Mian, suspended weakly in midair. Though he had narrowly survived the dragon's last attack, he was in rough shape. The wings on his back were torn and tattered, his body stripped of much of its fur, and many of his barbed tendrils had been ripped off. His elongated limbs were twisted unnaturally.

Though he’d avoided the full brunt of the dragon’s roar, Gu Mian was still severely wounded. His body was regenerating, but full recovery would take time—and in his current state, a direct confrontation with the dragon was impossible.

Upon sighting him, Dorothy—still in dragon form—growled low and launched herself forward, wings spread wide, aiming to finish him off. But Gu Mian, wounded as he was, seemed unable to resist.

At that moment, a strange light flickered in his alien eyes. In his severed-looking hands, he clutched two pitch-black jade pieces.

As the black jade activated, thick white mist erupted across the Dreamscape, rapidly blanketing the entire forest. The giant trees became ghostly silhouettes. In an instant, the dragon was completely surrounded by fog—a sudden whiteout that made it impossible to see.

Yes—this mist was the labyrinth fog released by the Sacred Cocoon of the Butterfly Moth, the very same fog that formed the Misty Domain, the enigmatic heart of the Dreamscape.

During his earlier escape, Gu Mian had teleported here on purpose. Once inside the Misty Domain, he used the black jade to temporarily part the mist, waiting for the dragon to arrive. Now, with Dorothy here, he reactivated the jade, restoring the fog and covering the area once again.

With the dragon now enveloped, Gu Mian believed Dorothy would be completely trapped. Not only would she be unable to locate him—she wouldn’t even be able to escape. She would be sealed inside forever. Meanwhile, Gu Mian—controlling the fog—could clear a small pocket around himself and teleport to safety.

He knew the dragon would pursue him using residual traces, so he had laid this trap in advance. Now, his gambit had worked. With the dragon surrounded, her attacks would miss, and she could no longer pose a threat.

She’ll be trapped in here forever!

Triumphant, Gu Mian couldn’t help but feel a flash of smug satisfaction. But less than a second later, that pride shattered completely.

As if swept away by an invisible wind, the mist in front of him suddenly thinned and dispersed in all directions. Emerging from the fading fog—the colossal dragon reappeared, charging straight toward him with unstoppable momentum.

“How can she disperse the fog?!”

The answer was simple: whatever method Gu Mian used, Dorothy had also prepared for.

Dorothy was already familiar with this tactic—Gu Mian had used the fog of the Misty Domain to trap Artcheli once before. So naturally, she had prepared a countermeasure.

One of Blackdream’s pseudo-moths, Withered Wing, had tried to buy a special artifact fragment in Moncarlo. After killing it, Dorothy had obtained the item—a fragment of the artifact known as the "Moon Crown"—which was revealed to have the power to traverse delusion fog.

With this knowledge, Dorothy deduced that Blackdream’s attempts to collect the Crown fragments were meant to let them pass through the sacred cocoon’s mist—possibly to reach the sacred cocoon itself.

Though Dorothy once tried to use her fragment to rescue Artcheli, the attempt failed. A single fragment could only clear a small area of mist, enough to keep herself oriented and allow escape via teleportation, but not enough to locate others trapped inside.

Still, it was enough to protect herself. When Gu Mian used his fragment to re-envelop Dorothy in mist, she simply activated her own—and blew it away.

Roaring, the dragon opened its jaws wide and lunged straight at Gu Mian, intending to swallow him whole. Gu Mian, shocked, barely managed to dodge at the last second and began preparing a new Dreamscape teleportation.

“You won’t escape, Norka!”

At that moment, the black cat’s projection suddenly appeared again, floating midair and locking eyes with Gu Mian. His pupils shimmered, unleashing a deep hypnotic pulse similar to the kind Gu Mian himself had once used.

Though far weaker than the pulse Gu Mian had previously launched to threaten the dragon, it still struck home—because Gu Mian, battered and exhausted, had not yet recovered. The effect stunned him just enough to interrupt his teleportation.

“Al... ro... vat…”

His spell broken, Gu Mian glared at the black cat with fury, clearly intending to shred his to pieces as soon as the effect faded.

But Dorothy gave him no such chance.

The moment his teleportation failed, the dragon slammed her massive claw down upon him, pinning him to the ground.

Without pause, the dragon applied tremendous pressure. A sharp, pained screech burst from Gu Mian as his body cracked under the force, on the verge of total collapse.

Just then, another sudden anomaly erupted. Beneath the dragon's massive form, a vast glow of subtle light spread across the Dreamscape’s ground, and countless mystical symbols and script began wildly unfurling across the earth—sprawling outward, even into the distant mists—until the entire terrain was covered.

“What... is this...?”

The black cat blurted in astonishment, staring at the complex glyphs spreading beneath them. Dorothy too sensed something amiss and pressed even harder against Gu Mian with the full weight of her dragon form, trying to obliterate him completely.

But what she hadn't anticipated was that, in the very next moment, the once-solid ground beneath her suddenly turned translucent and insubstantial—as if its physical reality had evaporated. The dragon lost her footing and plummeted downward. Gu Mian, pinned beneath her, was also released and, having resisted the black cat's hypnotic pulse, soared away at high speed.

As Dorothy fell, she was stunned to see through the now-transparent ground. Below her was a bird’s-eye view of a city—one she knew intimately.

It was Tivian.

From the Dreamscape, Dorothy was now looking down at Tivian as if the forest had been suspended above it like a vast illusion.

She saw that the entire dream forest was hovering over the real-world city, and the fog—usually confined to the Misty Domain—was now cascading downward like a massive waterfall, pouring directly into Tivian.

“Those bastards... they’ve anchored the cocoon ritual to both Tivian and the Misty Domain, merging the Dream and the Real—they’re trying to bring the Misty Domain into Tivian?!”

The black cat beside her exclaimed in horror. Dorothy stared at the unfolding catastrophe, frozen for a moment, overwhelmed by doubt and disbelief.

“Blurring the boundaries between dream and reality... bringing the Misty Domain into Tivian? Could this be the true function of Blackdream’s grand ritual? So they really did have a backup plan...:

“But why...? What do they hope to gain by turning Tivian into the Misty Domain? What’s their objective in merging Tivian’s dream and waking states?”

As the questions spiraled in her mind, Dorothy recalled the vision granted by Mirror Moon, and the troubling recent news that Vania had shared about Holy Mount.

Suddenly, a terrifying conclusion dawned on her.

“Could it be… they're planning to...

“No—I need to contact Vania immediately!”

…

Above Tivian’s skies, within the colossal ritual array, the illusory Dream Forest slowly revealed itself—like a mirage suspended above the city. From the heavens, thick white fog began pouring downward—the fog from the Dreamscape’s Misty Domain was invading the real world.

As the fog cascaded, all of Tivian was shrouded in white in an instant. The longer it poured, the denser it grew.

With the barrier between worlds dissolving, the boundary between Tivian and the Dreamscape was vanishing. The city was becoming part of the Misty Domain.

This cataclysm affected every corner of Tivian, including the Cathedral District in the north. Archbishop Samuel sensed it immediately—but he couldn’t afford any distraction now. His suppression of Gaskina was already at its limit. He stared at her with solemn gravity.

“Heh… So the ritual on their end has begun too.”

The monstrous Gaskina sneered, her voice echoing strangely from her warped face.

“Give it up, zealot. Your stubbornness will only fuel my wrath—and ensure that when I break you, it will be so much worse.”

Samuel remained silent, his eyes resolute.

Suddenly, Gaskina—still bound by the Layered Shackle—raised a single hand, where a blood-red blade condensed. A sadistic glint flashed across her already horrifying face.

“I told you… I want this entire city to know what pain feels like. And now it’s time!”

Samuel immediately understood her intent. Drawing from past incidents involving the Spider Queen, he realized: Gaskina was about to attack the Layered Shackle directly in order to transmit overwhelming pain through the link of faith to both himself and the millions of Radiance followers in the city.

Though the citizens were now mostly asleep, their dreams still produced faith. But if their spirits were destroyed by pain, then the very root of that faith would be severed. Gaskina aimed to cripple the minds of millions—to drive them insane with suffering.

To stop her, Samuel instantly revoked the Layered Shackle but kept the binding power of faith active, channeling the force of the entire Hymn Cathedral into another form.

The moment the restraint lifted, the near-completely monstrous Gaskina broke free of the Twilight Devotion’s bindings, shattering the longswords impaled in her flesh. She lunged at Samuel.

But now—Samuel had transformed.

He was engulfed in blazing fire, his entire body elementalized into flame. Between his hands, a glowing orb began to form—a blinding fireball, hotter than anything mortal, beyond even Crimson-tier might.

This was a divine product of channeling Tivian’s collective faith directly into his own body. Unlike the Layered Shackle which relied on the cathedral’s prepared structures, this form was unstable, and seriously damaged Samuel’s own Beyonder foundation.

“Purify!”

Samuel intoned, hurling the fireball directly at Gaskina, who had just broken free. She tried to dodge—but it detonated right beside her.

BOOM!!

Radiance, thunder, flame, shock—an unimaginable explosion erupted from the basketball-sized fireball, expanding rapidly and engulfing everything around it. The blinding light devoured both Gaskina and Samuel in an instant.

The blast rocked the entire Cathedral Plaza, sending a firestorm outward in every direction. The Hymn Cathedral and surrounding blocks were utterly annihilated. A towering mushroom cloud rose where the cathedral once stood. The dream fog, still cascading down, was violently disturbed by the impact.

After the cataclysm, the entire cathedral and district were gone—replaced by a giant crater. Buildings within a kilometer radius were flattened, and even those within several kilometers were heavily damaged.

Thankfully, due to preemptive evacuations, most church members and civilians had already been removed—but given the explosion’s force, casualties were inevitable. It was only thanks to the descending mist absorbing part of the shock that the damage wasn't even worse.

Within the dust-filled crater, Samuel lay collapsed, no longer elemental, his clothing tattered, his body limp and caked in ash. He looked half-dead, utterly spent.

Pouring divine power directly into his own vessel had nearly destroyed him. Though elementalization had protected him from the flames, he couldn’t avoid the shockwave. Now unable to move, he was completely incapacitated.

He had only enough strength for one such strike. His body couldn’t withstand more. All he could do now was hope the blast had destroyed Gaskina.

But that hope… was shattered.

“Tch. A dying struggle? At least you had some spirit...”

A cold scoff echoed. Heavy footsteps approached through the haze. A massive, monstrous figure loomed out of the dust—Gaskina, over three meters tall, with eight limbs and eight eyes.

She was still alive.

Blood mist swirled around her, rapidly knitting shut her hideous wounds. Even her severed limbs were regenerating before his eyes.

Samuel stared in horror, eyes wide, trembling, blood trickling from his lips. He tried to speak—but only spat blood.

Gaskina said nothing more. She stepped forward, raised a long blade formed of blood, and silently prepared to deliver the final blow.

Although Gaskina would have liked to slowly torment the Archbishop before her, the situation was urgent. She had other matters to attend to and no time to linger here. While the fog enveloping Tivian had not yet reached full density, she could still move freely with help from her allies and needed to act quickly elsewhere.

But just as Gaskina was about to finish off Samuel, an abrupt anomaly erupted around them. From the swirling dust behind her, a glowing projectile suddenly shot forth—aimed directly at her. Gaskina reacted swiftly, shifting her body to dodge. But to her surprise, it wasn’t the light that posed the real threat—it was the shadow cast by the light across her form that rippled unnaturally, as if it were liquid.

That shadow suddenly burst open like a pool of black water, and from it, a small figure shot forth, a blur moving at incredible speed, streaking straight at Gaskina. She sensed danger and raised her six crimson-bladed arms, slashing furiously toward the incoming threat.

But the blur’s movement was ghostlike, far more elusive than she had expected. It slipped past her deadly flurry, carving deep gashes across her and severing one of her arms in the process.

Eyes wide, Gaskina stared toward where the shadowy figure landed. There, standing calmly, was a petite girl in a cloak, short black hair framing her face, a long sword in hand, her quiet gaze fixed on the monstrous Gaskina.

Upon seeing the girl, Gaskina grit her teeth and spat her name.

“Cardinal of Secrets... Artcheli.”

One of the Seven Saints of Holy Mount—Saint Artcheli, Cardinal of the Court of Secrets—had returned. She had been trapped by Gu Mian’s ambush within the Misty Domain of the Dreamscape. But when Blackdream’s ritual blurred the line between the Dreamscape and reality—flooding Tivian with the fog—Artcheli’s connection to the real world was restored.

The colossal Lantern explosion that Samuel had triggered with the power of Tivian’s collective faith had failed to kill Gaskina—but it had shaken the fog, briefly illuminating the Dreamscape like a beacon. This temporary lighthouse let shallow dream-wanderers regain orientation.

Since Gu Mian only had two fragments of the Moon Crown, the trap set for Artcheli couldn’t be too deep in the Misty Domain. Once she sensed Samuel’s burst of Lantern power, Artcheli used it to escape—instantly traveling via the Inner Realm to the battlefield and ambushing Gaskina.

“In the name of the Saint… your wicked deeds end here… hound of the evil god.”

Raising her sword, Artcheli pointed its tip toward the abomination before her and spoke with quiet resolve.

All across Tivian, the encroaching fog continued to thicken.

…

Meanwhile, far from Pritt, atop Holy Mount in the southern part of the main continent, a solemn meeting was underway.

After receiving an emergency transmission from the Hymn Cathedral, Saint Hilbert, Cardinal of the Holy War, convened an urgent meeting with the other cardinals still residing on the mount.

In the grand, majestic sanctuary of the Holy Mount Cathedral, four of the six Cardinal Thrones were now occupied: Saint Hilbert, Saint Kramar, Saint Marco, and Saint Amanda.

The two absent cardinals were Saint Artcheli, who was investigating matters in Tivian, and Saint Alberto, who was overseeing military preparations in the south for the coming Great Holy War.

“According to the emergency message from the Hymn Cathedral…”

Hilbert began gravely.

“The agent of the Evil God, the Lady of Pain—Gaskina—has manifested in Tivian. Archbishop Samuel Logus is currently suppressing her using the faith of Tivian, but he won’t last much longer. He’s requesting assistance from the Cardinal Council.”

Marco, gaunt and grim, furrowed his brow.

“Gaskina… the Spiderhead of the Eight-Spired Nest? One of the few surviving Gold-rank Divine Agents? Why would she appear in Tivian of all places? Isn’t the World Expo underway there? Wasn’t Artcheli already on-site investigating? Why is the message from the Archbishop instead of her?”

“I don’t know the full details.”

Hilbert replied.

“The message was brief and urgent. But I can confirm that something major is happening in Tivian. I’ve received confirmation from multiple sources.”

Kramar muttered coldly.

“First Unina, now Gaskina—these cultist agents are crawling out of the shadows one after another. They dare openly challenge the Holy Church’s authority? They’ll receive righteous, brutal retribution.”

Amanda nodded solemnly.

“If it’s confirmed that Gaskina has appeared and taken hostile action, we must respond immediately. Hilbert, your flagship—'Flame of World-Cleansing'—is the only Saint Steel Vessel able to rapidly deploy to Tivian. We should send someone aboard it to coordinate with Artcheli, if she’s still active. If not, we’ll dispatch further forces.”

Under Church law, at least three cardinals must remain on Holy Mount at all times. Even during a crisis, no fewer than two may be absent.

Hilbert nodded again.

“I’ve already ordered Flame of World-Cleansing to begin preparing for a spatial jump. But there’s a problem—we can’t determine Tivian’s current coordinates. All spatial parameters related to it are in unprecedented disarray. We can’t lock onto it.”

“What do you mean—disarray?”

Amanda asked sharply.

“All remote scouting has failed,” Hilbert said, “The Holy War Court has used every divination and sensor—nothing works. Even the Radiant Mirror, our most powerful tool, shows only incomprehensible chaos. Contact with the Hymn Cathedral has been entirely lost. We’re trying to re-establish the link—but no success.”

Marco murmured thoughtfully.

“To obstruct so many Holy detection tools… that agent of the Lady of Pain must’ve deployed a powerful Shadow barrier, possibly even involving divine power…”

“I agree,” Hilbert replied.

“If we want to send forces into Tivian, we must break through that barrier.”

Hilbert turned to his peers with grave determination.

“This Shadow may be divine in nature. And only divinity can disperse divinity. To pierce the veil, we must invoke the Staff of Divine Command, left by the Holy Seat—to channel the Sun’s radiance into purifying light, and cleanse all darkness from Pritt…”

“This is why I summoned you all. Activating the Sacred Staff cannot be done by me alone. I need your votes.”

Without hesitation, the three cardinals responded.

“I have no objection to punishing these wicked heretics.”

“If ever there were a moment to use the Sacred Staff, it is now. Even the Holy Seat would have agreed.”

“Tivian is in crisis. We must see clearly what’s happening—before it becomes a tragedy.”

With unanimous agreement, Hilbert gave a solemn nod.

“Then… let us summon the Sacred Staff.”

The four cardinals stood and began a brief invocation. As the ritual proceeded, a shaft of pure light pierced through the clouds above the cathedral dome, and from that light… a long, slender object slowly descended.

But before they could receive it, a commotion arose at the cathedral’s main doors.

The massive entrance was suddenly thrown open. A petite figure stood at the threshold, still pushing the gate.

“Who dares trespass in this sacred hall?!”

Kramar barked in fury.

But Amanda, upon seeing the figure clearly, gasped aloud.

“Vania…”

Standing beneath the towering entrance of the Great Hall of Holy Mount, clad in her white nun’s robes and panting heavily, was Vania.

Behind her, the grand staircase was littered with unconscious White Ash-rank guards, armored men sprawled across the steps—knocked out cleanly with barely any resistance.

As the cardinals stared in shock, Vania steadied her breath and stepped forward. As one of them made a move to intercept her, she suddenly knelt in a deep bow, pressing her forehead to the floor.

“Your Eminences—please, you must not use the Sacred Staff!”