Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

Chapter 819: Blood Shade

In the material realm, divine power surged and rippled. Centered around the Divine Land of Revelation, Heopolis, the massive array of intricate, mysterious runes expanded endlessly into the far reaches of the void. Upon this scroll-like formation, fragments of past histories and bygone reincarnations flashed unceasingly. Extinct peoples, civilizations, and great races once lost to time now returned in phantom form—joining the Celestial Priestess atop the grand pyramid in praising the birth of a new Fate.

At this moment, Dorothy sat within her throne space, seated high upon the monumental Throne of Fate, her eyes closed as she listened to hymns echoing across all times and histories. All around her—aside from the throne and herself—everything began to blur and fade, as if gradually retreating from existence.

After over seven thousand years, the Arbiter of History and Fate had returned to the world.

Yet not all wills welcomed this descent.

“This tiresome cycle has already ended. The fate of the cosmos no longer rests in your hands!”

Outside the material realm, within the void where the corrupted Tortoise-Elephant Tower lay, the Three Gods of the Afterbirth howled as they surged toward the tower’s peak—toward the cosmic sphere of the material realm—unleashing tides of blood, beasts, and plague in an effort to fully flood, corrupt, and shatter the world.

“Tch… such an aggressive bunch…”

Beverly muttered, glancing at the looming threat beyond the stars. Then, turning her focus to Phaethon nearby, she added dryly.

“Hey, Hyper brat. You still got some fight left in you?”

Hearing her words, Phaethon—still dressed in the garb of the Radiant Interpreter—replied with a calm smile.

“Not much strength remains. But at this point, I shall give my all.”

As he spoke, golden flames rekindled across his body. Wherever the fire passed, loose robes turned to radiant armor, and aged wrinkles smoothed into youthful skin. Moments later, a golden-armored warrior stood in his place, shining and sharp-eyed, long spear in hand.

“In the name of Heros… I march once more!”

With his solemn declaration, a splendid chariot manifested beneath him. Flames erupted, quickly expanding—swallowing him—and transformed into a blazing sun. Though far smaller and dimmer than the sunwheel he had previously summoned, it still radiated warmth and brilliance.

“Heh… the offspring is proving far more reliable than the parent ever was.”

Beverly chuckled, then began her own transformation.

Still in her gun form, she rapidly expanded, swelling into a massive shape of ever-shifting metal. Once she reached thousands of kilometers in height, her body locked into a final form:

—a colossal brass-colored mech.

It had wide metallic wings, a winged helm for a head, a body built from countless mechanical components. In its right hand was a gleaming metal greatsword, and in its left, a cannon of enormous caliber. Dreadnought-sized floating batteries formed behind her, aligning around the mechanical titan.

“Let’s go give those bastards a taste of hell.”

With that, Beverly piloted her mechanical body into flight, soaring across the stars toward the distant void. The blazing sun—Phaethon—followed close behind, embarking on a new offensive.

Through stellar leap, they exited the material realm and entered the void that held the Tortoise-Elephant Tower. There, they met the oncoming tide and began their counterattack.

Beams of pure light, seas of golden flame, volleys of missiles and thundering artillery. The filthy tide was heavily battered—beasts torn apart, blood boiled away, disease sanctified. Mechanical might and radiance slowed the enemy’s advance… but could not stop it.

The flowing blood tide shredded metal. Greedy beasts devoured fire. Steel missiles rotted into flesh. The filth remained vast—unstoppable.

Though Phaethon and Beverly forged a frontline to shield the material realm, it was quickly pushed back under relentless assault. Too much had been spent to shatter the Mother of Chalice and seize the divine fragment of Revelation. Even giving their all now, they couldn’t stop the Three Gods’ advance.

At this rate, the defensive line would collapse, and the entire material cosmos—the ritual field—would be invaded directly. Yet Dorothy’s ritual hadn’t even reached a third of completion. The two of them alone couldn’t stall long enough.

“After all this fighting, they’re still so full of energy… Damn well-fed beasts, I swear…”

Grimacing as she sliced apart a charging monstrosity with her sword, Beverly growled. But just as their frontline began to buckle…

A miracle appeared.

A soft, multicolored radiance suddenly emerged in the void. Wherever it shone, it bathed the battlefield in prismatic light. All filth struck by that glow—be it blood or beast—turned transparent, dreamlike, dazed. A single touch, and they burst into colorful bubbles, vanishing into mist.

From the source of that light, a hazy, butterfly-shaped figure emerged—soaring above the battlefield. Its ever-shifting, prismatic wings scattered shimmering scales across the field, trapping vast swaths of the filth tide in dreamlike confusion.

“Still got the strength to fight? That’s a relief…”

Seeing the butterfly god return, Beverly let out a subtle sigh of relief. She had left it behind earlier, using it to stall the Gluttonous Wolf and Abyssal Serpent so she could reach the material realm. In doing so, the newborn Dream Butterfly had taken heavy damage.

After retreating, the two beast gods had not chased it—choosing instead to support the Mother of Chalice. The Butterfly God, having barely recovered, now returned to the front.

Under the influence of dream power, the filth began to unravel—broken down into insubstantial illusions, shimmering mist, and clouds of confusion that obscured the tide’s path.

With the Dream Butterfly’s support, the defensive line stabilized. Though still slowly receding, the rate had slowed significantly.

“A futile struggle… The foundation of your defiance is already crumbling…”

In the depths of the filth tide, the Plague Vulture’s will murmured darkly. To it, their resistance seemed full of holes—and it had reason to believe so.

“Awaken Truth.”

“Awooooo!!!”

At the Vulture’s command, the Gluttonous Wolf’s power surged.

Dark wolf heads—vast as mountains—formed across the tide. They howled together, their cries shaking the cosmos. The sound echoed across all realms, even into the material realm where the ritual was taking place.

With the Wolf’s howl, all regions touched by its echo became clouded in murk and chaos. Everything seemed to dissolve, as if merging into a putrid soup. The filth surged violently in response.

“Nngh… this… this call…”

Within the story world, Astarte, who had been safeguarded within Adèle’s body, had just barely stabilized after recovering from the Mother of Chalice’s influence. But the moment she heard the wolf’s howl, she clutched her head, overwhelmed by splitting pain. Her soul, still tainted by lingering corruption, began to stir—and the Gold-rank Beyonders nearby quickly moved to suppress it.

The Gluttonous Wolf’s howl carried its own brand of corruption—a call to all fallen things. It was a howl that would rouse, stir, and awaken dormant corruption across every realm, hastening its spread.

And Astarte, whose body still bore the remnants of the Mother of Chalice’s touch, was immediately affected.

But Astarte wasn’t the Vulture’s target.

Its true objective was the Celestial Priestess at the center of the ritual in the material realm…

The Rite of Heaven’s Return, which reestablishes the Historical Arbiter, hinges upon the Priestess. It is not a role anyone can fulfill.

She must bear the bloodline of a divine candidate chosen by Revelation. She must possess a pure Gold-rank Revelation affinity. Her soul and body must undergo extensive training and modification, forging a will capable of resonating with divinity at the highest degree during the ritual.

Such a person is exceedingly rare. As far as the Plague Vulture knew—there was only one.

A Priestess prototype, meticulously cultivated by Hafdar, the servant of the God of Guile—also known as the infant of Fallen Revelation.

The God of Guile had once attempted to form an alliance of fallen gods. During that time, the Plague Vulture had made brief contact with the Fallen Revelation. In an exchange of information, it obtained crucial intelligence.

Due to its long-standing influence near North Ufiga, the Vulture’s cultists had deeply infiltrated that region, and it knew many secrets about the undead pharaohs left over from the First Dynasty.

Combining the intel from the fallen god and its own network, the Plague Vulture had deduced Hafdar’s existence and schemes. It knew Hafdar had long used extremely aggressive methods—experimenting on the hidden bloodlines of Revelation’s chosen descendants to awaken the Fallen Revelation. He had even created a suitable Priestess for the god’s return…

Now, the God of Guile was dead. A new Arbiter was ascending.

And the Plague Vulture believed that this Arbiter was not only a descendant of Heros, but a foreigner to this world—a transmigrator.

She had only spent a few years in this world—and yet was already ascending to godhood. Such miraculous speed was barely believable.

But would she, in those short years, have also prepared a proper Priestess?

The Vulture judged: highly unlikely.

After all, Hafdar had taken over a thousand years to craft just one. Even Unina, whom they’d nurtured for centuries, was barely qualified to awaken a god—far less to preside over the birth of a new one.

So then, during the apotheosis ritual of that outsider, who exactly is serving as the Celestial Priestess? That goes without saying—it was the one Hafdar had originally prepared for the God of Guile.

However, since that priestess had once served a god deeply corrupted by depravity, she herself would undoubtedly have been tainted by corruption as well. It’s likely that the outsider used some method to suppress the corruption and then utilized her for the ritual. The Gluttonous Wolf’s howl was meant to reawaken that suppressed corruption—allowing the Celestial Priestess to be invaded by it.

While this might not be enough to completely make the priestess fall or defect to the enemy, it could significantly influence her and disrupt the proper progression of the ritual. That was exactly what the Plague Vulture intended.

Just as the Plague Vulture had predicted, the Gluttonous Wolf’s howl echoed even into the material realm—resonating across the grand ceremonial field, filled with countless illusory civilizations. Even atop the towering pyramid at the ritual’s heart, the Celestial Priestess heard it.

Yet the haunting call had no effect on her.

At the solemn center of the divine rite, her dance remained precise, her chanting uninterrupted—flawless, untouched, showing no signs of influence whatsoever.

Amid the ritual dance, the priestess in her regal robes stepped gracefully across runes. In her hands was the Revelation Scepter, which reflected the bearer’s face: dark skin… defined, striking features… solemn, devout expression… and most crucially—no blindfold. And the blindfold had been the signature mark of Hafdar’s artificial priestess.

The one currently dancing and chanting here wasn’t the emotionless puppet Hafdar had meticulously crafted over centuries—it was the ascendant’s rare friend in this world, a former classmate she once called “senior.”

It was none other than Nephthys Boyle—a fourth-year student at the Royal Crown University of Tivian, still not yet graduated, still stressing over her thesis. A history major. A former amateur mystic enthusiast from three years ago. A rich girl now working part-time as a Celestial Priestess.

That’s right.

Dorothy’s chosen priestess was Nephthys.

And now, she was the central pillar of the entire apotheosis ritual.

As one of Dorothy’s few true friends in this world—and someone she trusted more than anyone—the role had been given to her.

After learning the requirements of godhood from Beverly, Dorothy had begun to seriously consider who could fulfill the role of her priestess. Just as the Plague Vulture suspected, she initially concluded that the most qualified individual was the puppet-like bearer of the Revelation Scepter created by Hafdar—one shaped through extreme spiritual reconstruction. Hafdar had crafted her with immense effort, all in preparation for the ascension of the “Fallen Revelation.” In terms of qualifications, she was ideal.

But there was a problem—she had once been under the control of the Fallen Revelation. Dorothy didn’t know what hidden traps might lie within her and didn’t dare to take the risk.

So she began to explore alternatives.

The first to come to mind was her devout follower, Vania. However, Vania lacked several key traits, and Dorothy had other plans for her—so she had to be excluded.

Her next thought was Nephthys.

Nephthys had once been a Celestial Priestess—descendant of Viagetta, a chosen lineage of Revelation. She possessed divine blood and had the basic qualifications. However, this alone wasn’t enough. Nephthys wasn’t a pure Revelation Beyonder, nor had she undergone the necessary spiritual and physical modifications.

But after gaining control over the Dark Coin Noble, this was no longer an issue.

Using the versatile commerce divinity, Dorothy forcibly purchased the Beyonder rank and modifications from Hafdar’s puppet priestess, then transferred them wholesale to Nephthys, now a blank slate.

This gave Nephthys the majority of a Celestial Priestess’s powers.

The only shortcoming was that Hafdar’s priestess was only Crimson-rank, and that’s all Nephthys received. She still couldn’t reach the Gold rank required to conduct the ritual fully.

Thankfully, Adèle had returned to normal. She used her time-reversal abilities to first strip her own enhancement, then temporarily elevate Nephthys’s rank by one level—pushing her into Gold, just enough to qualify as a full-fledged Celestial Priestess.

And so, even after the Gluttonous Wolf’s howl echoed across the realms, the link between realms remained intact. The priestess atop the pyramid danced and chanted undisturbed, resonating with the histories of countless civilizations. The solemn ritual pressed on as before. The hour of the Fate Sovereign's descent drew ever closer.

“…Didn’t work, huh? Quite the thorough preparation…”

Sensing no reaction from the material realm’s cosmic sphere perched atop the Tortoise-Elephant Tower, the Plague Vulture muttered silently.

Though this attempt had failed, it didn’t panic. It calmly began preparing the next phase. It had other cards to play.

“Unina…”

“I’m already guiding Mother’s power to converge with all my strength, Holy Progeny!”

From behind the rolling tides of filth came a reply—from a massive sphere of flesh endlessly expanding in the void.

A giant, grotesque meat orb, covered in sensory organs and limbs, grew rapidly at several times its previous rate—already beyond star-sized, and still accelerating.

At one corner of this Flesh Earth, a half-formed humanoid figure was emerging—her body dyed deep red.

She was Unina—the chosen of the Mother of Chalice.

The Afterbirth Three Gods weren’t just attacking the material realm with filth—they were also empowering Unina. Using her deep connection with the Mother of Chalice, they were conducting a parallel ritual to accelerate the gathering of the Mother’s scattered divinity.

And from the looks of it, the strategy was working.

Under Unina’s guidance, the Mother’s power was condensing at an alarming speed. She was fast approaching a level sufficient to rejoin the battle.

But the Plague Vulture wasn’t rushing to deploy the newly-formed Mother’s power into the battle. It had… another plan.

In the depths behind the filth tide, the Plague Vulture manifested its giant bird form, shaped from plague mist. With a flap of its deadly wings, an object appeared before it—seemingly from nowhere.

It was… a spider.

A bloated, grotesque spider with a swollen, translucent abdomen—inside which a dark, ominous red blood shimmered.

Staring at the spider, the Plague Vulture recalled something once said to it by a being who claimed the title of the God of Schemes.

…

“…Very well, your offer is reasonable, filthy maggot. Given the current state of affairs, I don’t mind lending a hand. But know this—I won’t follow your orders. I’ll appear only where I wish to appear…”

In a blood-soaked space filled with torture devices and the screams of agony, a seductive woman sat cross-legged atop a spiked throne, her gaze cold as she regarded the emissary sent by the other gods.

They had already negotiated the most important part of their agreement—but the emissary lingered. The Plague Vulture clearly had something more to say.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Lady of Pain. But before I depart, may I ask one final favor?”

The maggot-like emissary bowed respectfully.

The spider goddess narrowed her eyes.

“…A bloodline assassination? Explain it clearly.”

“Though our plan is strong, we must account for the worst—especially when dealing with the young Arbiter. The most disastrous scenario would be… her successfully obtaining all divine fragments and beginning the apotheosis ritual.”

The Vulture’s emissary spoke slowly and calmly.

The Spider Queen listened, intrigued.

“So your so-called ‘bloodline assassination’ is aimed at that little brat’s ritual?”

“Exactly. It is a method that can decisively strike the Arbiter at the most vulnerable moment. But it requires your cooperation.”

“Bloodline assassination”—as the name suggests, is a divine assault delivered through a blood connection. 

“I need to find an entry point within her family tree—then use that lineage to attack her current position. But the problem is… she’s a divine-blood descendant. All known branches lead to gods. The unknown ones are hidden in shadow. I can’t locate a proper anchor to channel my power.”

The Plague Vulture politely explained its idea.

The Spider Queen narrowed her eyes, already grasping its intent.

“You’ve always despised your blood connection to that brat…

“And now is the perfect time to weaponize that hatred—to strike the one you loathe most through what she treasures most. Wouldn’t this be the ideal opportunity for your revenge?”

The emissary continued.

After a moment of silence, the Spider Queen finally answered.

“…What do you need me to do?”

“Assist with the ritual—and offer me a drop of your pure divine blood. When the time comes, I will use it as a key… to open the gates of bloodline leading to the young Arbiter.”

The Plague Vulture continued speaking without hesitation, but the Spider Queen’s expression turned grim, and she answered with a dangerously cold tone.

“I don’t trust you… disgusting maggot. You can’t guarantee that the blood I give won’t backfire on me in the end.”

“You’re right. I can’t. And that’s precisely why this is a test of resolve, dear Lady of Pain. Please… consider the glorious future we could share. For that day, isn’t a little risk worth it?”

The Plague Vulture continued to coax her. The Spider Queen didn’t respond immediately. After a long silence, she replied coolly.

“I’ll admit one thing—you’re right about her. That little bitch is cunning. None of us can guarantee our plans will go smoothly. Even my own arrangement, though it seems secure now, might still go awry at the last moment…

“So here’s my offer. I’ll cooperate with your ritual, but I won’t give you my divine blood just yet. I’ll have one of my Apostles hide it somewhere. On the day of the final battle—if my plan works, you’re not getting that blood no matter what. But if I fail…”

Her tone grew darker, colder—riddled with menace.

“If I fail… if I fall… my Apostle will automatically hand the blood over to you. And then, you can use it to strike that little bitch and her wretched spawn—smash their smug faces into the dirt!”

Eyes narrowed, the Spider Queen snarled viciously.

Hearing this, the Plague Vulture smiled faintly and replied.

“As you wish…”

…

Memory ended—reality resumed.

In the void of the Tortoise-Elephant Tower, behind the tides of filth, the Plague Vulture—now in the form of a giant bird of plague—gazed at the grotesque, blood-filled spider before it and murmured,

“In the end, you still couldn’t overcome that Secret Moon… dear Lady…

“But it’s alright. Soon… we shall have revenge for you.”

With that, the Plague Vulture pulled itself from the filth tide. With a beat of its wings, it soared to the Flesh Earth, where it called out.

“Mother… brothers… lend me your aid.”

In response, countless gaping maws opened across the Flesh Earth, spewing dense plague mist that surged into the Plague Vulture’s divine body, strengthening it immensely.

Then, even more mouths opened—not to breathe plague, but to scream. Piercing howls echoed out. At the same time, the giant wolf heads within the filth tide, which had been quiet, howled in unison—resonating with the howls of the Flesh Earth.

Beverly, Phaethon, and the Dream Butterfly immediately realized that the Afterbirth Three Gods were preparing something—and tried to counterattack. But the blood tide surged forth violently, halting their advance.

With the empowerment of the Mother of Chalice, a far greater fallen howl now shook all realms. And within this scream, the Plague Vulture—also strengthened by the Mother—shed its previous avian form and began to spiral rapidly in the void, transforming into a colossal Plague Typhoon.

At its center—was the bloated, blood-filled spider.

Finally, the spider at the eye of the typhoon exploded. Its internal blood gushed out, spiraled twice within the vortex, and then erupted in a blinding crimson light—expanding into a blood-red gateway.

The plague typhoon spun even faster, forming a whirlpool like water draining from a tub—swirling into the scarlet portal.

The Plague Vulture… was using it as a gate—drawing on the branches of the bloodline tree as a path to strike directly at Dorothy, the core of the ritual.

This was the bloodline assassination it had planned.

…

The Nation of Night, Evernight Palace.

The moonlit mountains quaked violently. Cracks spread across the space bathed in moonlight, and behind the shattering dark sky—like glass—oozed a sludge of writhing abominations, pushing outward and pouring toward the earth.

In the ruined remnants of a divine temple, a silver-haired girl gazed grimly at the heavens. From her outstretched palm, the moon in the sky shone brilliantly, suppressing the oncoming collapse of the world.

The fallen howl from the main battlefield had even reached deep realms like this one—awakening the Egg of Chaos, whose seal was partially maintained by the Mother of Chalice herself. Now, empowered by that howl, the egg stirred violently.

The sealed entity beneath the Silent Earth now struggled with its greatest force in thousands of years. Even as the earth clamped down harder, its groaning mass couldn’t fully contain the eruption. The world’s wound worsened rapidly.

Seeing this, Mirror Moon immediately acted—splitting part of her strength to suppress the wound, and part to assist the Stone Prince in stabilizing the Egg of Chaos’s rampage.

Such a massive upheaval from the Egg of Chaos only occurred once every few thousand years—and was usually awakened by a fallen god, tied to their greater plans.

This time was no different.

“…In the end, even to strike back at me, you chose to turn that loathsome bloodline into a weapon… that’s so like you, Morrigan…”

With a somber look, Mirror Moon gazed down at the crimson strands of blood creeping over her hand and muttered. She could clearly feel the entry of a foul, potent force—invading her and all that was connected to her bloodline.

She knew exactly where it came from.

It was from her half-sister—the Spider Queen, Morrigan.

Yes, Selene the Mirror Moon and Morrigan the Spider Queen were sisters—daughters of the same mother, the former Shadow Main God Baybokah.

Selene’s father was Heros. Morrigan’s… was not.

Morrigan had always viewed Selene as proof of Heros seizing control over Baybokah’s pantheon. She had long rejected the idea of kinship with Selene—denying their sibling bond. Only near her own end had Morrigan realized… she could turn this hated bloodline into a blade—one aimed straight at Selene’s heart.

Morrigan was Selene’s sister. Selene was Dorothy’s mother. Which meant—Morrigan and Dorothy shared a close bloodline connection.

If Morrigan cooperated, then the Afterbirth Three Gods could use this blood tie to launch a fatal assault against Dorothy.

And that was exactly what was happening now.

The Fallen Gods howled, awakening the Egg of Chaos. The Plague Vulture, strengthened by the Mother of Chalice, used the Spider Queen’s divine blood as a gateway to invade Dorothy’s bloodline.

With the world’s wound worsening and the Egg of Chaos raging, Mirror Moon was forced to use almost all of her power to stabilize them both—leaving her unable to intercept the Plague Vulture’s invasion.

Of course, as a Main God, Mirror Moon could not be defeated by bloodline invasion alone.

But the Vulture’s goal wasn’t Mirror Moon. It was to use her connection—to directly strike at Dorothy.

And with Mirror Moon tied down, the bloodline assassination surged toward Dorothy—successfully.

If it were any other time, Dorothy might have had countless ways to defend against such an attack.

But now—at the peak of her apotheosis ritual—her power was restrained. She had no means of mounting an effective defense.

Yet even so, in that moment—her mother, Selene, showed no panic.

Her silver eyes gently closed. A tranquil expression appeared on her face. After a brief moment of sensing, she softly spoke.

“…Protect your family well… my child…”

…

Within the divine throne domain, atop the grand monolithic Throne of Fate, Dorothy sat still, eyes closed—just as before.

At the heart of the grand ritual, she made no movement, appearing almost as if asleep.

But on her skin, faint blood threads began to emerge and slowly spread. Her once-serene expression twitched, and her eyelids fluttered—like someone trapped in a nightmare.

And in that moment, Dorothy’s consciousness drifted somewhere in between—neither dream nor waking. In the haze of illusion and obscurity, she had fallen into a strange, dreamlike vision she had never experienced before.

…

Late at night, the full moon hung high in the sky.

This was a remote mountainous region, far from any city. Only a few faint trails of cooking smoke between the hills revealed that the area wasn’t completely uninhabited—that there were still some mountain villages scattered here.

Beyond the village stretched a vast and dense forest. Though nighttime had made the forest incredibly dangerous, a lone figure still moved within it.

It was a beautiful young village girl. Judging by appearance, she looked to be around sixteen or seventeen. She wore a simple, rough homespun dress and a headscarf. Her exposed skin was pale and smooth, bearing none of the marks of hard labor. Beneath the scarf, one could barely make out her neatly bundled hair—hair that was an unusual shade of silver.

On her back, the girl was carrying a small child—an adorable little girl of about three or four, dressed in coarse fabric like the older girl. She, too, had a head of silver hair. Her round face bore an uncanny resemblance to the one carrying her.

“Mama… are we there yet? It’s so cold… I’m scared…”

“Just hold on a little longer, Dorothy. We’re almost home. Don’t be afraid, it’s okay…”

The woman—who looked like the child’s mother—soothed her gently as she walked quickly along the moonlit path, trying to find the way home.

But before long, an unexpected change occurred.

Dark clouds drifted in from who knows where, obscuring the moon overhead. The forest below, now cast in deep shadow, became eerily dark.

“Mama… it’s so dark… sniff…”

“Don’t cry, don’t cry—we’re almost there, Dorothy…”

Just as the young woman tried to calm the frightened child on her back, a dull “boom” echoed through the forest. The ground trembled slightly, and the girl’s face suddenly changed.

Clenching her teeth, the young woman gently set the child down, then gripped her small shoulders with solemn urgency.

“Dorothy… you need to run. Go alone from here—I’ll stay and hold them off. Run! As fast as you can! Get out of here!”

“No! I don’t want to leave you, Mama!”

“Go, Dorothy! There’s no time!”

Shouting as her daughter clung to her in tears, the woman raised her voice.

At that moment, the low rumbling in the forest grew louder—as if something ominous was rapidly approaching.

“Mama… come back quickly…”

Wiping her eyes, the little girl gave her mother one last look before turning and running in the direction of home—leaving her mother behind to confront the darkness rising from the forest.

Despite her fear, the child gritted her teeth and ran, stumbling through the shadows. But before long, another unexpected danger arrived.

“Huff…”

“Aah!”

Something swooped down from the sky without warning, cutting through the air with a howl of wind. The startled girl dodged reflexively, but lost her footing and fell to the ground. As she stood back up, she saw a shadow standing on a tree branch.

It was… a vulture.

A large one. Perched above, it stared at her with a dangerous glint in its eye—as though it were looking at a corpse.

Her breathing quickened. Terrified, she turned and ran in another direction. But she hadn’t gone far before another scare halted her.

From the shadows of the forest in the direction she was heading, a beast emerged. A black wolf stepped out, drool dripping from its snarling mouth, its glowing eyes fixed on her with predatory hunger.

The frightened child backed away, breath quick and shallow, until her back hit the base of a tree. Then—from the tree itself—something slowly slithered down.

Its upper body extended toward her. When she looked closely, she saw it clearly, a crimson serpent, tongue flicking, staring straight at her.

In that moment, her eyes widened. Her heartbeat stopped. All she could do was scream—

“Aaaahhh!!”

With her terrified scream, the red serpent bared its fangs and lunged for her pale neck.

"Whoosh!"

At that very instant, a sharp whistle split the air. The crimson snake was snatched away by a speeding blur and slammed into a nearby tree with a heavy thud.

Startled, the little girl—who had instinctively shut her eyes—opened them to find herself unharmed. She looked to the side and saw—

—an axe embedded in the tree next to her, pinning the crimson snake through the middle as it writhed violently.

And she recognized that axe.

It was her family’s axe!

A figure approached from not far off, stopping in front of the pinned serpent. He grasped the axe, pressed it down—cleaving the snake cleanly in half—then pulled it free and turned silently toward her.

It was a boy, about ten years old, wearing plain clothes. He had brown eyes and short chestnut hair. Gripping the axe tightly, he stepped in front of her and raised the blade, pointing it at the vulture and the black wolf.

“You filthy beasts… if you touch my little sister, I’ll kill you all right here!”

He shouted fiercely.

The black wolf hesitated, taking two steps back. Then it let out a furious roar and lunged. The vulture above took flight, swooping down in tandem.

“Die!”

The boy met them head-on, axe raised, fighting with all his strength. Flashes of steel, sprays of blood—howls of beasts and shouts of rage clashed in a brutal melee.

Watching the vicious battle—seeing the boy, wounded and bleeding, still swinging his axe with all his might to protect her—the little girl huddled beneath the tree whispered softly in worry.

“…Brother…”

…

“Brother…”

Within the divine throne domain, Dorothy remained seated upon the Throne of Fate, the central hub of the immense ritual.

Yet her spirit was now submerged in a dreamlike vision—her expression shifting between calm and panic. At last, she murmured softly—a word she seldom used.

“…Brother…”

This vision seemed to be a blend of Dorothy’s own memories and external interference. At first, it felt like someone else’s memory—yet gradually, she began to sense… it was hers. Fully hers.

In this throne domain, she wasn’t alone.

Floating beside the Throne of Fate was a shadowy figure, hazy and indistinct.

It was a phantom composed of black and dark red, taking the form of a striking young man. He wore a tailored noble uniform with a cape—black on the outside, red within—shaped like a bat’s wings. Though his features were blurred, his refined looks still shone through. Above his head floated a dark red crown, sharp and spiked in design.

A prince of the night.

The phantom stood beside Dorothy with arms outstretched. The bloodstained corruption covering her body began to flow—drawn by some mysterious force—leaving her and drifting toward the young man’s form.

This was Dorothy’s brother—once the mischievous village boy, later a driven young man who went to the city to work, and then the Hunter Captain of the Serenity Bureau in Pritt. From captain in Igwynt to captain in Tivian.

Gregorius Mayschoss.

Now, he stood as an imperfect Blood Shade Knight—a Prince of the Night.

With his will aligned to the will of the night sky, he stood here to protect his beloved sister.

The Spider Queen Morrigan was Mirror Moon’s sister, and by blood, she shared a close kinship with Dorothy.

In this immense divine war against corruption, it was almost certain that Morrigan would side with the Afterbirth Gods. Mirror Moon had anticipated this and knew that once allied, Morrigan’s bloodline would become a grave threat.

She foresaw that they would use Morrigan’s bloodline to strike Dorothy—and would try to prevent her from interfering.

And so, Mirror Moon sought to protect her daughter’s bloodline through another.

Gregorius, her other child.

Long ago, she had secretly guided Gregor to the Nation of Night, subjecting him to trials and tempering him without his awareness, preparing his body to house a future power—

—the power of Blood Shade Path.

After erasing Morrigan and reclaiming the Blood Shade divinity, Mirror Moon found in Gregor—the divine child and a Blood Shade Path Beyonder—the perfect vessel.

Though time was short and he could not yet become a full-fledged god, Gregor was now close enough to divinity.

Through the bond of blood, he could support Dorothy.

In this limited battlefield, he could hold off the assault of the Afterbirth Gods.

Now, transformed into the Blood Shade Knight, Gregor stood at Dorothy’s side, shielding her ritual from the gods’ corruption—connected by the bloodline they shared.

By instinct, he absorbed the filth encroaching on Dorothy—taking her pain, enduring her torment, shielding her so she could finish her ritual.

Once, the Divine Blood Shade had tried to harm Dorothy.

Now, the new Blood Shade Knight protected her.

…

“Go, Gregorius. Protect your sister. Let no harm come to her—just as you did when you were children.

Use your blood… to shield her from every form of cruelty. That is why you were born…

…my child.”

In the Nation of Night, sensing the distant battle unfolding in the realm of bloodlines, Selene whispered softly—lost in memory.