Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

In the Igwynt’s Serenity Bureau, everything suddenly became bustling. People moved back and forth as the assembly alarm reverberated continuously in the underground space.

At this moment, Brandon’s workstation was also in a flurry of activity. He was anxiously handling the equipment issuance process for two hunter squads. Looking at the task target column on the equipment requisition form, Brandon felt a surge of surprise.

“Flooded Dockyard… really… What happened to bring this forward by half an hour? Should I confirm this with Mr. Buck using the ‘Dream Anchor’? No… Mr. Buck already instructed me to only use the Dream Anchor if the hunter squads fail to deploy or delay their operation. But this time, they moved out so quickly…”

Brandon was slightly uneasy as he processed these thoughts. After finally completing the equipment issuance for the hunter squads and watching them march out in formation through a secret passage, he returned to his seat, his brow still furrowed.

“Never mind. The hunter squads are already out, and their destination matches Mr. Buck’s ambush point. According to Mr. Buck, he had set up the ambush long ago, so there shouldn’t be any issues. The signal coming in early must be due to some unknown factor, but everything is still within the plan. Maybe the florist got the timing wrong. Dream Anchor sigils are precious—I only have one and can’t use it recklessly…”

As he contemplated, Brandon’s expression became more resolute.

“The early signal is unexpected, but everything is proceeding as planned. The hunters are out, and James isn’t here. This is my chance… Mr. Buck told me to act based on the situation, so I can’t be rigid. Since the signal came early, my actions must also advance.”

With this in mind, Brandon turned to look at the heavy iron door behind him, his gaze growing darker.

Then, in a moment when no one was watching, Brandon took out a heavy iron key, walked to the door, inserted the key, and opened it, stepping inside.

…

In the bustling lobby of the Cypress Fir Tower, Ada, a middle-aged woman with slightly graying hair and glasses, sat behind the reception desk, busily transcribing something. As she wrote, she muttered to herself.

“Last month, one bouquet. Today, another… Heh… When did this place turn into a flower collection service? Young people these days… Can’t they just send letters properly instead of hiding them in flowers? Is this supposed to be romantic?”

Adjusting her glasses, Ada sighed wistfully.

“If only… one of these bouquets was meant for me…”

“Ma’am! Delivery from Bud Flower Shop—scheduled for 10:30 this morning. Right on time! Please confirm receipt.”

Before Ada could dwell further on her thoughts, a cheerful voice interrupted her. She looked up to see a young man holding a bouquet of fresh flowers.

“Ah… Just leave it here. Thank you, young man.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. The order has been delivered. I’ll take my leave now.”

The young man quickly jogged out of the lobby, leaving Ada staring curiously at the flowers on the desk.

“Another one? It’s only been half an hour… Heh, at this rate, the Bureau might as well open a flower shop…”

Murmuring to herself, Ada turned her attention to the small envelope tucked among the flowers. She pulled it out, opened it, and read the message on the card inside. Her expression immediately turned serious.

“To the esteemed guardians of Igwynt: The Crimson Eucharist will hold a gathering today at 11:30 AM in Warehouse No. 2, East Storage Zone, Flooded Dockyard.”

Ada pondered the message briefly, then muttered to herself with a touch of concern.

“But… the young men have already gone out…”

…

Late morning, Igwynt’s eastern outskirts, downstream of the Ironclay River.

The Flooded Dockyard was a desolate area inhabited only by vagrants and a few impoverished residents. Most of the space was in a state of decay and disrepair, especially the eastern storage zone. This area, filled with abandoned, half-constructed buildings, was eroded by repeated flooding, making it dangerously unstable. Few dared to settle there, making it the most desolate part of an already desolate dock.

From a covert perspective, however, this made it an ideal hideout, perfect for conducting illicit activities.

Around Warehouse No. 2 in the storage zone stood four abandoned buildings and a derelict clock tower. Members of the Crimson Eucharist had taken positions in these structures, each armed with firearms and aiming at the central warehouse through concealed firing points.

The ambush was already set. All they had to do now was wait for their prey to arrive.

“Buck… What time is it now? When are they coming?”

In a room atop the abandoned clock tower, an elderly man with a hunched frame, Clifford, asked impatiently. Beside him, Buck, impeccably dressed in a suit and holding a ruby-topped cane, glanced at his wristwatch before replying.

“It’s 11:20 now. Our flowers were delivered at 10:30. The Serenity Bureau is far from here, and they’ll need time to prepare. They won’t arrive so quickly.”

“Heh… Prepare? These fools think they’re coming to hunt but don’t realize they’re the ones being hunted… heh heh…”

Clifford chuckled darkly. Buck continued, his tone calm but wary.

“Don’t celebrate too soon. If that mysterious organization is truly a front created by James’ Serenity Bureau, the hunter squads might not take the bait. They might either refuse to engage or prepare an elaborate counter-ambush. That’s why I told Brandon to use the Dream Anchor if they show any signs of hesitation or delay.”

Buck glanced at a nearby Crimson Eucharist member, currently in a dream-like state. This man served as their conduit for dream-based communications.

“But since there’s been no message, it means we were overthinking. James likely knows nothing about this organization, and their hunters are on their way as we speak.”

Clifford nodded. “Let’s hope they hurry up and come to die. I’m tired of waiting. Even the sentries haven’t signaled yet—they must not be at the dockyard yet.”

“Patience. It won’t be long before the sentries spot them. Focus and wait for their sig—”

“Bang!”

Before Buck could finish, a gunshot rang out. In the blink of an eye, a burst of blood erupted from Buck’s head, and he collapsed lifelessly.

From a third-floor window in a building 700 meters away, Elena lowered her rifle, ejecting the spent casing. Smoke wafted from the barrel of her gun, which lacked any optical sights.

“Praise the Lamp, Praise the Holy Father, for granting me illumination and guidance.”

Murmuring softly, Elena chambered another round and turned to Gregor, standing nearby.

“Looks like I just took out their leader. We can begin the assault.”

“Impressive as always, Elena, the ‘Beacon of Light.'”

Gregor smiled, planting his bloodstained sword into the ground as he examined a detailed hand-drawn map laid out before him.

The map depicted the Flooded Dockyard in meticulous detail, marking every building and road. Numerous symbols annotated ambush points, sentry positions, disguises, and more—all centered around Warehouse No. 3.

Many sentry points had already been crossed out. The marks were Gregor’s handiwork, accomplished with his blade.