Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

Igwynt Upper City, North Bank of the Ironclay River, Midstream.

At noon, on a riverside street, a carriage moved slowly. Inside it sat the corpse marionette Brandon, being escorted by a contact from the Crimson Eucharist as they headed toward the organization’s stronghold. Meanwhile, far behind, Dorothy’s carriage followed at a discreet distance.

Seated in her carriage, Dorothy controlled her marionette and observed the surroundings. The streets were tidy, lined with flourishing street trees. The houses on either side were exquisite standalone buildings, each with a small garden. Iron gates marked the entrances to these properties, and passersby dressed in elegant attire added to the affluent air.

“This is White River Riverside. Seems like Buck has some status after all,” Dorothy thought.

The White River Riverside area was Igwynt’s affluent district. As the Ironclay River flowed through the city, industrial and domestic waste heavily polluted its waters downstream, turning them murky and foul-smelling. Only the mid-to-upper sections of the river remained habitable, and White River Riverside was the most desirable part. This attracted Igwynt’s wealthier residents to settle there.

Living in this area symbolized a degree of prosperity, and Buck was no exception. Dorothy, ready to act, set her sights on getting ahead of the Bureau to raid Buck’s residence.

Under Dorothy’s pursuit, Brandon’s carriage finally stopped in front of an exquisite three-story riverside mansion.

“Wow… this guy’s house is massive, at least three times the size of that Burton place. That rundown bookstore on White Pearl Street can’t even compare. Among all the Eucharist leaders so far, Buck seems to hold the highest position,” Dorothy mused as she observed Buck’s mansion through Brandon’s perspective.

The carriage passed through iron gates into the courtyard, eventually stopping at the grand entrance. Brandon stepped out with his briefcase and, under the guidance of a gatekeeper, entered the ornately decorated foyer.

“Per Lord Buck’s instructions, Mr. Brandon, please wait for him in the study. He’ll be back shortly after handling those hounds. Allow me to escort you,” a butler-like figure said to Brandon.

“Much appreciated,” Brandon replied, following the butler upstairs while surreptitiously observing the surroundings under Dorothy’s control.

“There’s minimal defense here. Including the coachman, there seem to be only three or four people left. Most of their grunts must’ve been sent to the ambush at the Flooded Dockyard. Perfect,” Dorothy thought as she scanned the area.

During the walk, she noticed a room filled with large porcelain vases and glass display cases holding various handmade crafts.

“So much porcelain and glass… Is this a collection room? Looks like Buck has a hobby for collecting. Too bad these huge vases are too cumbersome to move. Otherwise, selling them would fetch quite a sum,” Dorothy calculated, planning how to liquidate Buck’s assets.

The butler noticed Brandon’s gaze lingering on the collection room and commented, “This is Lord Buck’s collection room.”

“I see. They’re very beautiful,” Brandon replied.

Soon, the butler led him to a spacious study and said, “Please wait here, Mr. Brandon. Lord Buck should return soon. I’ll go downstairs to prepare the sacrament for the gathering.”

“Thank you,” Brandon replied.

As the butler turned to leave, Brandon’s face darkened. Taking two quick steps, he grabbed the butler’s mouth and slit his throat with a knife.

The butler let out muffled cries of shock but soon fell silent. Under the influence of the Chalice spirituality, his wound stopped bleeding, and his expression turned vacant. He had been converted into a marionette.

“One down. There should be two or three left. Once they’re dealt with, I can loot the place freely,” Dorothy thought from her carriage not far from Buck’s mansion.

Just as she prepared to use her two marionettes to clean out the entire stronghold, an unexpected voice reached her ears through Brandon’s hearing.

“Lord Buck has returned!”

A servant’s voice echoed from downstairs, startling Dorothy.

“He’s back? So soon? No… wasn’t he supposed to be caught in the ambush by the Bureau’s hunters at the Flooded Dockyard? Did they fail to eliminate him?!” Dorothy thought in alarm, though her hands never stopped controlling her marionettes.

She made the butler adjust his tie to conceal his neck wound and had Brandon sit casually in the study. Meanwhile, she directed the butler marionette to head downstairs. Before long, she saw Buck and a dust-covered Clifford ascending the stairs.

“Phew… finally back. But everyone else must be dead, right? Damn it! Who the hell leaked the information? Since when did the Bureau plant a spy among us…ugh,” Clifford muttered while leaning on a cane, his face contorted in pain. His body was bloodied, and his injuries from close-range shrapnel wounds had left him severely debilitated.

“Damn… I need to find a place to get these shards removed,” he groaned.

“It might not be a Bureau mole,” Buck said, walking steadily despite his own battered state. “If the Bureau had truly planted a spy, we’d have faced an ambush upon returning. The fact that our stronghold remains intact suggests the Bureau didn’t know about this place beforehand. It’s likely that mysterious group leaked the intel to them again…”

Buck’s expression was stern. Unlike Clifford, he appeared relatively unscathed.

“But this place isn’t safe anymore. The situation has been off recently. Gather the essential items—we’ll temporarily evacuate Igwynt and lay low for a while,” Buck commanded.

As Buck spoke, the marionette butler passed nearby and deferentially greeted him.

“Lord Buck…”

“You smell heavily of blood,” Buck remarked, eyeing the familiar figure.

“Oh, that’s because Mr. Brandon was injured while fleeing. I was just helping him dress his wounds. He’s waiting for you in the study now,” the marionette butler replied smoothly.

Buck nodded and instructed, “Good. Notify everyone left here to prepare the carriages for evacuation. I’ll come down in ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” the butler replied, descending the stairs as Buck and Clifford entered the study.

Inside, they found Brandon resting in a chair, wrapping his bandaged right hand.

“Mr. Buck,” Brandon greeted.