Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

Outside the cabin door, a man named Dioro stood at the slightly ajar entrance, eavesdropping on the conspiratorial conversation taking place within. The secretive words that inadvertently leaked out chilled him to the bone.

"Slaughter… cattle… swine… Lord Envoy… just what is Lord Envoy talking about?"

Listening to the conversation inside, Dioro trembled inwardly. Comparing cattle to humans and speaking openly about slaughter—these phrases led his thoughts to some terrifying implications. Yet he didn't dare to draw a firm conclusion just yet. He decided to remain at the door and continue eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Forget it. It's just the loss of one. Barely acceptable. We're about to dock anyway. What we need to focus on now is the handoff. All preparations for the delivery are complete, right?"

"Everything's ready. Their side is in position. As soon as we land, we take all the blood cattle over. Money and goods exchanged the same day. No risk of complications from delay."

"Is the delivery spot secure? The guards in Moncarlo won't find it?"

"Don't worry. The Hookshark Gang are locals in Moncarlo. They know every move the guards make. They picked the best possible location. I heard even the guards near the deal site have already been bought off. Whatever happens, the guards will turn a blind eye. The only thing we might need to worry about is those zealots from the Church."

"The Church? What can they do to us in Moncarlo with their influence?"

"That was before. Things are a bit different now. A rather famous nun has recently arrived in Moncarlo for some kind of holy relic pilgrimage. And wouldn't you know it—she just got here today. Because of her visit, city security has been tightened across the board. Apparently, she's going to tour the city, and I'm worried if she wanders too freely, she might accidentally disrupt our plans..."

"Hard to say. Anyway, once we're ashore, everyone needs to be on alert. That's enough talk—let's go inform the blood cattle and get them ready to disembark."

"Mm…"

The conversation within the cabin reached its end. What followed was a series of increasingly loud footsteps. Hearing them, Dioro realized that the people inside were about to come out. Panic surged through him, and he immediately turned and bolted.

However, perhaps due to the force of his movements, the people inside heard the commotion. A stern voice shouted from within.

"Who's out there?!"

Hearing this, Dioro's heart jumped to his throat. He quickened his pace and sprinted away from the cabin. But he had only taken two steps before a large hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind. His shoulder was forced down with a heavy pressure, causing him to lose his balance and crash to the ground. He rolled once before flipping around—and saw the angry face of the middle-aged man from the Gut-Eaters Society.

"Ah… Mr. Ander, I didn't hear anything, I—mmph…"

Just as Dioro tried to explain, a young man he didn't recognize suddenly stepped out from beside Ander. He reached down and covered Dioro's mouth with his hand. Dioro could no longer speak, only lie on the ground and struggle desperately. But the young man had him completely subdued—he couldn't move at all.

Facing the two men before him, Dioro was utterly terrified but helpless. Once the young man had secured his grip, he turned to Ander and said grimly.

"What do we do? I think this blood cattle overheard everything we said…"

Staring at him, Ander replied gravely.

"If he heard it, then we can't let him go. If he warns the other cattle, things could get messy. Cattle must not know it's going to slaughter before it's sent to market… Knock him out. Tie him up and bring him along."

Ander had given his verdict. As soon as he finished speaking, the young man acted. Dioro felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck—then everything went black. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Seeing Dioro completely passed out, the young man and Ander exchanged a glance. A faint smile curled on both their lips. The young man then fumbled through his belongings and pulled out a feathered pen. After pulling down Dioro's shirt to expose his back, he began writing on Dioro's skin with the pen.

…

Time passed, and soon the massive cruise ship—guided by a pilot vessel—navigated its way around countless coral reefs and small islands, passing between fortified islets and coastal turrets until it finally reached the main island of the Moncarlo Archipelago.

Amid cheers, the passengers on the front deck of the cruise ship finally caught sight of their journey's destination: Moncarlo City. Gazing ahead from the deck, one could see a dense cluster of high-rise buildings in the distance and a bustling, well-organized harbor. Mounted atop a row of seafront skyscrapers were massive steel-framed letters spelling out the Ivengardian word for "City of Opportunity," a display that carried a certain air of ostentation.

Under professional guidance, the cruise ship pulled into the thriving harbor and came to a stop at a berth. As the boarding ramps were connected, the neatly packed passengers began to disembark in an orderly fashion. Of course, not all passengers went ashore through conventional means.

"You there, you're under arrest for murder. Causing trouble on a ship headed for Moncarlo? You must be tired of living."

On the aft deck of the ship, a few uniformed policemen with iron helmets were present. One officer, clearly the leader, snapped handcuffs onto a young man's wrists and spoke with a stern tone. The youth glared back and retorted.

"Hmph... A bunch of pirates playing at law enforcement now? I only killed a drunken lout who mouthed off—something like that wouldn't have even made a ripple in your city a few years ago. Now you're throwing me in jail for it? Bandits dressed in suits, what a joke... ugh!"

Before he could finish, the officer struck him hard in the stomach with a solid punch. The force doubled the young man over in agony, and he collapsed to the ground, curled up in pain.

"Still got a mouth on you, eh? Talk to me like that again and you'll be getting plenty more 'education' once we're back. Take him away."

The officer snarled and gestured. The surrounding police obeyed his orders, dragging the youth away. After watching him being hauled off, the squad leader turned to the two figures standing nearby—Captain William and Detective Ed.

"Didn't expect a murder case to happen on a simple cruise ship like this, and for you folks to actually catch the suspect yourselves. That's impressive. If only other ships managed their affairs this well, it'd save us a lot of work."

"We owe the swift resolution of this case entirely to Detective Ed here."

Captain William replied, turning to the man at his side. Ed responded with a modest smile.

"It was nothing. Just a routine case. I was only doing my job."

"Detective Ed, you're too modest."

Captain William continued admiringly.

"To identify the culprit with just a few testimonies and a couple of passenger rosters—truly eye-opening."

"Haha, once information is gathered and organized properly, it can reveal many hidden clues. That kind of analysis is a detective's bread and butter."

Hearing this, the police squad leader perked up with interest. Looking at Ed, he spoke with a hint of enthusiasm.

"Oh? So it was you who cracked the case. You must have some skills if you solved it this quickly. So, tell me—ever thought of staying in Moncarlo? We've got more cases here than you can count. Do well and you might even catch the eye of some bigwig—wealth and glory won't be a problem."

"Haha, thank you for the offer, sir, but I'm from Pritt. I came to Moncarlo just for a bit of travel. I'm not thinking about relocating abroad for now—but I'll keep it in mind if that ever changes."

Ed replied politely, and the squad leader, clearly not taking his own offer too seriously, waved his hand casually.

"Well, think about it when the time comes. Anyway, I've got work to do. That celebrity nun from the Church showed up today, and suddenly there's more on my plate. Seriously, what's wrong with staying in a chapel and praying? Why come all the way to a place like Moncarlo for no reason…"

He grumbled, clearly irritated. Captain William, intrigued, asked curiously.

"A nun? Could it be the Church's envoy from Addus—Sister Vania? She's arrived already?"

"Yeah… she's here. Over there. That little princess nun insisted on a city tour before checking into her hotel. It's a real pain."

As he complained, the squad leader raised a hand and pointed off in the distance. There, docked at the harbor he indicated, was a ship flying the Church's flag. At the pier beside it stood a ceremonial honor guard, a brass band played lively music, and crowds of onlookers gathered in droves—an undeniably festive sight.

Watching the scene unfold, Ed sighed with emotion.

"Sister Vania, the Church's rising star… bringing holy relics to this city of desire. I wonder how much sin she hopes to purify here."

…

Afternoon, Moncarlo.

In a secluded alley away from the main streets of sprawling Moncarlo City stood a small, out-of-the-way tavern. At its entrance, several burly men were standing guard. Their exposed skin bore tattoos of sharks pierced through with iron hooks.

Pedestrians passing by instinctively kept their distance upon spotting the tattoos. They knew what those markings meant. In Moncarlo, only one type of people bore them—the members of one of the city's most notorious gangs: the Hookshark Gang.

Not far from the tavern entrance, a large black carriage was parked, guarded by several men. Inside the tightly secured tavern, a sinister deal was underway. In the dimly lit bar hall, several men and women lay bound and gagged on the ground, struggling in terror. But each one was firmly held down by two or three Hookshark Gang members, rendering their efforts useless.

Gang members were drawing blood from the captives with syringes and immediately testing it on-site. After a flurry of work, the gang's alchemist obtained the test results and hurried over to the bar counter to report to a burly man seated there—dressed in leather jacket and pants, leather hat on his head, and a scar across his face.

"Mr. Glass, these goods check out. All of them are premium-grade blood cattle…"

The alchemist gave his report. Glass nodded after hearing it, took a heavy drag on the cigarette in his mouth, and blew out a cloud of smoke. Then he turned to the Gut-Eaters Society member seated across from him—Ander—and asked.

"The goods are fine, but why are there only five here? Where are the rest?"

"The rest are in the carriage outside. These are just samples for testing. Once payment is settled, I'll bring in the others."

Ander replied calmly, unfazed by Glass's smoking. Glass pressed further.

"How many more in the carriage?"

"Seven."

"Seven? That makes twelve total. Wasn't there supposed to be thirteen?"

"One died en route. There was an accident. The corpse's blood would've spoiled before we could process it, so we dumped it in the sea. You know how it is, Second Boss Glass—losses during long transport are normal."

Ander's tone remained neutral. Glass raised a brow slightly and then responded.

"Losses are normal, sure. But deducting a bit for the loss is also normal. Sorry, but we can't pay the full agreed amount. How about this?"

Glass named his price. In this context, lir was Ivengard's currency—10,000 lir was worth about 375 pounds. Each blood cattle equated to around 250 pounds.(T/N: The source text is confusing/erroneous for this part, so I changed it a bit based on some numbers here and did basic math. If the exchange rate changed in the future chapter, then that is the right one.)

"Sixty thousand… That's too much, Second Boss Glass. We're only one short, and you're cutting twenty thousand lir? Isn't that a bit excessive?"

Ander's expression turned stern as he objected. But Glass remained unbothered and replied.

"Excessive? Hmph… I'm being generous. You need to understand—Moncarlo's going to be busier than usual over the next few days. I've already accepted loads of orders. You being short by even one affects our stock and causes contract breaches. The damage to our reputation alone is incalculable. Charging you this minor penalty is already lenient—out of respect for our long-term partnership."

"How many orders you've taken on is your business, not mine. I only know the rule—full payment for twelve heads. Not a coin less!"

Ander snapped back, rejecting the demand. Glass's expression darkened. He stubbed out his cigarette and responded even more forcefully.

While the business negotiations grew tense inside, over in the black carriage outside the tavern, seven people lay bundled in the spacious interior. Drugged and weakened, they were slumped helplessly. These were the remaining blood cattle that Ander had deliberately left outside—and among them was Dioro.

Ever since regaining consciousness, Dioro had been struggling to free himself from the ropes binding him. While watching the outside vigilantly, he hadn't stopped working at the knots. Thanks to his earlier eavesdropping, Dioro now fully understood what kind of people the so-called "Envoys" truly were—and what their intentions in bringing him to Moncarlo really were.

Driven by desperation, he fought harder against his restraints. Strangely, among the captives in the carriage, he seemed to be the only one with any strength left. The others lay limp, only able to roll their eyes helplessly.

"Come on… break…!"

Driven by sheer will, Dioro gave one last push—and suddenly, the rope binding him to the carriage snapped. A surge of exhilaration flooded through him.

He quickly calmed himself. Peeking out the carriage window, he carefully observed the surroundings. After surveying the setup several times, he confirmed that the only unguarded route was down the alley in front of the carriage—that was his chance.

Drawing in a deep breath, Dioro flung the carriage door open and bolted. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward that narrow path of escape.

"Stop! Don't run!"

A shout rang out behind him. But there was no way Dioro would stop now. He pushed his body to the limit, sprinting with everything he had. Behind him, he could hear the pounding of footsteps—his pursuers were close.

He ran nonstop through Moncarlo's winding alleyways. Whenever he faced a fork in the road, one path would be blocked by an accident or another pursuer would suddenly appear. Forced to take the only open routes, Dioro pressed on. Finally, just as exhaustion overwhelmed him, he miraculously burst out of the alleys and onto a bustling main road filled with people.

And right there—on the sidewalk not far from him—stood a white figure that immediately drew Dioro's attention. Surrounded by a crowd and several guards was a beautiful young woman in a white nun's robe, chatting with someone as she admired the streetscape.

The moment he saw her, the overheard conversation from before flashed vividly through Dioro's mind. Without a second thought, he ran straight toward the nun, waving his arms and shouting.

"Help! Please, help me!"