Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

Conquest Sea, Moncarlo.

In the afternoon, somewhere along a major street in Moncarlo, traffic bustled and voices filled the air. A long procession was making its way slowly along the sidewalk, watched intently by countless onlookers.

In this procession were both numerous local Moncarlo guards and a handful of Church Holy Knight Guards dressed in regulation uniforms. At the front of the group, just ahead of several Church knights, walked Vania, clad in a white nun's habit, moving forward at a calm and steady pace. Beside her was a handsome young man in his late twenties or early thirties, golden hair neatly combed, dressed smartly in a suit—he accompanied Vania throughout her walk.

Walking at the front, the white-clad nun looked around curiously at the surrounding scene. On both sides of the lively street stood rows of tall buildings, their façades covered in enormous billboards. Compared to advertisements in major cities on the main continent, these were even larger and more exaggerated—fonts and colors were glaring and vivid, so much so that the overwhelming visuals could dazzle the eyes.

As Vania's gaze swept across the storefronts along the street, she noted that many of them were upscale shops specializing in luxury items like tobacco and alcohol, followed by taverns and hotels. In addition, she could see several casinos operating openly right along the main road. Near them, brothel advertisements were brazenly displayed, and some large hotels even hung sexually explicit art of women at their entrances, blatantly advertising the "special services" they offered.

During the procession, scantily clad women occasionally stepped forward, smiling as they attempted to sell something, only to be blocked and turned away by the advancing guards. Some guards would even stop in front of the hotels displaying obscene imagery and order the signs to be temporarily taken down.

Vania took in the scene around her. When her eyes landed on the graphic promotional posters she had never seen before, her heart skipped a beat and her gaze quickly turned away, deliberately avoiding them. It was at that moment that the man beside her spoke, somewhat apologetically.

"My apologies, Sister Vania. We had attempted a citywide cleanup in preparation for your arrival, but due to time constraints, some places were overlooked. I'm afraid this is rather unsightly."

Vania turned toward him with a smile and replied.

With humility, Vania offered this response to the man addressed as Laurent. He smiled and responded in kind.

"I've long heard of Sister Vania's compassion and broad-mindedness. Meeting you today, I see it's all true. With the radiance of the holy relic you bear, I imagine Moncarlo's filth may be dispelled."

"You flatter me, Mr. Laurent," Vania said gently.

"The corruption rooted in Moncarlo stems from deep historical causes. It is not something that can be changed by a single visit. I've come only to offer a ray of salvation, through the light of the holy relic, to those poor souls teetering on the edge of depravity. I harbor no illusions about transforming Moncarlo overnight. If my visit can improve even the slightest part of its condition, that alone would be enough."

Speaking in a calm and modest tone, Vania continued, and Laurent felt quietly relieved. From their interaction, he had already judged that this nun was no religious extremist or moral fanatic—she was someone who could be reasoned with. As long as that remained true, her pilgrimage would not cause any major conflicts during her time in Moncarlo.

"When Moncarlo was first founded, it was a city built purely on sin. My father spent half a lifetime turning it into what it is today. It may not be a bastion of virtue, but it is a haven for hundreds of thousands of people. Sister Vania's ability to empathize with our situation here is truly appreciated."

Laurent continued speaking, and Vania replied.

"Captain Edward was one of the most influential converts in recent centuries. His contributions—"

She was mid-sentence when a sudden commotion erupted ahead of them. Vania and Laurent both looked in the direction of the disturbance. Several guards had gathered up front, restraining someone. Vania could faintly see struggling arms flailing from beneath the crowd of guards.

"What's going on?" Vania asked.

A guard soon came running over to Vania and Laurent to report.

"Sister, a man up ahead came rushing toward us, screaming for help like a madman. For safety reasons, we've subdued him."

Hearing this, Laurent frowned slightly and said,

"Screaming for help? Hmph… probably some lunatic overdosed on drugs again, running wild in the streets. Take him somewhere else."

"Wait," Vania interjected.

"Since he cried for help, why not hear what he has to say? What if he truly needs aid?"

Laurent frowned deeper.

"Sister Vania, this could be dangerous. That man may be faking it just to get close to you... Don't overestimate the character of the people here."

"I understand the risk," Vania replied.

"But even if there's a sliver of truth in his plea, I must meet him. As for safety, you needn't worry, Mr. Laurent. I have full confidence in my knight guardians—and I am not as defenseless as I may appear."

Laurent paused, then said no more. He signaled for the guards to bring the man over. Before long, a middle-aged man with a panicked expression was brought before Vania and Laurent. Upon seeing Vania, he froze briefly, then suddenly burst out in an emotional shout.

"A nun… the white nun… You're Sister Vania, aren't you?! Help me! Please save me! Someone's trying to kill me!"

The man—Dioro—shouted desperately as two guards restrained him. Vania's brows furrowed slightly in surprise, but she quickly stepped forward and asked in a gentle tone.

"Please, don't be afraid. No one can hurt you here. Can you tell me clearly—who is trying to harm you, and why?"

Calmed by her soothing voice, Dioro took a few deep breaths and then spoke again, still trembling.

"It's… it's a group like traffickers! They tricked us into coming to Moncarlo… and now they're trying to sell us and kill us!"

"Traffickers… Do you know their name or any identifying details?"

"Their leader calls himself Ander. He wants to sell us to a group called the Hookshark Gang. It's not just me—there are many others still being sold!"

At the mention of the Hookshark Gang, Laurent's brows immediately furrowed. Vania's expression grew solemn as she pressed further.

"Where? Where is this deal happening? Please, tell me immediately—there are still many in need of rescue!"

…

In a dingy tavern tucked away in one of Moncarlo's remote alleys, far from the bustling city center and heavy with the stench of smoke, negotiations remained deadlocked. The Gut-Eaters Society and the Hookshark Gang had been arguing over the price of the blood cattle for nearly half an hour, but still couldn't reach an agreement. Judging by how things were going, the odds of finding any consensus seemed slim.

Glass, the second-in-command of the Hookshark Gang, was growing increasingly impatient with the endless haggling. He stared at Ander, who was relentlessly trying to bargain without backing down. Finally, unable to hold back his irritation, Glass slammed the table and bellowed.

"Don't you gutter rats know when to quit? Don't forget whose turf you're standing on! You've got a death wish, is that it?!"

With his outburst, the entire tavern—filled with Hookshark Gang members—simultaneously drew their weapons, pointing them straight at Ander. In an instant, countless gleaming blades and cold black gun barrels were trained on him. Ander froze for a moment at the sight and then visibly deflated.

"Whoa, whoa, easy now… Second Boss Glass, let's talk this through, no need to draw steel. We're all friends here…"

Wearing a strained smile, Ander tried to placate Glass. Seeing him cave, Glass let out a cold snort of satisfaction and arrogantly continued.

"Friends? Hmph. Fine. If you want things to end peacefully, then stop playing games. I'll give you my final offer. Twelve head of blood cattle—for 47,000 lir. Take it, and the deal's done. Refuse, and we'll continue negotiating in a way that's… less friendly. Your choice."

As he finished speaking, Glass slapped a revolver down on the table with a sharpcrack. Ander quickly nodded in agreement.

"Alright, alright, forty-seven it is. We won't haggle anymore. That's a fair price."

Ander accepted the offer without protest. Seeing him so submissive only made Glass feel more pleased with himself. He gave a signal to a subordinate, who promptly placed a briefcase on the table. Opening it revealed neat bundles of cash.

The subordinate took out a portion of the bills, counted them, and then zipped the briefcase shut and tossed it to Ander. Ander caught it and rapidly flipped through the contents. After confirming the sum—47,000 lir, equivalent to about 2,200 pounds—he nodded.(T/N: Now this one is 375 lir = 11 pounds. Idk anymore man.)

"Many thanks, Second Boss Glass. The rest of the goods are in the carriage outside. Ready for inspection at any time."

Cradling the cash-filled briefcase, Ander bowed slightly. Glass, now leisurely puffing on a cigarette, turned to his alchemist and other subordinates.

"Go with him. Check the goods."

At Glass's command, the gang members stowed their weapons and followed the alchemist out of the tavern alongside Ander. Glass remained behind, puffing away as he waited for a report. Before long, a flustered subordinate burst through the door, rushing up to Glass and exclaiming.

"Second Boss! There's a problem with the goods!"

"Problem? What kind of problem?"

"Of the seven outside, only six are still alive! One of them's already dead! Useless for live extraction!"

Glass's brow furrowed as he stubbed out his cigarette.

"So they lost more than just one, huh? Where's that bastard Ander? Bring him in!"

"He… he ran! Knocked out the guy watching him and escaped with the money!"

Hearing this, Glass's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Oh? He dared to hit one of ours? Got some guts, that one. Looks like someone needs to remind them whose turf Moncarlo really is. Go after him! Hunt him down and bring him back!"

Glass barked the order, completely unbothered by Ander's escape. The Hookshark Gang ruled Moncarlo like their own backyard—there was nowhere on the island city they couldn't reach.

"Yes, sir!"

The subordinate immediately ran out to spread the word. Glass, still seated in the tavern, began contemplating which of Moncarlo's traditional tortures would be most fitting once they captured Ander.

But just then, a loud commotion erupted outside—shouts, screams, and panic. Frowning again, Glass yelled irritably.

"What the hell's going on out there?!"

As if in response, the tavern doors burst open and the same subordinate stumbled in, bleeding from the head and visibly shaken.

"Second Boss… someone… someone's attacking us!"

The bloodied man wavered unsteadily before Glass. Glass shouted.

"Attacking?! Who?! Was it Ander trying to take revenge?!"

"N-No… it's the city guards…"

"City guards?! That's impossible! Captain Kuli was paid more than generously this month! Why would the guards show up?!"

Glass leapt to his feet in disbelief. But the subordinate stammered on.

"It's not… Captain Kuli… The one leading them is… the Tenth Young Lord…"

"T-The Tenth Young Lord…"

The color instantly drained from Glass's furious face. His posture, just moments ago upright and imposing, collapsed as he slumped back into his chair in utter defeat.

…

At that same moment, somewhere on a street in Moncarlo, a white-haired girl was strolling casually while observing the chaos unfolding at the tavern from a bird's-eye view—courtesy of her avian corpse marionette. Meanwhile, in the carriage, another of her corpse marionettes lightly patted the briefcase stuffed with cash. Licking her sweet-flavored popsicle, she smiled and said:

"That deal was a good one. Totally worth it."

…

Elsewhere, on the docks of Moncarlo's harbor, a new cruise ship was slowly approaching its berth. On the ship's deck, a girl with long wavy gray hair, wearing a simple dress and a bow-tied headband, who appeared to be around thirteen or fourteen, leaned against the railing and gazed at the approaching city.

"Wow… So this is Moncarlo? It looks nothing like any other lively city I've seen before…"

She sighed in wonder. Beside her, a small pitch-black cat sat upright on the deck, staring solemnly at the looming city ahead.