Northern Shore of the Conquest Sea, Navaha.
In the afternoon, Dorothy walked alone through the streets of Navaha, her expression focused. She was currently using the network of miniature corpse marionettes scattered throughout the city to investigate the homes of those afflicted with Sleep Decay Syndrome—and had already found some valuable leads. In the abandoned home of one such patient, one of her marionettes had discovered a strange altar hidden inside a sealed wardrobe.
Dorothy continued deploying her marionettes to search the other patients’ homes. The results showed that in hidden corners of these homes, more or less the same moth-shaped markings appeared. Wealthier families with spacious homes had concealed altars set up around these markings, while poorer households had only carved simple marks into the wall near the bedside. In homes where the entire family had been hospitalized, the place was abandoned. Those with relatives still living at home were pale, lethargic, and clearly in a deteriorating mental state.
After surveying several such households, Dorothy was almost entirely certain of her previous hypothesis: the so-called Sleep Decay Syndrome ravaging Navaha wasn’t an illness in the conventional sense, but rather a result of a hidden belief in a figure called “Panmoth.” Based on the information so far, worshiping the Panmoth appeared to trigger the onset of the syndrome, eventually causing mental breakdowns that led to hospitalization.
This hidden belief was passed along privately between close friends and family members, hence the clustering of afflicted individuals in family units. Even the relatives who hadn’t been committed yet were already showing signs of mental decline.
Which now begged the question—what exactly was the so-called Panmoth? Why would faith in it bring about such consequences?
“Panmoth… the bringer of beautiful dreams… there’s a hidden moth cult in this little city. But what exactly does this moth symbolize?”
Dorothy thought as she nibbled on a freshly bought potato pancake, walking along the street. The name "Panmoth" had a resonance similar to divine entities like the Spider Queen, the Gluttonous Wolf, and the Abyssal Serpent. It made her wonder—was this another god’s name? A god associated with dreams?
“The words carved beside the altar were a prayer for the Panmoth to bring beautiful dreams… The guy who tried to steal information from Vania had the ability to pull people into dreams and invade their dream cocoons unnoticed… The official name of the illness affecting the patients is Sleep Decay Syndrome…”
“All signs point to a cabal in Navaha linked to dreams. And dreams are associated with the spiritualities of Shadow and Revelation. But since main-path Revelation Beyonders have disappeared in this age, they must be auxiliary Revelation practitioners with Shadow as their main path… That would make them Dream Devourers, the same path as the little fox. Could this cabal be connected to her?” “What’s even weirder is… in this era, not only have main-path Revelation Beyonders vanished, but even auxiliary ones are rare. Only people like Adèle or Aldrich—lucky individuals with fortuitous encounters—can stumble upon Revelation abilities. There aren’t even legacies left; people have to rely on archaeological discoveries to advance. And yet, here in Navaha, we suddenly find a fully functioning Revelation auxiliary cabal. It’s absurd.”
Still munching on the last of her potato cake, Dorothy couldn’t shake her curiosity. From what she’d learned through Vania, the cabal only sent two agents to investigate—one of whom died from severe backlash after encountering cognitive poison, and the other fled immediately after. Sending two Revelation auxiliary cannon fodder for such a task didn’t show much reverence for that rank of Beyonder.
“Sending two Black Earth-rank Revelation auxiliary grunts to do something like this… It feels like they don’t consider Dream Devourers rare at all—just average Black Earth-rank Beyonders, no big deal in a mid-to-large cabal. But that doesn’t make sense. If Revelation auxiliary Beyonders were truly that common for them, then as long as they had a single Gold-rank leader to resist rank backlash, they could just use divination resources to bombard every other cabal into ruin, right?”
“But if they don’t have a Gold-rank leader, then they’re weaker than other cabals of similar size and should’ve been torn apart long ago. How are they still functioning this well?”
Finishing her snack, Dorothy wiped her hands and muttered, “Phew… It’s getting late. I’ll head back to the inn and continue the surveillance there. And I’ll figure out what this ‘Panmoth’ thing really is.”
After dinner at the best Cassatian restaurant near her inn, Dorothy returned to her room. Sitting at her desk, she took out her magic box, drew forth the Literary Sea Logbook, and flipped to the communications page dedicated to Gregor. After thinking for a moment, she began writing her first report—under the name “Detective”—about her latest “vacation” out in the field.
…
Northern Tivian, on a quiet stretch of road outside a residential complex.
At dusk, a carriage pulled up by the curb. Gregor, dressed in a vest and checkered shirt, jumped down lightly with his briefcase and coat. He turned and bid the coachman farewell with a smile before heading into the complex.
Having just emerged from yet another endless string of overtime shifts, Gregor was finally getting off work early for once. After the Bureau’s private carriage dropped him off, he hurried toward his residence, intent on changing clothes and finding a decent place for dinner.
“Sigh… Eating out every day feels like such a waste of money. Maybe I should just eat at the Bureau cafeteria before heading home? But that would be too late… The real problem is I don’t know how to cook for myself.”
“I wonder how Dorothy’s eating over in Tivian… Probably just at the school cafeteria. I didn’t give her that much allowance either, and she hasn’t asked me for more—which means she’s been budgeting. Just like back in the village… She’s always been a sensible and frugal kid.”
“Though this time, I gave her extra money for the trip. Hopefully she’s enjoying herself a little more comfortably.”
Gregor thought to himself. Given his current income, he was actually part of the affluent class in all of Pritt. He could easily afford to give Dorothy enough to live like a wealthy Igwynt heiress. But as her guardian, he wanted to raise her to be frugal and not wasteful. So he only gave her a modest amount for living expenses.
Around Dorothy, Gregor always claimed he had just a bit of money, and that it came from hard work. He tried to paint the picture that their life wasn’t particularly well-off, hoping to prevent her from growing proud or lazy due to suddenly improved circumstances, and risk derailing her education.
Gregor planned to wait until Dorothy at least graduated from secondary school before telling her the truth—that he was actually quite well-off. He imagined her reaction would be priceless.
As he entertained these thoughts, Gregor reached his rented townhouse. After unlocking the door and entering, he was just about to go change clothes when he suddenly felt a slight disturbance across his body.
“This is… Detective’s signal?”
Gregor frowned slightly and muttered to himself. He gave up on changing clothes and headed straight for his bedroom. Sitting down at his desk, he pulled a small notebook out from the drawer.
This was something he had received at home not long after the Duke’s assassination case. According to the attached note, it served as a communication channel with the detective and others in their organization—similar to the Eight-Spired Nest’s Face Spider or Afterbirth’s Sensory Flesh Altar. These forms of “mystical transmission” were only used in critical moments.
Having received the signal through the mark on his body, Gregor assumed something must’ve been written in the notebook.
Sure enough, after flipping through a few pages, unfamiliar handwriting began to appear across the paper.
After carefully reading the words, Gregor furrowed his brows.
“…Hmm. Detective wants me to ask that little fox gremlin some questions?”
…
Time passed swiftly, and night fell over Tivian.
After grabbing dinner outside, Gregor returned home, put on a record with soothing music, and sat at his desk to finish writing the investigation report due tomorrow. Once he was done, he let out a long yawn, packed the report into his briefcase, and headed to the bathroom for a shower.
After changing into his pajamas, he glanced at the clock, turned off the lights, got into bed, and pulled the covers over himself.
After performing the lucid dreaming technique, Gregor quickly fell asleep. Remaining aware in the dream realm, he activated the mimicry incantation and transformed into a massive, pitch-black hunting hound. Then, he let out a deep howl.
A shimmering portal opened in the Dreamscape in response.
Without hesitation, Gregor—in black hound form—leapt through the gateway. He exited his personal dream and stood atop his dream cocoon, staring into the forest of towering dream-trees.
“Yo~ Black Dog, you’re pretty punctual today, huh? Looks like your overtime’s finally over.”
A familiar bright voice echoed from below. Gregor looked down to see the little white fox, tail swishing, crouched beside a dream portal.
“Yeah… Miss Fox, I finally finished all the extra work. Finally getting to sleep like a normal human again.”
While responding, Gregor jumped down from the massive branches and landed on the grassy floor of the forest. The little fox glanced at him and nodded.
“Not bad, not bad. Getting proper sleep again is a good start. You’d skipped Dreamspace for so many weeks, I thought you’d died on a mission. I even asked Lord Dragon, and he said you were—get this—doing overtime.”
“Heh… One more week of that and I probably really would’ve died…”
The black hound Gregor grumbled as he spoke, and just then, the little fox turned around, preparing to walk into the portal behind her.
“Let’s go. I found a good hunting ground today—not far from the Dragon’s Territory, so it’s pretty safe. If we’re lucky, we might catch something big~”
She was about to step into the dream anchor portal, when Gregor suddenly called out.
“Please wait a moment, Miss Fox. There’s something I’d like to ask you.”
“Oh? You have a question for me? What is it?”
Hearing Gregor’s words, the little fox turned around in surprise. Gregor remained crouched on the grassy ground and continued.
“It’s about something in the Dreamscape. Miss Fox, have you ever heard of ‘Panmoth’?”
When Gregor asked that, the little fox froze on the spot. She stood stunned for a long moment before finally speaking again, this time with an intense expression.
“Moth… Y-You—where did you hear that name? How do you know about that false dream god?! Don’t tell me—you encountered those traitors in the waking world?!”
She questioned Gregor with agitation. He blinked in surprise at her outburst, then continued.
“False dream god? Traitors? Miss Fox, what is going on here? What exactly is this Panmoth? Who are these ‘traitors’ you’re referring to? And what’s your connection to them?”
Hearing Gregor’s barrage of questions, the little fox paused briefly. Only then did she realize she’d let too much slip in her moment of emotion. Remembering her grandfather’s instructions, she quickly shut her mouth and refused to reveal more for now. Instead, she asked cautiously.
“First, tell me how you learned about the moth. Then I’ll decide whether or not I can tell you anything else.”
Gregor didn’t hide anything and responded honestly.
“Well, this was something I was asked to find out by the colleague of the detective who helped me last time. He’s apparently on assignment right now and ran into a situation, so he asked me to ask you.”
The little fox listened and grew more suspicious inside.
“Ask me? Isn’t that detective from the same hidden cabal as Lord Dragon? Why wouldn’t he ask the dragon instead? Does he think it’s not important enough to bother the higher-ups of the organization? Or… is he trying to test me with this?”
She stood there mulling it over for a while. Eventually, having reached a conclusion, she spoke to Gregor again.
“Alright then… tell me what situation the detective ran into, and I’ll see if I can give you any answers.”
Gregor didn’t hold back and relayed what the detective had written to him—about the strange phenomena in a small city in Cassatia. As soon as the little fox heard it, she blurted out.
“Sleep Decay Syndrome? Moth worship? The dreams of that city’s residents must’ve been cultivated by the Blackdream Hunting Pack and caught by one of Panmoth’s ‘False Cocoons’… They’re using it to help the real ‘Cocoon’ undergo metamorphosis!”