In House No. 17 of Green Shade Town, in North Tivian, Nephthys sat in the warmth of the living room, leafing curiously through the stack of “new books” before her, searching for the one she came for.
“The Legend of the Wendigo… Mystery of the Yeti… The Mists of Innsmouth… Fog Night Terror—found it!”
She muttered while sorting through the stack, finally pulling out her target with a smile. She turned toward Dorothy, who was seated in a single armchair near the fireplace, and raised the book.
“Miss Dorothy, this is the one I want!”
“Oh, that one? It’s the one based on the Night Demon legend. It was recently published in Pritt as planned. I figured that was the one you were looking for.”
Dorothy said, crossing her legs and sipping tea gracefully from the plush chair. Nephthys responded again.
“Then I’ll go ahead and borrow this one for now~ I’ll return it once I manage to buy a copy.”
“Take it. I won’t hold you to returning it. Just don’t stay up all night reading—get through your finals first.”
Dorothy replied, placing her empty teacup on the side table. Nephthys chuckled as she tucked the novel into her bag.
“Haha, don’t worry—I know how to pace myself.”
As she laughed, she glanced at the other books in the pile again. Looking at the titles, a spark of curiosity lit up in her eyes.
“I really didn’t expect it… I lost track for a while and suddenly Miss Dorothy, you’ve written so many new books. But none of these seem to be on sale around here. When are you planning to release them?”
Nephthys asked with interest, and Dorothy waved her hand lazily and replied.
“The books you see here? They’ve already been released—just not in Pritt.”
“Huh? Not in Pritt? You’ve been publishing abroad too, Miss Dorothy?”
“Of course. If too many good novels hit the same reading market all at once, they interfere with each other’s popularity. One big hit can completely overshadow another. That’s not ideal for creating lasting cultural momentum.”
Dorothy explained this slowly while glancing toward the world map hanging on her living room wall.
“So I distribute the books I’ve written across different countries and different reading markets. Once they become popular within their respective regions, I can then introduce them to each other’s markets to cross-promote and expand visibility. Right now, for example, Fog Night Terror is trending in Pritt. Once that settles, I plan to import Frankenstein, which is doing well in Falano, along with The Legend of the Wendigo and others. I’ve already distributed different novels to Cassatia and Ivengard too.”
As Dorothy explained, Nephthys was momentarily stunned. She scratched her head and laughed dryly.
“Miss Dorothy… the number of novels you’ve written all at once… that’s really something. Is this the so-called genius of a Revelation Beyonder? I can barely write a thousand-word essay without exploding. You’re just casually churning out book after book…”
“Revelation powers? Maybe that helps a bit… but mostly,” Dorothy said, wiggling a finger with a smile, “I’m standing on the shoulders of giants~”
“On the shoulders… of giants?”
…
Soon after, Dorothy saw Nephthys out and sent her back to her dorm for more studying. Once her guest was gone, Dorothy wandered back into her cozy living room in slippers. She stretched with a long yawn, wiped the tears from her eyes, and casually waved her hand—her typing corpse marionettes resumed their work. The rhythmic tapping of typewriter keys once again filled the room.
Dorothy sat down in her armchair by the fireplace, warming herself as she drifted into thought—reflecting on the global reading trends she’d helped shape over the past few months. She was orchestrating a revolution in horror literature.
As a Bizarre Author, Dorothy’s Anecdotal Body summoning ability required localized stories—urban legends, preferably those evoking fear, that matched the nature of the Shadow element. But such stories weren’t always readily available, and the extent of their spread varied greatly from region to region. That meant her abilities were unintentionally restricted by geography and lore availability. Her summoning freedom was low.
So she began to write horror-themed novels, subtly embedding those anecdotal stories into them, and spreading them globally. By popularizing these tales in novel form, she laid the groundwork to later summon Anecdotal Bodies with them wherever needed.
This was what Dorothy had been doing for the past several months. Starting with Tivian’s own “Howling Terror” urban legend, she wrote Bloodborne Lore and published it. Initially serialized in newspapers, the story gained traction. She then partnered with a publisher to release physical editions—and it became a success.
But Pritt’s market wasn’t enough. Soon, Dorothy reached out to a versatile neighbor—the automaton secretary of the White Craftsmen’s Guild. With the Guild’s global reach, she proposed a publishing collaboration in exchange for a generous share of the profits. Though the Guild typically didn’t dabble in publishing, Beverly agreed on the spot after hearing Dorothy’s bold guarantee on sales—and receiving a massive personal security deposit.
At first, the Guild partnered with foreign publishers. But after realizing that Dorothy’s books were consistently strong sellers, they went all in—founding their own publishing arms abroad and launching Dorothy’s works directly. They even poured funding into advertisements and marketing. In the end, after a few months, nearly every region saw strong sales. Using Dorothy’s work as a springboard, Beverly had successfully led the Craftsmen’s Guild into the world of secular publishing.
Of course, all of this was made possible by one key factor: the quality of Dorothy’s stories.
The reason she could confidently partner with the Guild was because she had absolute faith in the content. As long as she had proper distribution and marketing, she wasn’t worried about sales. That confidence came from the stories themselves—each one was a time-tested classic from her previous life, legendary titles from the horror-fantasy canon that had already proven themselves in another world.
Dorothy was planning to rapidly trigger a global craze for horror fiction across the civilized world—but she didn’t want to appear as an impossibly prolific author. So aside from a few novels she personally wrote based on Tivian legends, she published the rest under the names of their original authors. Her own pen name was Eit, borrowed from a female mangaka she remembered from a comic in her previous life. Under the Eit alias, she mainly published works within Pritt.
“Whew… Boosted the popularity of anecdotes and earned a healthy sum in royalties. That’s a win-win. These past few months of work weren’t in vain.”
Stretching lazily on the sofa, Dorothy murmured to herself. Thanks to her writing and waiting for the anecdotes to spread, she had passed a relatively calm and peaceful period. She hadn't gone anywhere else during this time, and nothing major had happened in Tivian. For a newly promoted Crimson-rank Beyonder, it had been a rare spell of leisure.
In these months, neither the Wolfblood Society nor the Eight-Spired Nest had stirred. Tivian’s mystical world remained quiet. The director of the Serenity Bureau had recovered, and a new archbishop had formally taken office at the Hymn Cathedral. As for Gregor, he had successfully advanced to White Ash and become a captain in the Serenity Bureau’s stationed forces—a genius recruit promoted within just a year of joining.
Meanwhile, Misha had been steadily working toward forming her Pritt Vigilance Faction, and had already secretly made contact with several Serenity Bureau members and noble families. She was indeed assembling a power base to counter the Eight-Spired Nest. As for Vania, after the official archbishop arrived, she handed over her acting position and resumed leading the holy relic pilgrimage, returning to her original duties.
After completing her first round of pilgrimages, Vania unexpectedly received an official ecclesiastical order from Holy Mount, summoning her for debriefing. She and her team arrived at Holy Mount a month and a half ago, where she entered seclusion and began receiving high-spiritual-value communion.
Such rituals signified that the Church was helping her rapidly accumulate spirituality—meaning her promotion preparations were already underway. Her advancement to Crimson-rank was now effectively guaranteed. The rest was just procedural.
To be honest, Dorothy hadn’t expected Vania’s promotion. Though Vania had achieved much, she was still quite young. In such a massive institution as the Church, seniority remained highly important. The fact that she’d already received the post of Holy Relic Bearer had been something of an exceptional promotion.
Dorothy had originally assumed Vania would remain in that role for several years. To see her rise again in under a year suggested something deeper—likely intensified internal power struggles within the Church hierarchy, similar to the long delay in appointing the previous cathedral archbishop.
With the Church continuing to show signs of internal abnormality, Dorothy began to feel concerned. After several quiet months, she finally began considering whether it was time to resume moving forward—to formally resume her pursuit of advancement to Gold-rank.
Sitting by the fireplace, managing her typing corpse marionettes, Dorothy pondered her next steps—where to begin in seeking information on Gold-rank advancement methods. And just then, as if sensing something, she raised her brow slightly.
From her coat, she pulled out her Magic Box, opened it, and retrieved her Literary Sea Logbook. Flipping through a few pages, she saw neat new lines of handwriting appearing on the page.
“Are you free tonight? I have something important to discuss.”
Seeing the familiar handwriting on the page, Dorothy furrowed her brow and murmured.
“Important business again… Let’s hope this time it really is.”
…
Time passed swiftly, and night soon fell.
In East Tivian, in an ordinary bar, Dorothy walked alone down a corridor, dressed in a thick padded cloak and a wide-brimmed hat. The air was filled with faintly noisy background chatter.
After a while, she stopped in front of a private room and glanced at the door. Exhaling softly, she reached out and pushed it open. But the moment she stepped in, an arm suddenly looped around her waist from the side—lifting her whole body up in a single sweeping motion.
"Aiya~ My little detective darling, you’re finally here! I’ve been waiting so long I thought I might cry."
Wearing a dark red lady’s coat, Adèle held a wine glass in one hand and wrapped her other arm around Dorothy’s petite figure, lifting her clean off the ground. Spinning in place inside the small booth, she smiled while gazing at Dorothy’s delicate face.
“Put me down, Adèle… I’m not your porcelain doll,” Dorothy said plainly.
Adèle, of course, had no intention of obeying.
“No way~ I finally caught you! C’mon, let’s finish this glass of wine together, and then I’ll let you down.”
Looking into Dorothy’s silver-haired, fine-featured face, Adèle swirled her wine and chuckled. Seeing this, Dorothy sighed in resignation and snapped her fingers.
With a crisp sound, the Dorothy in Adèle’s arms suddenly twisted and vanished like a mirage. Adèle blinked in surprise. And just then, Dorothy’s voice rang out from another corner of the room.
“I told you—I’m still a minor. I can’t drink.”
Turning her head, Adèle saw Dorothy already seated at the booth’s table, leisurely preparing tea that had clearly been set out in advance. Adèle spread her hands and sighed.
“Sigh… My little darling’s a Crimson-rank now, huh? Not like the old days where I could catch her and she’d be stuck. What a shame~”
Chuckling, Adèle sat back in her seat across from Dorothy, who had just finished steeping her first cup of tea and now addressed her seriously.
“You didn’t call me out just to mess around again, did you?”
“Of course… not~ This time it’s serious business. Something that might be relevant to what you’ve been looking for,” Adèle replied breezily, twirling a finger.
Dorothy raised her brow.
“Be specific. What is it?”
“Well then… Miss Detective, you may have already noticed—I’m not from Pritt.”
Adèle placed a hand over her chest as she spoke. Dorothy responded plainly.
“Based on your name, your speech patterns, and a few clues you’ve dropped—Miss Adèle, you’re likely from Falano.”
“Correct. I’m from Falano. In fact… not just an ordinary Falanoan.”
Adèle’s tone shifted as her smile faded, replaced by uncharacteristic seriousness.
“I am a surviving member of the Bourbons, the royal dynasty of Falano. Over a hundred years ago, during the Cold Moon Revolution, my ancestors escaped the bloody purge of the Bourbon line—avoiding the guillotine. Since then, we’ve changed surnames and lived in hiding, cutting all ties with Falano’s politics.
“But just recently, someone sent me a letter. Not only did they expose my royal lineage, they even summoned me back to Falano… to inherit the vast fortune left behind by the Bourbons. Now tell me, Miss Detective—doesn’t that sound… strange?”