Somewhere deep in the mountains of Pritt, unknown to the public.
In a secluded cavern nestled within a towering mountain, far removed from civilization, there was a broad, level expanse. Wind howled through the heights of the cave's dome, and within the vast, empty cavern, the only sound beyond the wind was the rhythmic patter of footsteps.
At the center of this open space, a crimson silhouette danced in a trance. Upon closer look, it was a beautiful dancer, swaying gracefully in a red dress. Tall and poised, she danced in flowing, elegant arcs—her movements supple and agile, her waist pliant yet strong, her arms delicate and dexterous, her pale neck graceful and noble. She was like a soaring red crane, a red koi gliding through water, or a scarlet ribbon fluttering on the breeze.
The dancer moved without rest, lost in a timeless dance. Though her form remained graceful and her steps precise, her gaze had turned hollow and dazed. Her lips and face were pale, drained of color; it seemed she had lost all awareness, her body continuing only by the inertia of instinct.
The once-exquisite dance shoes on her feet had long since worn to tatters, now vanished without a trace. She danced barefoot, her soles torn and bloodied from constant motion. Blood seeped from the cracked wounds, smearing the ground red with each step.
After countless repetitions, the cave floor had been painted a deep crimson. Her bleeding feet repainted the ground again and again, blood congealing and then being renewed with each movement. Layer upon layer, the makeshift stage was covered in dried and fresh blood alike.
No one knew when the dancer had begun or when she would end. She simply danced on and on, as if the performance were meant to last until the end of the world.
But every performance, no matter how long, must end. Eventually, the dancer's pace began to slow. She came to a halt, standing on the scarlet floor she had painted with her own blood. Lifting her head to the darkness above, her expression was one of boundless confusion. Though her body was still, her mind still seemed to drift in the lingering dream of an endless dance.
That daze persisted for who knows how long, until finally, a flicker of emotion returned to her eyes. Her entire body then began to tremble violently, and she collapsed to her knees, bracing herself with both hands as she gasped for air.
"Hah… hah… hah…"
Spasms and heavy breathing wracked her for quite some time. At last, the dancer began to regain herself. The blankness faded from her eyes, and color returned to her gaze—her lost awareness slowly recovered.
Once her breathing stabilized, the spasms ceased, and the wounds on her feet started to heal, the dancer—Adèle—gradually stood up. She looked at her now slimmer arms, then at the blood-soaked floor around her, narrowing her eyes as she murmured softly.
"Now then… only one dance remains..."
...
Eastern Coast of Pritt, Tivian.
Daytime, western district of Tivian—inside Tivian Train Station, the scene was one of chaos and excitement. It was always crowded, but today it was even more so, many times over. Dorothy, just stepping off the train, felt this difference acutely.
“So many people…”
Standing at the edge of the platform, Dorothy looked out at the densely packed, noisy crowd—people standing shoulder to shoulder and heel to toe—and couldn't help but remark. She had seen Tivian Station busy before, but never quite like this.
As far as her eyes could see, the station was decorated in all sorts of ornaments and colors. Banners and streamers adorned the platform, and large signs welcomed visitors to Tivian. It was clear this was all due to the upcoming World Expo.
Thanks to the Pritt government’s extensive promotion, the World Expo had become well-known both domestically and abroad. International travelers mostly arrived via Tivian’s port, but domestic tourists came by train, leading to the current overcrowding. Even though Dorothy rode in a first-class private cabin, she could still hear the clamor from the standard cars and imagine their overcrowded state. In an era when the rail system was still far from standardized, nearly every train arriving in Tivian was over capacity.
After glancing around the station again, Dorothy let out a quiet sigh. She then walked into the crowd, accompanied by her corpse marionette assistant who handled her luggage and played the role of a guardian. Using subtle suggestion abilities, Dorothy gently nudged the crowded travelers to part and make way for her, successfully squeezing her way out of the station.
Having wrapped up her affairs in Igwynt, Dorothy immediately began the return journey. To conserve spirituality, she didn’t elementalize herself to travel along the railway but instead took the train.
Upon arriving in Tivian, Dorothy exited the station and stepped onto the streets—only to find the festive atmosphere outside was no less intense than within.
Along the main street in front of the station, a lively crowd filled both sides. Flowers and ribbons adorned the roadside; carriages moved back and forth through the bustling foot traffic. Bands were performing live music on the street to welcome travelers from across Pritt, and street vendors had seized the opportunity to set up stalls.
National flags of Pritt and banners for the World Expo were hung on buildings and storefronts. Many volunteers were handing out free souvenirs—towels, mugs, umbrellas—all stamped with a simplified emblem derived from Pritt’s national crest. Because they were free, people rushed to grab them, some even fighting over the items. The whole city of Tivian was in such a state of celebration that it seemed more festive than even the holidays.
“This is even livelier than New Year’s…”
Dorothy muttered as she took in the scene. After observing the crowd for a while, she instructed her corpse marionette to hail a carriage, and they set off toward her home in the northern suburbs of Tivian.
From the carriage window, Dorothy gazed out at the city as a light rain began to fall. Listening to raindrops tapping the carriage roof, she watched the passersby raise their umbrellas—many of them printed with the World Expo’s emblem.
“The kingdom really went all out this time… even the freebies include umbrellas, and those things aren’t cheap…”
Dorothy reflected to herself as the carriage swayed gently along the road. After nearly two hours of travel, she finally left the main city behind and arrived at the edge of the Green Shade Town. By the time she stepped down from the carriage, the rain had ceased, though the sky remained clouded.
Back in Green Shade Town, Dorothy didn’t go straight to her own house at No. 17. Instead, she first visited No. 37 and knocked sharply on the door. After a few loud raps, the door swung open, revealing a girl in loungewear and slippers, her hair messy, with gray locks, yellow eyes, and glasses.
“You. You’ve got a doorbell, but instead of using it, you bang on the door like that—what is wrong with you?” said Beverly as she greeted her familiar neighbor.
Dorothy answered casually.
“You never maintain that doorbell, cooped up in your house all the time. It’s so rusted it barely works. Anyway, quit whining—let me in. I’ve got business.”
Listening to Dorothy’s words, Beverly shrugged and stepped aside to let her in. Dorothy made herself at home, settling into her usual spot on the sofa, while Beverly closed the door behind her and walked over to a self-made coffee machine to brew her a cup.
“So, is that task you mentioned earlier ready yet?”
“Not yet. I think it'll still take a bit of time. Once it's ready, I’ll let you know right away. Don't you have things of your own to handle right now anyway? Just focus on those for now...”
Beverly replied casually as she placed the freshly brewed coffee on the table in front of Dorothy. Dorothy didn’t reach for it immediately; instead, she let it cool for a while.
“Speaking of which—what are you researching at home all the time, anyway? I see you working day in and day out, but other than coffee machines and vacuum bots, I haven’t seen anything come out of it. Don’t tell me your research is some top-secret divine tech from the Craftsmen’s Guild?”
Dorothy traced the rim of her coffee cup as she spoke. Beverly, seated on the opposite sofa, replied offhandedly.
“Well, there are some secrets involved… but it’s not all for the Guild. If I had to say, it’s more like I’m preparing for the next industrial era.”
She said it so lightly, but Dorothy, now sipping her coffee, couldn’t help but frown slightly.
“The next industrial era… Didn’t you say before that it requires the Core of Order to decide when it begins? And no one knows when that’ll happen.”
“That’s true, but it doesn’t stop me from preparing anyway, does it? I’ve got a long lifespan—I can afford to wait. And preparing a few things in advance doesn’t really waste my time. A craftsman always needs work, right?
“Besides,” Beverly continued, still casual, “I have a hunch the next industrial era is already close. Just a little longer, I think—it won’t be too long now.”
Seated on the sofa, she spoke with ease, while Dorothy stared at her seriously after taking another sip of coffee.
“A hunch? What makes you say that?”
“Hmm… Just a feeling, really~ My intuition is usually spot-on. Besides, staying in Tivian hasn’t been entirely about research—I’ve got other assignments too. But those are… well, secret. Not something I can tell you right now. You’ll find out eventually.”
Beverly waved her hand dismissively, while Dorothy exhaled lightly after placing her now-empty cup back on the table.
“Secrets, huh? Heh… I wasn’t expecting to squeeze anything useful out of you anyway. Alright, enough chit-chat. I’m here today to buy mystical texts. You have some in stock, don’t you?”
“Oho~ Here to buy books again? Miss Mayschoss and her passion for study—truly unforgettable. So, what kind of mystical texts are you looking for this time?”
With a smile, Beverly addressed Dorothy directly. Without hesitation, Dorothy answered/
“Texts of Stone and Shadow. At least three of each. You still have some, right?”
Dorothy laid out her request, and Beverly answered with a carefree wave.
“Of course! Got them right here in stock. Take as many as you like, dear customer~”
“Perfect…”
Seeing Beverly’s response, Dorothy began browsing for what she came to buy.
To replenish her depleted spirituality in preparation for a potential large-scale conflict with the Eight-Spired Nest, Dorothy purchased five Stone and five Shadow mystical texts in one go, spending a total of 5,300 pounds. She had brought a hefty sum with her, and even after this spree, she still had some funds remaining. This was the most mystical texts she had ever bought in one sitting—and she couldn’t help but feel: “Having money really is great.”
After completing her purchase, Dorothy said her goodbyes and returned home. Just a short walk later, she arrived at her residence at No. 17. After a refreshing shower and a change into comfortable pajamas, she summoned a few corpse marionettes to clean the house, which had been vacant for a while. Then, alone, she sat down at the desk in her study to begin reviewing her newly acquired mystical texts.
But before diving in, she took a moment to assess her current spirituality.
During her recent journey to Glamorne and Igwynt, Dorothy had expended a considerable amount of spirituality—primarily on summoning the “Fairy of the Lake Anecdotal Body” to invoke the will of Mirror Moon Goddess. She had performed this summoning twice in a short span: once with no response, and another time when the Spider Queen intercepted the signal. She also prepared a ritual once but didn’t proceed with it. All told, this cost her 14 points of Shadow.
Additionally, she had created a heroic spirit armament for Anna. That power was a divinity-enhanced version of the Anecdotal Body summon, consuming both divine power and spirituality, roughly another 4 points of Shadow. These two uses alone brought her already meager 19-point Shadow reserve down to just 1 point.
Then there was the elementalization used for travel. Activating that consumed a baseline 4 points of Stone, dropping her from 8 to just 4. Finally, when she manifested divine-enchanted spiritual threads, it consumed 2 points of Chalice—thankfully, Chalice was one of her more abundant attributes, so it didn’t affect her too much.
After briefly reviewing her recent spiritual expenditure, Dorothy formally began reading the mystical texts. Though she had ten books, not all of them were useful—some were fluffy poetry or fanciful tales. Only four held material of true interest to her.
These four fell into 2 Stone and 2 Shadow categories. The first Stone text was titled “Research Manuscript of the Petramnesia Society.”
This document, compiled by a hidden historian, chronicled research into an ancient mystical society known as the Petramnesia Society. According to the text, this society had existed during the imperial era of the Third Epoch.
The Petramnesia Society focused on the study of ancient fossils embedded in geological strata. During the Third Epoch, they roamed the world collecting and excavating fossils, researching the spirituality and mystical powers within, and converting those powers for various uses. Their main work revolved around collecting, studying, and utilizing fossils.
“Strata are scrolls, storing the truths of ages. Fossils are imprints, bearing life’s rise and fall.”
The society believed fossils were the Earth’s memories of the world. By studying fossils, they could tap into Earth’s past power. Hence, they named themselves the Petramnesia Society (“memory-stone society”) and called fossils “memory stones.”
The manuscript also mentioned that the Petramnesia Society had a deity of their own—referred to as the “Earthbone Dragon King,” the god of fossil engraving.
According to their lore, the Earthbone Dragon King was born of the god of death, from the remains of an ancient dragon from the First Epoch. This divine being possessed a colossal skeletal dragon body. The Petramnesia Society hailed this deity by many titles: “Guardian of the Earthveins,” “Recorder of the Strata,” “Ancient of the Ages,” and “King of Fossils.”
“A fossil dragon… the Earthbone Dragon King… another deity, huh. From the way this mystical text describes them, they sound like a god of Stone and Silence. So that’s what this divine seat was once like—a massive fossilized dragon, god of the strata’s remains.
“If the Earthbone Dragon King is indeed a god of Stone and Silence, then the Petramnesia Society must have been its aligned cult. That’s a totally different aesthetic from the current Stone-Silence Bonesmith—they prefer harvesting bones from the living and forging bone relics, not studying fossils. I wonder what kind of change happened between then and now. Is the Petramnesia Society still around? And what of the Earthbone Dragon King—has it fallen? Or is it still out there somewhere?”
As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Dorothy closed the first text and moved on to the next.
The second text that caught her interest was titled “The Oath of Little Goldcoin”—a fable with a fairytale flavor.
The story’s protagonist was Little Goldcoin, a poor child abandoned by his parents, left with nothing but a single gold coin—which became his name. Though impoverished, Little Goldcoin had great ambitions. He vowed to become the greatest merchant and used his lone coin as starting capital to begin his business ventures.
His greatest strength was his unwavering word. Any vow or promise he made, he would always keep. Thanks to this steadfastness, he built a reputation for trustworthiness. Bit by bit, he rose in the world of commerce. The single coin of his past gradually multiplied into great wealth.
But just as he became a renowned merchant, he stumbled upon a graveyard and saw someone robbing corpses. Outraged, he intervened to stop the theft and captured the grave-robber. But when he pulled off the thief’s mask—he was shocked to find it was an old friend from long ago…
This grave-robber had once helped Little Goldcoin a long time ago, and because of that, Little Goldcoin had made a promise: that one day, he would help his friend in return. So, when the grave-robber was caught, he pleaded with Little Goldcoin to let him go—as fulfillment of that old vow.
Faced with this request, Little Goldcoin was deeply torn. On the one hand, he didn’t want to break a vow he had made in the past. On the other, he couldn’t bring himself to let a criminal walk free. Between the promise and justice, he found himself at a painful crossroads. In the end, he chose justice—he handed the grave-robber over to the town guards, and the enraged townsfolk hanged him.
Though this act earned Little Goldcoin great renown and helped his business flourish even more in the city, something in him had changed. He had broken a vow for the first time—and once there’s a first, there’s a second, and a third…
At first, Little Goldcoin only broke his word for righteous reasons. But over time, he lost all reverence for promises. He began breaking vows for all sorts of reasons. Eventually, before the allure of business profits, his promises became worthless. Within just over a decade, he transformed from a principled, vow-keeping merchant into a ruthless tycoon who stopped at nothing for gain—driving countless families into ruin.
Finally, after driving one of his old benefactors to their death, Little Goldcoin was struck with sudden remorse. Overcome with guilt and sorrow, he chose to end his own life. In his final moments, he entrusted his vast fortune to another old friend—a craftsman—asking him to safeguard it until a worthy successor could be chosen.
However, one of the aides who had worked under Little Goldcoin during his ruthless merchant days refused to honor this wish. Using underhanded tactics, he seized control of most of the fortune and refused to let the craftsman intervene. The craftsman, in turn, tried every means to reclaim the wealth and fulfill Little Goldcoin’s dying wish...
Sitting in her chair at her desk, Dorothy looked at the final page of the slim storybook. The tale had abruptly stopped, ending where more could have been written—but wasn’t. She found herself lost in deep thought.
“This so-called fable… it definitely feels like there’s a deeper meaning hidden underneath…”
Dorothy mused. In mystical texts, fables and fairy tales often carried metaphors or allegories, and this one was no exception. She had already drawn several hypotheses from it.
Next, she attempted to extract the spiritual properties from the fable-based mystical text. Aside from Revelation, she also obtained three other spiritualities: Stone, Shadow, and Silence, with Stone being the most dominant.
“Heh… that Beverly really gave me something interesting…”
Sighing softly, Dorothy put the text away. Having finished the more intriguing Stone texts, she turned to the Shadow mystical texts.
The next one was titled “The Secret History of the Roaring Lance Dynasty.” It detailed the little-known accounts of the Roaring Lance Dynasty, the ruling lineage in Pritt before the current Hyacinth Dynasty and the Wind King's Rebellion.
Seeing this caught Dorothy’s interest—she’d been hoping to delve deeper into Pritt’s ancient history. She eagerly began reading. Unfortunately, despite being labeled a historical text, the actual valuable content was sparse. There was little true historical information, and even less material of mystical relevance. It was clearly a piece of sensationalist folklore, mostly packed with court gossip, affairs, and scandalous anecdotes involving royal consorts, princes, and princesses—more tabloid than textbook.
Dorothy didn’t care much for that type of content, but after patiently combing through it, she still managed to extract a few valuable tidbits.
For instance, according to the text, the royal bloodline of the Roaring Lance Dynasty was plagued by a peculiar “madness.” Among princes, princesses, and even past kings, this hereditary affliction recurred frequently. Those affected exhibited bizarre, uncontrollable behavior—wild and erratic.
The text described how this family madness became increasingly common with each generation. In the beginning, only a few royal members showed symptoms, but over time, more and more were afflicted, and the illness worsened. The sufferers often cried out phrases like: “Call the storm! Bring back our ancestors! Hail the Divine Wind King!”
As a result, this condition came to be known as “Ancestor’s Roar.”
“Ancestor’s Roar… So King Volsiov, the Mad King of the Roaring Lance’s final days, didn’t suffer from an isolated affliction. It was a family curse. According to this text, many members of the Roaring Lance lineage showed signs of it—and it became more severe toward the dynasty’s end. Volsiov was simply the most extreme case. Even his sons showed symptoms…”
“It feels like… this madness isn’t as simple as a mental illness. Typically, madness manifests differently in each person—but here, they all shouted the same phrases, invoked the same ancestor…”
“In this country… anyone with the surname Despenser reveres the Wind Knight Arthur as their forefather, don’t they…”
These thoughts swirled in Dorothy’s mind as she stared at the secret history text. After a long internal reflection, she finally set it aside and opened the last intriguing mystical text in her collection.
This final text was titled “An Analysis of the Queen of Lunar Shadow,” a commentary that analyzed another mystical text known as The Lady of Secrets.
The author of Queen of Lunar Shadow was a mystic scholar from several centuries ago, fascinated by Shadow mysteries. She had traveled across the continent to investigate sites rich in Shadow-based folklore—places like Pritt, Cassatia, and Ossotris. Through her research, she uncovered three separate but strikingly similar folkloric figures in these regions.
They were Pritt’s “Lady of the Lake,” Cassatia’s “Fairy Godmother,” and Ossotris’s “Lady of Secrets.”
In Pritt, the Lady of the Lake was often the guide of heroes. In Cassatia, the Fairy Godmother was the disciplinarian of mischievous fairies and the guardian of young girls. In Ossotris, the Lady of Secrets was the protector of secrets and confidants. The author concluded that all three figures shared traits tied to the moon and thus grouped them under the title “Queen of Lunar Shadow.”
Dorothy, of course, understood immediately that all three figures were manifestations of the same being: the Queen of the Night Sky—the Mirror Moon Goddess. She was already deeply familiar with the Lady of the Lake and not especially curious about the Fairy Godmother. What caught her attention was the Lady of Secrets.
In Ossotris folklore and fairytales, the Lady of Secrets often appeared when the protagonist had fallen into despair. She would offer the hero a secret, demanding in return that they keep it hidden. In exchange, she granted wealth, status, or some other blessing. But in these stories, the protagonist would eventually give in to temptation and reveal the secret—thus losing everything.
Take, for example, the story of a shepherd boy. He was granted a vast, fertile pasture by the Lady of Secrets and raised many prized cattle and sheep. But in seeking help to expand the farm, he revealed the secret of the pasture’s existence—and lost it all.
This storytelling framework was repeated in various forms and widely circulated throughout Ossotris. The Lady of Secrets became deeply ingrained in the cultural consciousness. In legend, she resided in a hidden palace, a place no one could find—unless one of her chosen secret-keepers betrayed her trust.
After compiling these stories, the author of Queen of Lunar Shadow proposed a compelling idea: that the Queen of the Night Sky possessed dominion over “secrets.”
She theorized that the Mirror Moon Goddess was not just the Ruler of the Moon, the Queen of Shadow, or the embodiment of the unknown and fear—but also the Lady of Secrets. That she could draw power from secrets. That she could empower those who kept secrets—or even use secrecy to seal and hide the existence of something entirely.
“Secrets… could this be one of the divine attributes held by the Mirror Moon? Sounds a lot like the ‘Oath of Secrecy’ curse… So long as the secret is kept, it grants power—and that which is hidden stays hidden from the world…”
“I wonder… could that mysterious Nation of Night be shrouded in this very kind of secret-based power?”
Dorothy pondered. Thanks to this mystical text, she now understood the Mirror Moon a little more deeply.
After finishing all the mystical texts, Dorothy didn’t rest—she immediately began extracting spirituality. Not long after, she had drawn out a total of 25 Stone, 23 Shadow, and 2 Silence spiritualities. This batch of texts from Beverly had been pricier than average, but the spiritual yield was also impressively high—making it a worthwhile investment. With the newly extracted spirituality added to her reserves, Dorothy’s current spirituality count was at 38 Chalice, 29 Stone, 24 Shadow, 25 Lantern, 20 Silence, 100 Revelation.
Additionally, she had 50 points of naturally regenerated Revelation and three available utilization of Revelation divine power.
“Phew… Ten mystical texts down. This should be enough spirituality for now…”
With a long exhale, Dorothy thought to herself. After finishing the readings and extracting all the spirituality, she carefully stored the texts back into her magic box. Stretching her lower back, she slowly rose from her chair, intending to walk around the house to loosen up after sitting for so long.
But just then, she sensed a reaction from her copy of the Literary Sea Logbook within the magic box—someone was contacting her.
Pausing slightly, Dorothy sat back down and took out the Logbook, flipping to the page where the signal came from. It was the page connected to Little Fox—and new handwriting had just appeared there.
“Miss Scholar, my grandfather has returned. I’ve passed along all the questions you asked earlier. He said that based on the intel he has on the Blackdream Hunting Pack, they’ve indeed been on the move lately. Almost all of the pseudo-moths have left their original positions.”
Dorothy looked at the rough, hasty handwriting and recalled the conversation on the train when she had contacted Little Fox for intel, only to be told that his grandfather was away and unable to answer much.
“Oh, such a large-scale mobilization? Did your grandfather find out where all the pseudo-moths went?”
“Hmm… that part I don’t know. Grandpa’s still investigating. But once we have the results, we’ll let you know.”
Little Fox wrote back promptly. Dorothy replied just as quickly.
“Thanks. Now, what about the second question I asked? The one about your organization’s origins and background. Is your grandfather willing to let me know the answer?”
She wrote the question down. After a short while, a new response appeared.
“He agreed to part of it… As a gesture of goodwill toward an ally, he said I can tell you some things about us—as long as you’re properly protected against cognitive poisons, we can start whenever.”
“Then let’s get to it. I’ve already set up my cognitive poison defenses.”
Dorothy responded directly—so promptly that Little Fox was momentarily stunned.
“Already… prepared? You’re currently in a protected room or lab? What a coincidence… Anyway, if you have questions, go ahead and ask.”
Even through written words, Little Fox seemed genuinely surprised. But Dorothy didn’t hesitate.
“Tell me—are you part of some cult that worships the Dream Knight?”
That was Dorothy’s direct question. Based on everything she had gathered so far, she had long suspected that Little Fox’s organization was a leftover faction from the Dream Knight’s followers—some cult or society from the Third Epoch that had survived into the Fourth Epoch. She’d wanted to confirm this with Little Fox for a while, and now the opportunity had finally arrived.
“The Dream Knight? Miss Scholar, you mean the Fairy Queen, the Butterfly-Winged Sprite, the Knight of Dreams, right? I’m sorry to say this, but although we hold the Dream Knight in high esteem, they are not the deity we worship. The Butterfly Sprite fell during the end of the Third Epoch—we never had the chance to venerate them.”
“What? You’re not a Dream Knight cult?”
“Nope. Our organization is called Butterfly's Dreamland… We’re a mystical society that was reformed in the Fourth Epoch by the remnants of the former Knight of Dreams order. Our goal is to welcome and worship the next Lord of Dreams, who will be born upon the divine throne. That is our new sovereign.”
“Our forebears in the Butterfly's Dreamland began their worship over a thousand years ago, when the new Lord of Dreams was still in childhood after being born from the divine throne. We venerate the infant Lord of Dreams, and through that worship, we guide their growth. Our mission is to ensure the young Lord of Dreams follows the right path and ultimately becomes the next Knight of Dreams.”
“To guide a god’s growth and ensure they ascend correctly—this is the supreme mission of the Butterfly's Dreamland, and it has always been our sacred duty.”