Within the realm of dreams, atop the base of the Throne of Fate, Dorothy had just effortlessly defeated the will of the Gluttonous Wolf within this surreal dreamscape. From the dream's host—Borgst, the Dread Devourer Direwolf—she extracted a presence that surprised her: the lingering spiritual remnants of countless Desire Dancers. With Dorothy’s power, their fragmented wills had coalesced, and from them she learned many crucial truths.
“So that’s how it is… This finally explains everything—why Luer possessed something as significant as the True Crimson Holy Mother without knowing it… why the Afterbirth Cult went to such great lengths to search for the text in Tivian…
“Borgst, after devouring too many Desire Dancers, was subtly warped in mind. Out of greed, he gave away the True Crimson Holy Mother he'd obtained. Distrusting those under the Afterbirth Cult hierarchy, he handed it off to a mortal he'd recently elevated to a Beyonder… that mortal was likely Luer. He received the True Crimson Holy Mother and the Heart Devouring Cane Sword, which had once been Borgst’s own Crimson-rank weapon.
“Borgst gave Luer the Heart Devouring Cane Sword in case something happened to him and the text was lost. But under the influence of the dancers' spirits, Borgst failed to explain properly. Luer assumed the powerful weapon was the treasure entrusted to him, not the cryptic mystical text he couldn’t even understand. In a classic case of mistaken priorities, once Luer found a stronghold in Igwynt, he sold the True Crimson Holy Mother and kept the sword, thinking it was the true treasure. That text eventually reached the Hymn Cathedral’s library through the Pritt Craftsmen’s Guild’s trade network.
“Afterward, Borgst’s betrayal was exposed. He was captured and tortured, and under duress, he revealed both the text’s name and Luer’s identity. He even attempted to contact Luer. But by then, Luer had already been eliminated by me—no matter how hard Borgst tried, he received no reply.
“And so, Borgst—an elder held in high regard within the Wolfblood Society—was devoured by the wrathful Gluttonous Wolf in despair. Borgst had left a dream-anchor method of contact with Luer. From the Wolfblood Society’s point of view, Luer might have simply fled. The Gluttonous Wolf likely hoped that Luer, lost and seeking guidance, would enter Borgst’s dream—giving the wolf god a chance to personally deal with the Black Earth-rank Beyonder.
“As a backup, the Afterbirth Cult used limited intel from Borgst to send agents to Pritt, searching for the text. They successfully located it in the Hymn Cathedral library—thus triggering the repeated plots and attacks on the church.”
Touching her chin thoughtfully, Dorothy now had a clear grasp of the situation thanks to "Darlene’s" explanation. Turning her gaze back to the dazed figure before her, she softly sighed.
“Hah… You’ve endured much. Thank you—for your loyalty and sacrifice to your faith. It’s because of you that this catastrophe was delayed…”
If not for the influence of the dancers’ residual spirits, the Afterbirth Cult might have retrieved the True Crimson Holy Mother far earlier—accelerating the descent into disaster. From what they described, the remnants of the Flower Goddess’s faith, prior to Adèle’s time, had no surviving White Ash-rank or higher Beyonders. Who knew how many White Ash and Black Earth Dancers had perished to mentally corrode a Crimson-rank Direwolf like Borgst.
“We… we had no other choice… it was all we could do… revenge… and salvation… this was the resistance we were forced into…”
“Darlene” murmured with a dazed look. Dorothy’s expression grew solemn. Unlike the likes of Hafdar or Shepsuna—those who had consciously chosen to sacrifice themselves for a greater plan—these dancers had not acted with such foresight. They hadn’t willingly thrown themselves to the wolves. It was the wolves who had devoured them. Their surviving wills accumulated inside the beast and retaliated by instinct. They were not players in the grand game by choice, but pitiful pawns swept into it. And yet, even so, their struggle reshaped the board.
“I understand…”
Dorothy exhaled softly. Then she shifted the topic.
“One last question. You said earlier that the Flower Goddess still slumbers? And the Afterbirth Cult has already found where?”
“Darlene” silently nodded, then replied in a soft tone.
“Borgst slaughtered many of the Flower Sanctums and offered all their secret records—more than just the one he was ordered to find…
“We… we came from different shelters, each carrying fragments of mystical knowledge related to the Flower Mistress. When gathered, those fragments formed a more complete picture… We learned that the Flower Mistress resides within the domain called the Fragrant Cradle. Her exact condition is unknown… we hope she merely slumbers…
“If we could piece this together… then so too could the cult's profane agents who acquired our records. After long study, they may even know more than we do… Whatever her current state… the Flower Mistress is in danger…”
Hearing this, Dorothy’s eyes sharpened.
“Then… do you know where the Fragrant Cradle is located?”
“I’m sorry… we do not. The knowledge we possessed was not enough to glimpse the full scope of her secrets…”
“Darlene” lowered her head. Dorothy’s expression darkened. But then the woman spoke again.
“However… there may be someone who can give you that answer.”
“Oh? Who?”
“A man—arrogant, beautiful, who calls himself a king. His name is Charles. He once sought the Mistress’s secrets before the Afterbirth Cult ever did…”
“Darlene” answered calmly. Dorothy’s brows arched in interest.
“Charles? Calls himself a king? You don’t mean… the famed monarch of the Falano Bourbon Dynasty—Charles, the Splendor King?”
The black cat, until now silently listening, blurted out. “Darlene” nodded.
“That’s him. A century ago, King Charles sought the forgotten power buried beneath Falano’s foundation—the power of the Flower Mistress… He studied the royal family’s secrets and found clues that led him to travel across the land. From decrypted Bourbon manuscripts, he discovered many Flower Sanctums, where he sought strength and knowledge.
“According to the oral accounts passed down by our elders… many of us had our shelters visited by Charles. He gained something from each of us. By the time he left the last one we know of… he was stronger and more knowledgeable than any of us…
“If he continued his journey and his search… he may have uncovered even more of the Mistress’s secrets. If you can find him—or his writings—it will surely help.”
As Darlene spoke, Dorothy fell into deep thought, then gave a slow nod.
“…I see. Thank you, Dancers of the Flower, for this information.”
With that, Dorothy raised her hand and snapped her fingers.
The world trembled.
At the sound of her snap, the boundary between sky and earth became blurred. The mountains of bone and the sea of scripts both dissolved like wet paint smeared by a brush. Even the throne base beneath Dorothy’s feet blurred.
The swirling distortion began to retract—converging into a small sphere of muddied light before Dorothy. The space it receded from revealed a new scene: grassy fields and tall trees.
In an instant, the previous dreamscape vanished. Dorothy and her companions now stood once more in the phantasmal forest of the Dreamscape. The dream cocoon they had entered was gone. Floating before Dorothy was a small orb of muddled light.
“Eh… We’re back. But what happened to that poor lady?”
The little fox looked around in the familiar surroundings, then turned toward Dorothy. The black cat, eyeing the orb of light floating before her, spoke gravely.
“Did you… condense their dream cocoon?”
“That’s right,” Dorothy replied softly.
She waved her fingers gently. The murky orb before her began to shift again. It split into two spheres—one dark blood-red, the other a rosy pink like a blooming flower.
Dorothy stared at the crimson one. With a tremor, it shattered—dissolving into threads of blood that vanished into the air, leaving only the flower-pink orb behind.
The black cat couldn’t help but murmur in admiration.
“To precisely separate two deeply intertwined spiritual entities… one of which was already unstable to begin with… That’s incredibly precise work. No mortal could manage that level of finesse.
“But to so easily annihilate the direwolf’s spirit… it feels too merciful for everything he’s done. After all the horrors he committed, dying in the Wolf God’s stomach may have been torment—but also release…”
He sighed. Dorothy, unmoved, answered calmly.
“I don’t have the time to construct a prison for souls. This was quicker and cleaner.”
“And this… is that poor sister’s spirit? Even in this state… can she still be saved?”
The little fox looked at the rosy orb floating before Dorothy, her voice tinged with sadness. Dorothy replied without hesitation.
“Of course. The method just needs consideration. I promised them—they will find redemption.”
As she spoke, the orb pulsed faintly, its hue flickering gently—as if responding to her vow.
After seeing the current state of the light orb, Dorothy let out a soft sigh of relief. She then lifted her gaze to the dreamlike scenery of the forest and, within her mind, activated the information channel to send a message to a familiar contact.
“How much do you know about Falano’s Charles?”
Once she sent the message, she calmly waited. Not long after, a familiar voice echoed in her mind.
“You mean Charles, the Splendor King from the Bourbon dynasty? During his reign, he tried to break free from the Church’s control and sought dangerous powers beyond Church doctrine. He was once a major headache for the Court of Secrets. His actions are inseparable from the eventual downfall of Bourbon.”
Artcheli responded from afar. Dorothy then followed up.
“According to Falano's history, Charles disappeared during a seafaring expedition. There are rumors that he was assassinated by the Church. Is that true?”
“False. I can tell you clearly—we had nothing to do with Charles’ disappearance. While our relationship with him wasn’t great, we hadn’t yet reached the point of open hostility. We were preparing to confront him directly, but before we could, he vanished.”
Artcheli answered bluntly. Dorothy raised a brow and continued.
“A king suddenly vanishes at sea and you really know nothing about it?”
“Only bits and pieces. That so-called royal ‘tour’ was likely a front—he was heading for some kind of ruin, probably in pursuit of the ancient powers he had long been investigating. We had planted agents on his ship, but they disappeared along with him. Gone with him were the queen, his soldiers, and the entire crew.”
“You didn’t try to find them?”
“We did, but found nothing. The whole thing was suspicious, yes, but we couldn’t afford to shift our entire focus to the search. His disappearance triggered political chaos in Falano, and the Court had to prioritize stabilizing the situation there.”
“And conveniently use that opportunity to push the uncooperative Bourbon dynasty off the stage and replace them with a more obedient regime, right?”
Dorothy commented dryly. Artcheli didn’t even try to deny it.
“Well, once things reached that point, we figured we might as well finish the job. Besides, Charles’ successor was an absolute fool compared to him. No skill, no power, yet obsessed with carrying on Charles’ legacy.
“He blamed us entirely for Charles’ disappearance and issued a bunch of radical decrees that turned Falano into a haven for cults. To put it simply, he was a disaster—good at ruining everything, useless otherwise. We had no choice but to take more drastic measures to keep the situation from worsening further.”
Artcheli’s statement wasn’t wrong. His incompetence did allow various cults to flourish in Falano, including the Dark Gold Society, which stole a vast portion of the national treasury during that time.
“Speaking of which… you’re actually bringing up Falano with me out of the blue? Don’t tell me the evil gods have shifted their focus there too and are planning something big?”
Artcheli asked warily. Thanks to Dorothy’s earlier tips, she had already become involved in multiple major calamities across different nations. Now that Dorothy suddenly brought up Falano, her mind naturally jumped to more apocalyptic possibilities.
“For now… nothing confirmed. If I find stronger evidence, I’ll let you know.”
With that final reply, Dorothy ended the telepathic communication. She then lifted her gaze toward the dreamlike forest around her, her expression growing solemn.
“So Charles’ disappearance had nothing to do with the Church… which makes it harder to find leads on him. Looks like I’ll have to resort to some old tricks again…”
Dorothy thought to herself, already beginning to formulate new plans.
…
Reality – Eastern Main Continent, Falano.
Falano, capital city: Flottes. Near the city center, on an ornate and beautifully decorated street, people bustled to and fro. Crowds moved along wide sidewalks on both sides of the road. Some posted large concert posters on the walls, while nearby beggars, thin and disabled, crouched beneath them. Street performers played music at intersections, drawing applause, while on the opposite side of the street someone shouted and chased a purse thief.
A black carriage rolled down the road. From inside, a gaze swept over the street before withdrawing.
“Haven’t been here in a while. Still the same as ever.”
Inside the comfortable carriage, Dorothy sat gracefully, speaking with a tone of distant commentary. A voice responded from across her.
“Yes… indulgence, chaos… and romance…”
“Three things that might as well be the same category?”
“Pretty much. This place is never as wonderful as it advertises itself to be. Its charm isn’t something the majority can appreciate. I thought it’d be a long while before the little detective would grace us with another visit… Didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Opposite Dorothy sat Adèle, short golden curls framing her face, dressed in a rose-colored fitted outfit with a matching hat. She smiled faintly as she spoke.
“Normally, the little detective doesn’t travel just for leisure. Your arrival always means there’s some great crisis or hidden secret… Is Falano the same this time?”
With a trace of concern and curiosity, Adèle questioned. Dorothy gently shook her head.
“There’s a clue here, but whether it leads to a major secret or disaster remains unclear. But what about you, Adèle? You said you were investigating the Flower Mistress and the Afterbirth Cult—any results?”
Dorothy asked her long-unseen friend. Adèle sighed lightly and replied.
“Some… but not much. You’ve ascended to a level I can no longer reach, little detective. What I’ve uncovered might be things you already know—it may not mean much anymore.”
“Ascended? Please. I’m still just a Crimson-rank like you~”
Dorothy waved off the notion. Adèle shrugged.
“A Crimson-rank who can perform miracles. Not many like that in the world…”
“Heh… in any case, you’ve made some progress. Let’s hear it.”
Dorothy chuckled softly. Adèle thought briefly, then began.
“My primary target here in Falano was Leocha Morrow , one of the Falano administrators—the same one who conspired with the Afterbirth Cult to assassinate Samson. I planned to use him as a lead to dig deeper… but he vanished before I even arrived.”
“Vanished? That fast?”
Dorothy raised her brow.
“Yes. He even renounced his noble status. Likely the Afterbirth Cult tipped him off and made promises. He disappeared with a bunch of Bourbon relics. Now the entire secret police are hunting him, but there’s been no trace.
“After that, I began working with the local secret police to track Afterbirth-affiliated circles, but they’ve all gone dead silent—like they’re preparing for something. Even the red potion’s disappeared from the black market. The brothel district has chaos daily from addicts losing their minds. The dens we’ve raided are empty. The few people we’ve caught are low-level thugs.”
Adèle explained. Dorothy was reminded of what Artcheli had told her—recently, the Afterbirth Cult’s covert activities had gone quiet across the continent. Many of their affiliated circles had relocated or gone underground. The cult was clearly withdrawing its presence and conserving strength.
So, as the carriage rolled forward, the two continued chatting, gradually leaving the bustling city center and heading toward a more remote part of town.
Before long, the carriage arrived at a quiet villa district. It stopped outside an old house plastered with rental signs. Adèle stepped down and glanced at the overgrown garden, then at the dust-caked front door.
“This place… is a spiritual field?”
“To ordinary folks, a haunted house. Let’s go.”
Dorothy passed Adèle and opened the old door with ease. Adèle followed closely.
Inside was a wide parlor thick with dust. Every piece of furniture was covered with white sheets, and dark red stains speckled the walls. At the center of the room, a complex ritual array had been drawn—bearing symbols of both Silence and Chalice. Standing at its edge were two figures—one living, one spirit.
“Ah, Miss Dorothy, Miss Adèle! You’re finally here!”
Nephthys waved happily. Beside her, the spirit of Rachman bowed respectfully.
“An honor to see you again, Your Excellency.”
Dorothy nodded in reply. Adèle looked on curiously.
“So… this is the Beyonder power you mentioned—the one that reads bloodline memories?”
“Yes. Mr. Rachman was a king of ancient Addus. He possesses the ability to awaken power within bloodlines, and Miss Boyle here can manifest it into the world. We’ll use this to investigate the secrets Charles buried within the Bourbon line…”
Dorothy explained softly. Adèle, hearing this, gave a slight nod to Rachman, then said:
“Then I’ll be in your care…”
What came next was routine for Nephthys and Rachman. After a brief explanation, Adèle set down her belongings and sat cross-legged within the ritual array. Nephthys lit the surrounding candles. Then, drawing upon Rachman’s spirit, she seated herself before Adèle—ready to begin.
After Nephthys extended her hand and touched Adèle’s, she closed her eyes and focused. The flames around the ritual circle began to flicker wildly. The yellow candlelight turned into an eerie green, the room’s temperature dropped, and the light dimmed. A ritual had quietly begun.
“Trace the soul through blood…”
Yes—Dorothy was doing what she had done before: using Nephthys as a medium for Rachman, allowing Nephthys to channel the power he had wielded in life as a Soulblood Knight, and with that power, to trace Adèle’s bloodline. Just like Nephthys had previously done with her own ancestry.
Adèle was a descendant of the Bourbon royal family. By using her blood as a starting point, they should be able to trace directly back to Charles the Splendor King. Dorothy’s goal was to use this Soulblood power to peer into Charles’s memories and uncover his secrets.
Standing near the ritual, Dorothy silently observed the process, patiently waiting for Nephthys to locate Charles within Adèle’s bloodline web. When it came time to explore the memories, Dorothy would directly connect to Nephthys’s senses and witness Charles’s past together with her.
However… the wait seemed longer than expected.
“What’s going on?”
Sensing something was amiss, Dorothy voiced her concern toward Nephthys in the middle of the ritual. With eyes still closed, Nephthys responded.
“Something’s not right, Miss Dorothy… We’ve searched every accessible branch of Miss Adèle’s bloodline tree… and we couldn’t find the target leaf at all… We haven’t found King Charles in her lineage!”
“What?”
Dorothy froze at Nephthys’s words, blinking in disbelief as thoughts surged through her mind.
“You couldn’t find Charles in Adèle’s accessible bloodline tree? That’s not right. Charles lived only a little over a hundred years ago. That’s just a few generations—he should be relatively close in the Bourbon lineage. Rachman’s ability can trace back over four hundred years of ancestry. How can he not be found?”
Dorothy pondered. Rachman’s tracing ability wouldn’t work if the bloodline link was too distant—but if Adèle really was of Bourbon descent, the connection should’ve been close enough. There was no reason they couldn’t trace it.
“Unless… Adèle isn’t actually Bourbon blood? Could there be a bastard king in her ancestry?”
That unsettling possibility suddenly surfaced in Dorothy’s mind. But clearly she wasn’t the only one thinking it. Sitting in the ritual circle, Adèle’s expression turned nervous.
“What do you mean you couldn’t find Charles in my bloodline tree? Are you saying I’m not a Bourbon royal descendant?”
“N-No, that’s not it.”
Nephthys shook her head quickly and clarified.
“I’ve reviewed the memories of many of Miss Adèle’s ancestors—they’re definitely members of the Bourbon royal line. Miss Adèle truly is a descendant of the Bourbon family. The issue isn’t with her—it’s with Charles.”
She swallowed hard before continuing.
“Rather than saying Charles isn’t in Miss Adèle’s bloodline, it would be more accurate to say Charles isn’t in any branch of the Bourbon family tree. We couldn’t find any trace of him in the entire Bourbon lineage!”
Nephthys’s words left Dorothy stunned. She stood still, trying to wrap her head around the implications.
“This… is clearly more than just a rogue ancestor situation…”
…
Falano, Central Region – Flottes.
Nightfall in Flottes brought a sea of starlight and a forest of lamplight. Though the city still buzzed after dark, it was clearly quieter than during the day.
But in this city, there were places that were even more lively at night than by day. The theatre was one of them.
“I’ve already claimed my kingdom. Neither my uncle’s schemes nor my brother’s ambition can stop me. I am King. All the people revere me. But where is my love? From that queen born of politics and compromise? No… she is my coffin of love…”
Inside a grand theatre, an actor in royal garb stood on stage, performing the role of an ancient monarch. Beneath exquisite set designs, he delivered his lines with passion and emotion, expressing the loneliness of a king yearning for true love. The audience was captivated.
The actors performed a beloved classic. Even though many in the audience had seen the play countless times, they still applauded enthusiastically at the highlights. That was the power of a classic.
In a private box above the theatre floor, Dorothy, dressed in a black formal dress, sat observing the play while sampling the provided refreshments. Opposite her sat the familiar rose-colored figure.
“So… in the end, your investigation revealed the root issue was mystical rather than romantic scandal?”
Sipping her tea, Adèle asked curiously. Dorothy, having just eaten a bite of cake, nodded in reply.
“Mm… If it were just emotional drama, too many things wouldn’t make sense. Charles had four children. There’s no way Queen Marianne could have cheated on him every single time. That’s just too unlikely.”
“True. He also had many lovers. There were rumors of at least five illegitimate children. We even tracked down their descendants. Not a single trace of Charles’s bloodline in them either.”
Adèle reflected. Dorothy added:
“Exactly. Four children, five bastards—if none of them are his, the odds are astronomically low. And we didn’t just check his descendants—we tested Charles’s parents too. Both paternal and maternal lines… but still no trace of Charles in the bloodline tree.”
This wasn’t just a case of Charles being adopted or disinherited. It was as if he never existed in the genealogy.
“It’s not just Charles. Even Queen Marianne couldn’t be found in her own family’s bloodline tree. In fact, everyone who set sail with Charles has the same issue—they’ve all vanished from their respective family trees.”
Dorothy continued in a grave tone. Ever since the anomaly with Charles’s bloodline during the ritual, she had launched a full investigation across Falano. The pattern was now clear.
“So… your conclusion is…”
“Bloodline erasure. I believe Charles encountered the Afterbirth Cult during that voyage and fell into their hands. The gods of the Chalice likely realized I had the ability to trace memory through bloodlines, so they severed Charles’s link to the bloodline tree—cutting his leaf and its mystical connection from the tree entirely to block me.”
Dorothy analyzed while wiping cream from the corner of her mouth. The Soulblood power was a fusion of Chalice and Silence. If the Chalice gods interfered, they could very well cut all mystical ties between Charles and his ancestry, rendering the tracing ritual useless.
“Only a god could sever mystic connections to this extent… Hah. Looks like I’m on the right track after all. Charles definitely possessed some critical secret. I need to keep investigating.”
Dorothy concluded seriously. Adèle, intrigued, asked.
“Then… little detective, what’s your next move? If you can’t learn from his bloodline, are you going to attempt spirit summoning?”
“No. Not summoning. If the Afterbirth Cult took measures to block bloodline tracing, then they definitely planned against necromancy too. There’s no guarantee Charles’s soul is intact—or even still exists.”
Dorothy replied firmly. Adèle’s brows furrowed.
“Then how are we supposed to uncover Charles’s secret? Are you planning to retrace his journey?”
“No. That’d be far too tedious. I have a much simpler method.”
“Simpler?”
Adèle looked confused. Dorothy didn’t answer right away. Instead, she smiled and turned to look at the stage.
On stage, the “king” actor was embracing his long-separated lover. The Splendor King held the noblewoman tenderly, and she replied softly.
“My lord… my king… I have missed you deeply. But please understand—Jacques needs me too… I haven’t yet given him an heir. Perhaps I should fulfill my duty as duchess before we reunite…”
“Duke Petty is but a subject… He should understand his sovereign’s needs… Shall I grant him a child?”
“Please, Your Majesty… That would sow chaos in the days to come…”
The actors, performing faithfully, portrayed a famous scene from Falano’s classic courtly drama. Dorothy watched for a moment longer, then slowly withdrew her gaze. She closed her eyes gently, her thoughts already gathering and taking shape.
In the depths of the inner realm, far removed from the material world, a vast sea of scripts stretched in every direction. In the center of this sea stood a colossal pyramid-like foundation, and atop that base, a monumental throne towered like a stele.
After a flash of brilliant light, Dorothy’s spectral projection appeared in this space—her personal divine domain anchored to the Throne of Fate. Though her physical body remained in the outer world, her spirit had fully manifested here.
Standing atop the base, Dorothy surveyed the surroundings before finally fixing her gaze on the throne. The grotesque infant figure that once sat there was now gone, the twisted presence that had once formed there long since erased.
After staring in silence for a moment, Dorothy stepped forward, then turned around before the throne and gently hopped backward, landing squarely upon the seat. As she sat down, no thorns or binding chains emerged—unlike what had happened with the former childlike entity. This time, the throne accepted her without resistance.
Crossing her legs on the Throne of Fate, Dorothy gave a small wave of her hand. In front of her, glowing letters coalesced into a phantom page, its contents recorded in Universal Script—instantly readable to her.
“Pseudo-History: During the Falano Revolution, Royal Inquisitor Victor Petty was actually the illegitimate son of King Charles. He personally sentenced his royal siblings to death…”
This phantom page displayed a revelation narrative—one not recognized by official accounts, yet widely circulated among the common people. In Dorothy’s own terms, this was one of Falano’s folk histories.
Back in her original world, Dorothy had encountered countless such tales—like Emperor Qin Shi Huang being Lü Buwei’s son, Yang Guifei faking her death, Emperor Song Taizong murdering his brother, the Jianwen Emperor sailing to the south seas, Guangxu being poisoned, Uesugi Kenshin being a woman, King Arthur being a woman (?), Xiang Yu being a robot and Yu Ji a vampire (?).
Though mostly fabricated and dismissed by historians, these tales captured the public’s imagination through their drama and legend, often finding widespread popularity. Many had even been transformed into enduring literary works by great authors.
This particular folk tale in Dorothy’s hand was one such story—a tale told across Falano: that King Charles had an affair with the wife of one of his dukes and secretly fathered an illegitimate child, who later inherited the duke’s position. During the revolution, unaware of his own lineage, this man became a reformist leader among the nobles and, as a judge, unknowingly condemned his own royal siblings.
This “Prince-Judge” story had been embellished by a renowned Falano playwright and became a popular drama. In the adaptation, the prince fell in love with a commoner he was supposed to judge, leading to a forbidden romance between criminal and judge—also siblings. The tragic love story became a beloved classic in Falano theater.
Although widely known, the tale was never taken as truth. The characters were real, but the plot was fictional—a fanciful myth believed only by commoners. No matter how many believed it, it had never become reality.
But…
Dorothy wasn’t just “anyone.”
Now, she was the master of the Throne of Fate—a quasi-Arbiter of History. Her will had become a measure of history itself.
“Though I can’t yet interfere with divine-level history, I should be able to modify mundane history…”
So thinking, Dorothy looked at the phantom page and spoke in a low voice.
“In the name of the Fate Sovereign… I pass judgment—this history shall take effect.”
With her declaration, the “pseudo-history” tag on the phantom page dissolved. In that moment, the world subtly shifted. Countless minor details—unnoticeable to the average person—began to quietly transform.
The judgment complete, Dorothy paused—waiting.
Sure enough, not long after, Nephthys’s voice rang out with elation in her mind.
“Miss Dorothy! We did it! That Petty family descendant—the one who originally had no clear tie to the Bourbon line—now suddenly has a bloodline link to Charles! The bloodline leaf just appeared! It wasn’t there a moment ago!”
Nephthys excitedly reported. Hearing this, Dorothy smiled faintly. Her experiment had succeeded.
Now, as the master of the Throne of Fate and wielder of the fallen Heaven’s Arbiter’s divine authority, Dorothy had surpassed even the former godling of Fate. She had become the most powerful “Revelation” entity in the past few millennia—powerful enough to do what once seemed impossible.
Like now—judging a fringe folk tale and rewriting history. Turning a fabricated legend into truth.
Her ruling altered the past and reshaped the present. Victor Petty’s bloodline had changed—he truly became Charles’s illegitimate son. The Duke’s wife, Olissa, had truly borne the King a child.
Originally, the Afterbirth Cult had used divine power to sever all mystic ties related to Charles’s bloodline. But now Dorothy had retroactively grafted an entirely new branch onto his family tree—a connection not covered by the original severance.
In effect, she had found an unrelated bloodline, declared “this one belongs to Charles now,” and forcefully attached it. As a result, Nephthys could now trace Charles’s memory via the Petty family line. And the only real cost… was the long-dead Duke Jacques being cuckolded even harder.
With the new connection in place, Dorothy used the information channel to sense Nephthys’s memory-tracing progress. And just as Nephthys began to access Charles’s memories—just as the images began to surface—
A powerful divine force suddenly surged in.
It slashed straight toward the newly established bloodline link—aiming to sever it immediately.