Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire

In the dimly lit underground chamber, the gathering officially began following the words of its host, Mr. Grayhill. Each participant spoke in turn, proceeding clockwise from his right-hand side.

The first to speak was a woman in a dark purple cloak. Her withered hands emerged from her robe, placing a box on the table. She opened it to reveal some dried yellowish fragments.

“As usual, ladies and gentlemen, this is the nightshade grass I’ve prepared for this meeting. It’s been processed into powdered dry medicine. This time, I’ve brought 100 grams. Whether for crafting Serenity Incense to enhance meditation or brewing calming tea to counteract poison of recognition, it’s remarkably effective,” she said in a raspy voice. Then, she surveyed the room and raised three fingers.

“As always, 5 grams for 1 pound, minimum purchase of 10 grams. If anyone wishes to barter, feel free to present your items. Mr. Grayhill will evaluate their worth, and I’ll accept trades of equivalent value.”

Dorothy was startled by the woman’s declaration.

Five grams for one pound? Isn’t that exorbitant?!

In this world, a farmer’s annual income was only about eight or nine pounds, while a laborer might earn thirteen or fourteen pounds a year. Starting at 10 grams per sale was practically robbery!

Dorothy shook her head, thinking no one would accept such a high price. To her surprise, someone quickly raised their hand.

“I’ll take 80 grams, Ms. Willow,” said a man in a suit, wearing a mask and top hat.

The old woman chuckled.

“Of course, Mr. Shepherd, the large portion is naturally yours…”

She carefully measured out most of the powder with a small brass scale, wrapped it in yellow paper tied with straw string, and slid the package across the table to the masked gentleman.

“Only 20 grams left. Any other takers?” the woman called out.

Responses came swiftly.

“I’ll take 5 grams!”

“Please give me 10 grams, Ms. Willow!”

“Me!”

To Dorothy’s astonishment, the exorbitantly priced powder was quickly sold out, with many attendees unable to secure any. This gave her a clearer understanding of how valuable mystic items were in this world.

The meeting continued. After the old woman, other attendees took their turns. Some sold goods, some sought items, and others shared information.

Trading was the centerpiece of the meeting, involving cash transactions and bartering. In the latter case, participants often asked Grayhill to appraise the items’ values, showcasing his extensive knowledge.

The goods on offer were consistently expensive, ranging from a few pounds to dozens. One golden ornament containing traces of “Lantern” essence even fetched a staggering 100 pounds. Compared to that, the old woman’s initial pricing seemed almost modest. Dorothy could only watch in shock.

‘Wow… even a small piece of a mystic item costs this much? Just two or three pieces could buy me a house in the city…’

As the attendees confidently placed their bids, Dorothy silently reflected. She now understood that delving into the realm of beyond was an expensive pursuit, one reserved for the well-resourced.

Most of these people must be influential figures in society, Dorothy mused as she watched the trades being finalized.

Many of the items intrigued her, like potions granting temporary night vision or incense to keep one alert at night. However, their prices were far beyond her reach, leaving her with no choice but to remain a spectator.

Dorothy’s funds came from what she had scavenged from Edrick’s body and house—a total of 35 pounds. After paying 15 pounds for corpse marionette transportation and storage fees, she had only 20 pounds left. While sufficient for a comfortable life in mundane society, it was entirely inadequate for this secretive marketplace.

You only realize how little money you have when you need it…

Remaining silent throughout the gathering, Dorothy watched as the event drew to a close. The final speaker completed their transactions, and she still hadn’t found anything she truly needed.

Just as Dorothy was resigned to leaving empty-handed, the room fell silent, and all eyes turned to one spot—the head of the round table, where Grayhill sat.

‘What’s this? Waiting for the leader to dismiss us?’

Grayhill cleared his throat, and a masked servant stepped forward, carrying a box.

“Since everyone has finished, it’s my turn to conclude. This time, I’m offering a mystic book,” Grayhill announced calmly.

Dorothy perked up instantly, sitting upright.

‘Grayhill participates in trades too? And he’s selling a mystic book this time?’

Her eyes fixed on Grayhill as his servant placed the box before him. Grayhill opened it and took out a thin, old book.

“This mystic book is called ‘The Dream Seeker’s Chronicles’. It’s a guide to mastering control over dream—learning to enter your dreams while awake consciously.”

Grayhill’s words didn’t elicit much reaction from the audience. Dorothy wasn’t particularly impressed either, lucid dreaming was something she had heard of before.

After scanning the room, Grayhill continued.

“In addition to dream control, this book details methods to access the ‘Dreamscape’ through one’s dreams. For those unfamiliar, the Dreamscape is a shared dream realm of all sentient beings. It’s one of the inner realms, full of unimaginable wonders, hidden knowledge, and countless Beyonders’ spirit. Even gods have left their marks there. It’s a realm fraught with peril… yet brimming with opportunity.”

Placing the book back in the box, Grayhill leaned back in his chair, meeting the eager gazes of the audience as he spoke.

“For even the most experienced Beyonder, exploring the Dreamscape is vital. As for you all… Well, the price for this book is 500 pounds.”