Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Nick's breath caught as the fiery face turned. He was sure it had glanced at him for just a moment, and he almost physically recoiled when his eyes met its glowing ones, but it soon continued toward the two priests.

Its expression was serene, divinely beautiful and radiant, with a soft affection that seemed incongruous with its sheer power. The priests, kneeling and trembling with elation, sobbed openly.

Nick noticed dark trails on their cheeks, and only then did he realize they were crying tears of blood. Yet they looked… happy.

"Children of the flame," the voice whispered through the crackle of fire. It sounded like countless embers popping in a quiet hearth. "Your devotion is noted. Your sacrifice is accepted. This Servant of She Who Burns will save you."

The two priests practically collapsed, hands pressed to their chests. They were clearly in agony, but from their blissful smiles, Nick suspected they welcomed the pain as a holy sign. The rest of the strike group fell to their knees in a collective wave of awe.

Soldiers and adventurers alike, men who had just bravely fought against the Wild Hunt, trembled under the weight of this presence. Some were openly weeping, while others bowed their heads, whispering prayers or praises.

Thanks to [Blasphemy], Nick was unaffected. Where the others seemed to buckle under a crushing wave of divinity, he felt only a faint tingling along his skin. Despite that, he swallowed uneasily. This phenomenon was no simple magic.

Considering what it had said, it was probably something like an angel of Sashara or a construct made in her likeness. Even with the priests' devotion and the mysterious vial, they hadn't used nearly enough power to summon the real goddess. If it were that simple, the gods would be walking among us.

It was still more than enough to change the tide of battle.

Eugene grunted, trying to move away, but a portion of his flames was suddenly siphoned toward the divine face. Nick saw the flicker of alarm on his father's face as he forced his element back under his skin. Arthur pulled back, seemingly wanting to distance himself from the fire as much as possible.

Then the face shifted again, twisting from gentle serenity into a malevolent glare as it turned to regard the surviving fae knights.

Their steeds shrieked and collapsed into shadows under the pressure it released. Only a handful of the fae, including the leader, remained upright, even though they evidently felt it. Horror lit their features.

Nick's ears popped as if the air pressure had doubled. The ground groaned as cracks spiderwebbed outward. And for an instant, he sensed the face gather power, presumably to annihilate the fae in a single blow.

The Hunt leader let out a strangled snarl, slitting his wrist with a jerk of his blade. Purple blood spilled onto the earth, hissing and bubbling upon contact, and an abrupt shift in the air made Nick's senses jolt. Another presence slammed into reality, so potent that even Eugene staggered back.

A few men screamed, while others simply fainted. Nick wobbled from the sensory overload, almost dropping his wand, though [Blasphemy] shielded him from being affected again.

Trees twisted and warped as their trunks snapped and reformed until they merged into a massive, bestial face. It reminded Nick of a bear, although its proportions were all wrong, as its snout was longer and its teeth were made of twisting roots. Where the Servant's presence burned, this new arrival radiated a primal, suffocating aura.

No words were exchanged between the two divine apparitions. They didn't seem to need to speak, as everyone reacted as if they had heard something. Being protected from mental influence, Nick was left out of the loop.

A thunderous silence hung in the air as the pressure continued to build. Men groaned softly from their supine positions, clearly suffering from the immense power being manifested, and the fae didn't seem to fare any better, as burns appeared on their skin despite no fire having touched them.

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, both presences vanished. The Servant's fires blinked out in a roar of heat that sent even those who had remained standing to the ground while the bear-like visage dissolved into a swirl of black leaves that disintegrated into the nearby trees. The oppressive aura faded, leaving behind only silence.

"Do not attack," Eugene commanded. "We'll respect the agreement."

Ah, so that's what they said.

To be fair, Nick didn't think anyone was in good enough shape to resume hostilities. Around him, men struggled to sit up or shook their heads in disorientation. The priests lay prone, barely breathing, as though summoning the divine power had nearly consumed them. Eugene quickly knelt beside them, checking their pulses.

The fae were in no better shape. Most of their mounts had collapsed entirely, and the handful of riders still conscious looked utterly spent. The leader himself swayed in place, blood still dripping from his wrists. For a second, Nick wondered if he should take advantage of this opening and attack. But he didn't think he should go against his father's word, and no one else seemed up to a fight. The confrontation had sapped everyone's will.

Eugene gently hoisted one of the priests upright. "He's alive," he called with relief.

He glanced at Nick, eyes flicking to the other priest, who was still breathing shallowly, face pale as ash. "Nick, help me with the other."

Nick nodded, trying to ignore the trembling in his hands. He crouched and checked the man's pulse, finding it rapid but erratic.

His eyes were open but unfocused, and faint wisps of smoke drifted from his eyelashes. Nick felt a pang of pity. The man had likely poured everything into summoning that spark, only for it to be rendered useless by a second divine presence.

In the distance, the antlered fae forced himself upright, keeping his eyes upon them. His expression was one of pure fury mixed with confusion. The handful of knights around him began to regroup, glancing at their leader for orders.

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The leader spat a curse in his alien tongue. Without another word, he gestured sharply, and the knights who could still move began pulling their unconscious comrades away from the humans.

Nick kept watch, ready to attack anyone who'd break the fragile truce, but no second wave of attacks came. Instead, the leader halted just before he left the clearing.

"This is not over," he said in the common language with a pained tone. "You have trespassed upon the Summer Court of Creiddylad. For that, we shall have your heads, whether it is today, tomorrow, or in a century."

Eugene's posture stiffened, and the men around him shifted, but no one moved forward. They were just as exhausted. Nick doubted they could have handled another fight even if they had wanted to.

With a final snarl, the fae turned and sank into a distortion in the air. The rest followed, dragging their wounded with them until the rifts sealed shut. Then they were gone.

Silence fell, broken only by the survivors' ragged breathing. Nick gently lifted the injured priest, letting Eugene handle the other. The rest of the men gathered around them, forming a loose circle.

Arthur finally showed up, having kept away since the priests had started chanting. He looked spooked, though unscathed. Nick would have expected him to take advantage of the temporary weakness of the fae, but from his frustrated frown, he seemed to have a reason to let them go, "I hate it when the gods meddle in our affairs."

Eugene nodded, lips set in a grim line. "Had we broken the truce, what would have happened?"

"We would have all burned. Anyone who was baptized by Sashara's temple must respect Her edicts, and Her Servants speak in Her name." Arthur replied, not seeming to like it in the least.

I guess I could have attacked then, but that would have made me even more of a pariah. I doubt any hold she had on me is still active, given that I was able to steal from her temple.

Finally, Eugene began directing everyone to gather what was left of their supplies and see to the wounded. "We'll set up a defensive perimeter here," he declared, and that was that.

Nick sat the priest on a small patch of unburned grass, carefully resting his back against a rock. The man groaned, his eyelids fluttering. Nick checked for major burns but found nothing beyond superficial scalds, although the man's eyes remained bloodshot.

He might never fully recover from channeling that much energy, but it looks like he'll survive.

"Nick," Eugene said softly, drawing him aside. "Are you all right?"

Nick swallowed. "I'm fine. It was just a lot."

Eugene nodded, seemingly having expected as much. "Did you manage to learn anything about the opposing divine? Your senses are much finer than mine."

Nick shook his head. "I'm sure it wasn't a god in the flesh. The fae didn't use nearly enough power for that. But I would wager they have an easier time with this kind of summoning magic, given that they can tap into the dungeon's power."

Eugene grunted, patting Nick's shoulder and letting out a long breath. "Rest while you can. The fae might not come back soon to respect the spirit of the truce, but we're still deep in the dungeon. I don't doubt we'll see them again."

I would really like to know exactly what they said, but I can't ask, can I?

Five more men were dead. The bodies, carefully wrapped in their own clothes, now lay beneath fresh mounds of earth and stone. The two priests offered whatever final rites they could muster, though they visibly trembled with fatigue. Their magic was entirely spent, and Nick suspected it would remain that way for a while. Thus, it was through physical effort and heartfelt prayers that they laid the fallen to rest.

Nick stood off to the side. Every time he looked at the new graves, a sense of heaviness settled over him, pressing against his chest.

He wondered, not for the first time, whether the dungeon had already claimed too many.

But Eugene didn't seem inclined to turn back now, and no one disagreed with him. Arthur leaned against a battered trunk with his eyes closed, though Nick didn't doubt he was awake and alert.

The men—adventurers, soldiers, rangers—rallied around their Captain, refusing to speak of retreat. The task, it seemed, had to be completed, no matter the cost. They had lost too much to give up now.

At length, the priests lowered their heads in final prayer and turned away, with sweat beading on their foreheads. A few soldiers helped them walk to the center of the makeshift camp, where they collapsed onto blankets, panting and pale.

"We're nearly out of potions," one of the soldiers muttered. "And the priests look half-dead."

"More than half, I'd say," another replied grimly. "A single healing spell, and they'll faint on the spot."

Eugene nodded when they looked at him for guidance. "We'll have to ration our remaining potions then."

Nick took a moment to gather his thoughts, then squared his shoulders. It wouldn't be much of a sacrifice for him, and he was already known for being weird. This will also give me a chance to be alone. "I can brew more. But I'll need time and ingredients."

Several men glanced over. He wondered how he looked in their eyes, always able to pull something out of his hat, but this time, no one commented. They were in dire straits, and any solution was welcome.

Eugene, for his part, sighed as if he had expected it. "You have an idea of what you need?"

Nick nodded. "Rhea taught me a few formulas from Ogden's notebooks. Most of them use common herbs, and I hope being this deep in the Green Ocean will mean I can find more potent variants to make up for my lack of skill. The problem is I'll need at least a few hours to gather, process, and brew."

"We'll lose precious daylight," Arthur warned, opening one eye. "And we are close to the dungeon's core."

"I know," Nick said, lifting his chin. "But if we rush in without potions, we'll lose people."

Eugene exhaled slowly, looking at the faces of his men. Tired, battered, and low on supplies, there wasn't really much of a choice. "Alright. You've got a few hours." Then he leveled a stern gaze at Nick. "But you're taking Morris as you go foraging. And two more guards."

Nick blinked, not quite hiding his annoyance. "I can handle myself, Dad." And I won't be able to ritually sacrifice the Oni core if I have others with me.

"It's not negotiable." Eugene's tone was iron. "I know you're strong, but in the worst case, they'll give you time to escape if you need it."

Nick wanted to argue, but he read the tension in his father's posture. This was the final word.

"Fine," he said, turning to Morris with a shrug. "Let's go then."

The old ranger gave him a measured look but said nothing to refute Eugene's words. He signaled to two guards—one with a bandaged arm, the other still fresh-faced yet grim. Together, they left the makeshift camp.

Nick took the lead, using [Wind God's Third Eye] to scour the path. It didn't take long for him to hit the jackpot this far in the Green Ocean. And I'm willing to bet the dungeon makes it easier for magical plants to grow.

They discovered the first trove of ingredients beside a crooked oak with spiraling bark marked by faint purple lines. Nick crouched down, pulled out a small dagger, carved strips from the outer bark, and placed them into glass jars. The bandaged guard whistled softly. "That looks expensive."

Nick nodded. "Probably worth a small fortune in Floria. More in a city, I'd wager." He paused, glancing around. "But they might be worth more to us right now. We have to get out of here alive if we want to enjoy the spoils."

Morris kept watch while Nick snipped leaves or uprooted tubers. The second guard paced nervously, scanning the area.

Every so often, Nick would sense faint pulses of mana coming from deeper in the woods, but no threat emerged.

Eventually, he straightened, wiping sweat from his brow. "One last thing," he muttered. "We need something with medicinal properties. Everything else I've found will be useless without it."

More than once, Nick was tempted to knock his guards out and do the ritual anyway, but he held back, as he kept feeling faint pulses of mana, as if the aftereffects of some radar-like spell. If it is who I think it is, I really don't want to be found in the middle of a ritual.

At last, they stumbled upon a small clearing surrounded by tall, spindly trees. The bark was smoother and marked with faint streaks that might resemble amber sap to an unsuspecting observer. Nick grinned. "This is it."

The two guards formed a perimeter while Morris stood watch at Nick's back. Nick knelt beside the largest trunk, carefully scraping off tiny blood-red mushrooms. He slid them into a vial, feeling a rush of satisfaction. He could brew a decent batch of healing potions with this.

Another soft ripple prickled along his senses. Nick tensed, freezing mid-motion. It was much more intense now. It's close.

He motioned silently to Morris, who lifted his bow in readiness. The guards looked around, trying to find what had spooked him. For a moment, Nick feared a new monster was upon them—maybe a hidden fae or a more intelligent goblinoid he didn't know. But as the presence entered [Wind God's Third Eye]'s range, he sighed in relief.

"Relax," he said quietly. "It's not an enemy."

Morris frowned. "You sure?"

Nick nodded. "It's Marthas. And there are more people with him."

The two guards sagged in relief. Morris even gave a short laugh, wiping sweat from his brow. "About time they found us."

Nick stood up, putting on his backpack. "Come on, let's go meet them."