Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Nick returned to the temporary camp with Marthas and his men in tow, navigating through the thin mist that had begun to cover the forest floor. He had half-expected an attack despite the apparent truce brokered by the two divine forces, but for once, fate seemed inclined to grant them a moment's reprieve.

Nick would have loved nothing more than to question the Prelate about what had happened, but if he wanted to follow through with his plans, he needed time to prepare, which meant making himself scarce as soon as possible. I'll have to linger just long enough to hear what the two divine servants said, and then I'll leave. With him around, I'll need all the time I can get to obscure the ritual.

They were met by two scouts about a mile from the strike group, who only relaxed when they saw Marthas lift a necklace of a burning log to show his allegiance to Sashara. After all, the gods didn't take kindly to imposters bearing their symbols, especially not if they wore the face of a Grand Exorcist.

The main campsite lay in a hollow where the trees parted, creating a relatively open space. The men had set up a loose ring of tents around a central fire pit, with a few tarps stretched between poles to provide a place for the wounded to rest. Most men appeared tired, and some outright exhausted, but a new wave of energy filled the air at the sight of Marthas returning.

Eugene, who was speaking with Arthur in low tones, turned as they approached, coming to meet them with a relieved smile. Nick noticed how the other soldiers reflexively gave the three men space.

"Son," Eugene patted him, glancing over at Morris and the guards and receiving a nod. "I see you made it back safely."

Nick nodded. "No trouble." He hefted the large cloth sack over his shoulder, which bulged with the harvested ingredients. "Plenty of interesting plants around. It should be enough for me to replenish our stocks."

Eugene exhaled, tension visibly easing from his shoulders. "Good. We'll need every drop you can make." Then he nodded to Marthas. "I'm glad to see you back in one piece. I'm sure you had your share of adventures, but for now, be welcome to the camp and have your men settle in. We've decided to spend the night here."

The Prelate's immaculate red robes and dark skin didn't show a speck of dust despite the days spent in the forest, but his men were just as tired and filthy as the others.

With a polite smile, he dipped his head in thanks. "I believe we have many things to talk about. My efforts in reducing the number of fae were relatively successful, but a Court always has ways of replenishing their ranks, especially when working within a dungeon." His eyes flicked over Nick's sack of ingredients. "You've already said so, but are you sure you don't need help? Alchemy is not my forte, but I know a thing or two."

Nick shrugged. "I'm no Ogden, but I can watch over a few boiling pots. The hard part is infusing the brews properly, and I'm the only one who can do that." Marthas nodded with a sigh, seeming lost in thought.

Eugene squeezed Nick's shoulder. "Leave the rest of the planning to us. Take your time and brew as many potions as you can." Then his tone turned wry. "Just try not to blow anything up."

Nick smirked. "No promises."

Leaving them behind, he made sure to keep [Wind God's Third Eye] active and was soon rewarded.

"I'm glad to hear you survived an encounter with a Wild Hunt. Very few men are lucky enough to meet them and survive." Marthas said.

"I'm afraid we can't take all the credit," Arthur grunted, "your priests saved our hide by summoning a Servant."

Nick felt the air shift as Marthas' considerable bulk settled onto a freshly cut log. "Yes, I felt its presence. I was afraid that might mean I'd find only a few survivors. I need to talk to them about the proper times to call upon such august presences."

"Don't be too harsh on them. They really saved us. Without it, we would have lost by attrition." Eugene sighed.

"I understand. I also believe they are already suffering enough. Just a gentle reminder will be enough." Given his tone, Nick doubted he'd be all that gentle.

Arthur snorted. "Yes, they didn't look good. Whatever catalyst they used must have been quite expensive. They certainly didn't have enough power for the summon."

Marthas hummed but didn't seem intentioned to respond.

"The Feral Gods' Servants was a surprise. I wouldn't have expected a fae lord, no matter how minor, to subjugate themselves to their power so deeply." Eugene finally interjected as the silence began to feel too stifling.

"Yes," Arthur grunted. "Them striking a momentary truce without asking wasn't what I expected."

"To be fair, we would have lost without it."

"Her Servant must have believed the cost of attacking with the Beast there to be too high." Marthas nodded, not seeming surprised in the least. When it became clear he wasn't interested in explaining more, Eugene sighed and started talking about their plans for the next day, and Nick let their talk fall into the background.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

I'll tune in if they start talking about what led Marthas to summon that pillar of fire, but I have work to focus on for now.

He found a spot about half a mile from the camp, near a low ridge overlooking a small creek, where the ground was level enough for him to set up his gear without concern. The men guarding that direction immediately wrinkled their noses at the pungent smell coming from his supplies and quickly gave him a wide berth.

That might or might not have been helped by Nick directing a subtle air current their way, making sure anyone in the vicinity got a good whiff.

Nick placed two battered iron pots on the ground, each large enough to hold a few gallons. He then summoned water with [Minor Elemental Manipulation], allowing it to swirl from the creek in a tight spiral and pour into each pot. The liquid was crystal clear, if not perfectly fresh, but he would boil it thoroughly, so it would be fine.

I can't use conjured water in here. Outside the dungeon, it would be fine, but it risks being tainted by the ambient mana. Natural water still has a small amount, but it can be cleansed much more easily.

He then built a small fire beneath each pot, layering twigs and dried grass. A single spark of fire set them ablaze. The flames crackled, sending wisps of smoke curling upward.

While the water began to heat, Nick rummaged through the sack of ingredients. He laid them out in a neat row, placing the Moonveil Leaves closest to him, as he'd need a good quantity of them to purify the water. Thunderbloom Petals was next, to set the healing base. Nightroot—a twisted, dark tuber that smelled faintly of licorice, known for boosting stamina—was barely enough for his purposes. And finally, Lifeblood Mushrooms, which were in the smallest quantity.

He also had gathered several small cores from the goblins and hobgoblins. They'd be crucial in boosting the potions' potency beyond what his meager skill could manage.

Nick diced the leaves and crushed the petals with a mortar he crafted from a river stone. He then carefully measured out a portion of the mushrooms. He put them into one pot, stirring gently, and watched the water swirl into a faintly greenish hue. The second pot received a mixture of root shavings and leftover seeds, plus a dash of powdered thunderbloom, forming a dull violet color.

He scrunched his nose. The smell was already nauseating, a mixture of sweetness and rot. He kept at it, tossing in a goblin core for each pot. They sizzled on contact, releasing a faint crackle of mana. That was a good sign: the energy infusion was working. Nick only hoped the men wouldn't mind the taste. Sweaty goblin is not a flavor I'm eager to try. Another reason why I need to get on with the ritual.

While stirring the brews, Nick worked surreptitiously on the second part of his plan. With a wind blade, he began carving out a rough circle just beyond the stream, where the darkness of the night would conceal him even if anyone came snooping. For this particular ritual, he decided to use mostly Norse runes again. It would require a bit more effort than usual, but he had already confirmed their effectiveness against the Oni. Trying an untested approach for such a delicate ritual would be risky.

He pressed a hand to the massive core, which he had wrapped in cloth and placed within arm's reach. Even inert, it throbbed with power. Enough to fuel a monstrous healing ability—assuming he survived the imprinting process. The Oni's ability was incredibly powerful, not just because it was linked to the dungeon.

He stirred the pot absentmindedly, glancing around. The men were well out of earshot, thanks to the thick stench of the boiling concoctions. Perfect. He gently levitated the Oni's core and placed it at the circle's center, where the runes would channel its power. A few references to the Oni's nature were included. Some elements were borrowed from Wiccan traditions. A line or two came from the same Scandinavian approach he used for the severance.

Night had truly fallen, but the smell was still oppressive. Unfortunately, Nick couldn't call upon a refreshing breeze as he needed to maintain his privacy. It's not pleasant, but it's working.

He tested the potions' consistency by swirling the contents with a small ladle. A bitter, herbal aroma wafted up, forcing him to cough. He set the ladle aside and capped the pots.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. The potions needed another half hour to simmer. That was enough time to finalize the extraction circle.

He returned his attention to the runes, adjusting them with delicate sweeps of his wind blade to ensure every angle was correct.

Eugene and the others would want to move as soon as the sun rose. Nick had to be ready before that. It had to be done now.

That was when he sensed someone approaching, undeterred by the smell. He glanced sideways, half expecting to see Eugene or maybe Arthur stop by for a progress update. Instead, it was that blonde scout—the same one who had confronted him earlier. Nick blinked, feeling a surge of old annoyance. He had nearly forgotten about him.

The scout reached him, and for a moment, neither spoke. He looked at the pots and then at Nick.

"We're leaving at first light," he said neutrally. "Captain Crowley wanted me to let you know."

Nick nodded slowly. "Thank you. The potions should be finished soon. An hour, maybe two, depending on how they settle."

The scout didn't move to leave. Instead, he took a breath, looking uneasy. Then, he extended his hand. "Name's Jack. I... wanted to apologize. I've heard a lot about what you did with the Oni, and I realize I judged you unfairly."

Nick regarded the outstretched hand. He sensed the tension in Jack's stance, the slight tremor in his fingers, yet his eyes appeared sincere. At last, Nick grasped the hand in a firm shake. "I appreciate it. No hard feelings."

Jack let out a small sigh and stepped back. "I'll, uh... let you get back to your work." He turned and walked away a bit awkwardly, as if he wasn't sure whether Nick might change his mind at any moment.

Nick frowned as he watched him go. That had been unexpectedly civil. Shrugging, he turned back to work. The potions had begun to thicken, turning a deep burgundy color—a good sign that the mixture was nearly complete. When it lightened into a clear red, it'd be done.

Once he was certain the potions would be fine for a few minutes, he stepped away to continue the much more secretive task. It was time to secure the privacy he needed.

He began walking the perimeter of the small clearing, weaving subtle threads of dense wind into a hush to stop sound and light from escaping or entering. It wouldn't truly prevent a dedicated mage from discovering him, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

Nick had just finished creating the second line of runic inscriptions that would anchor the hush when the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He froze, narrowing his eyes.

At first, he wondered if it might be an invisible hobgoblin, but the shape was distinctly human in size, and the movements had an oddly deliberate caution.

Jack again?

Nick paused his work for a few seconds, picking up the ladle again to stir the pots. The hidden presence hovered near the treeline, about a hundred feet from him. Nick inhaled, focusing his senses around that spot. Sure enough, the figure's shape resolved in his mind: it was definitely Jack, wearing some form of stealth cloak or using a skill that dampened his presence.

So, the apology was a ruse.

The privacy spells Nick had started weaving were incomplete, and he knew if he continued now, Jack might see more than he was meant to. That couldn't happen.

He forced himself to stand and strode back to the potions as if he had just taken a short walk to stretch his legs.

What is he hoping to see? Nick wondered. He probably just wants to confirm that I'm up to something.

Given how much preparation he'd put into it, he didn't believe the ritual would take too long, but he still would need at least twenty minutes without anyone to distract him.

Nick's thoughts churned, searching for a plan to eliminate his watcher.

He could try an ambush, but physically confronting Jack wouldn't solve anything but increase his suspicions, even if he was sure he could overwhelm him.

He needed a strategy that wouldn't risk the entire group's unity. The expedition was already walking a fine line, and the last thing Nick wanted was for a rumor to spread about him assaulting a scout.

If he could just get the scout far enough, maybe he could spook him into returning without evidence.

But it was a gamble. If Nick lured Jack out of the safe zone, he could end up in real danger.

Well, I don't have much choice. If I wait too long, my absence will become suspicious. I suppose I can just send him on a wild goose chase. Nothing dangerous, just a little shikigami to scare him.