Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Nick drummed his heels lightly against the wooden bench, trying—and mostly failing—to stay calm.

The Town Hall was busier than he'd expected, with people rushing around, but no one spared him more than a passing glance as the preparation for the Mass Funeral took priority. He figured he looked battered enough to evoke some pity, though. Or maybe gossip. Word must be spreading about what happened in the dungeon.

The expedition had returned that morning to cheers, but the townsfolk's celebration quickly soured into awkward, half-hearted applause upon realizing how few survivors had come back.

Sixty men went in, but only sixteen returned. It was a massacre unlike any seen in decades. The best that Floria could offer had been decimated.

Nick could still see the frozen expressions on the faces of the people as they realized that no one else was coming. He could hear the fading screams of those who had lost their loved ones as they were led away. They had won, but the cost had been very high.

Before heading off to his own check-up, Arthur gruffly informed them that the casualty rate and the strength of the enemies faced inside categorized the dungeon as A-rank. The fact that there are even more powerful ones out there doesn't make me feel any better.

Sure, the summon and the incomplete philosopher's stone hadn't been part of the dungeon, but even without those, they would not have made it out without Marthas and Arthur. Two Prestige classes had been severely injured, and it was not even at the top of the scale. S-rank dungeons must be apocalyptic. They'd probably require a team made of all Prestige classes to handle.

Wives and sons and mothers had begged to know where their loved ones were, and Eugene had to take up the terrible duty of informing them of their deaths. It had not been a pretty sight, and Nick pursed his lips at the memory, shaking his head.

Surprisingly, he could hear faint notes of music in the distance. Although the mood had been thoroughly ruined, some people were either cynical or wise enough to understand that even such a terrible loss was a small price to pay considering what could have been.

In a way, this was a courtesy to the survivors, an attempt to honor their accomplishments. But there would be no grand festival or extravaganza. How could they celebrate wholeheartedly when so many had died?

I still need to talk with Elia. Nick nearly groaned, but he'd promised her he'd help, and he wouldn't go back on his word. He had to know the current situation before he could put any plan in motion, especially because his father was unlikely to wait long before taking action on his own. I need to present him with a workable plan. If I get a clean bill of health, I will be able to handle most of it on my own, but the ache I still feel in my coils makes me think it won't be that easy.

After that, he needed a private conversation with Ogden. They had much to discuss, not least what they would do about the crystal forest that now resided within the Green Ocean. If I am right about its potential, we need to act before a big fish gets wind of it.

But first, the healers. Nick had tried to slip away after the initial check-in, but his father had grabbed him and pinned him with an unimpressed glare, "You're not going anywhere until Lorenz checks you thoroughly."

Nick had tested the water, explaining that his aches weren't severe and that he just needed some rest. However, his father had noticed his dangerous overuse of mana, and there was no convincing him.

So here he was, waiting in the hallway while the last few survivors were marched in one by one for thorough medical scans. He kicked his heels again, releasing a sigh. This is one of those healers Marthas brought along from Alluria, and he's supposed to be an up-and-coming prodigy. I wonder why he agreed to come all the way over here…

Eventually, the door at the end of the corridor swung open, and out stepped Arthur, looking thoroughly displeased. The old man wore a fresh set of simple clothes and still somehow carried an air of unwavering confidence. He paused, noticing Nick.

"Your turn, kid," he growled hoarsely. "Once you've recovered, you and I need to talk," he added as an afterthought.

Nick opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur was already stomping away.

"Next!" called a bored voice from inside the examination room. Nick sighed and stood up, walking past the half-open door into an unexpectedly spacious office. Soft sunlight streamed through a window behind a desk cluttered with papers and glass containers.

Shelves lined the walls, displaying an assortment of potions, jars, and odd relics. He recognized several magical implements, ranging from scrying mirrors to runic crystals, but one intricate sculpture in the corner drew his eyes. It looked like an anatomical dummy, but it kept flickering, as if it couldn't quite decide which form to assume.

His attention was pulled away by a man leaning against the desk. He was young, perhaps in his late twenties, with a flawless complexion, shiny short hair, and decorative jewelry on his ears and fingers. He wore a crisp dark linen tunic and silver-threaded trousers that likely cost more than Nick's entire belongings, except for his wand. Everything about him radiated wealth and vanity.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

When he saw Nick enter, he raised an eyebrow in surprise, evidently not having expected a kid after all the burly men he'd treated, but thankfully, he didn't raise a fuss.

"Healer Lorenz," the man introduced himself with a languid wave, as though Nick was intruding on precious time. Then he pointed to a metal-framed seat by the center of the room. "Take a seat. You're the last one before the Captain, so let's make this quick."

As a specialized healer, Lorenz's time was likely very expensive, but his father had made it clear to the members of the expedition that the total expense for their check-ups would be covered by the town's treasury.

It was likely one of the many ways he'd attempt to soften the blow of the lost loot. The others definitely wouldn't have spent their coin to pay for Lorenz's rates. Many would have used potions and herbal remedies and ended up resenting the experience even more.

He settled into the seat, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Lorenz glided over, humming, but after a few moments, he frowned. Nick followed his line of sight to the sculpture. It kept flickering and going by the man's look, it wasn't supposed to.

"Tch," Lorenz clicked his tongue. "Useless piece of junk. I'll have to speak to the enchanter again." Then he turned to Nick, pursing his lips, "If it was working properly, you'd stand next to it, and we'd see all your issues without me having to cast spells." He sighed, unimpressed. "We'll have to do this old-school."

Nick suspected [Blasphemy] might be interfering with the item's scrying, but he did not volunteer the information.

"Alright," Lorenz said, stepping closer. The faint smell of expensive perfume wafted over Nick, an odd combination of lavender and something sharper, almost like weapon oil. "Let me see just how bad you are. Country bumpkins, taking even kid mages on such dangerous dives." The last part was muttered, but not quietly enough to have been involuntary.

Still, Nick kept silent. He closed his eyes as the man's manicured hand pressed to his temple. A cool thread of mana slid down his nape, and the reflex to reject it was strong, as he was painfully reminded of what happened when he let Marthas' fiery essence in, but he forced himself still. The healer's scanning technique was probably safe, and he'd already proven capable of rejecting undue influence if it came down to it.

A tense minute passed in silence. Nick felt goosebumps as Lorenz's mana slid deeper, swirling through the newly formed "arcane circuitry" under his skin. His entire body tensed, waiting for pain, and sure enough, mild discomfort followed as the channels resisted intrusion.

Lorenz's brows furrowed, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. There was another silent moment, and then the man pulled back with a sharp exhale.

"You're an idiot," Lorenz declared flatly.

Nick blinked in shock. "…Excuse me?"

The healer rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "With freshly carved channels like that, you shouldn't be walking, much less casting. If you continue molding spells, you'll wreck them for good. It's a miracle you haven't crippled yourself yet."

Nick's mouth hung open. He knew he had pushed far beyond safe limits, but hearing it out loud from a professional made it feel much more real.

Lorenz rubbed his temple. "Look, it's your life, and I won't pry what happened for you to abuse yourself so. But as a licensed healer, I have to warn you: one more big spell within the next week, and your channels might never recover. Understand?"

All Nick could do was nod. "Yes… I'll do my best not to cast."

Lorenz's eyes flicked to the broken dummy in the corner. "I wish the device worked so I could show you the extent of the damage, but you're apparently a magnet for trouble. Just—no spells for a week, not even the small ones, or you'll actually get a negative Trait. And those are a bitch to remove."

Nick let out a sigh. A week of no magic threw a wrench in any immediate plan for the beastmen situation. The infiltration route might be too risky, after all. The best he could do was rely on cunning and soft power to steer his father.

"Thank you," he said, subdued, standing from the seat.

Lorenz sniffed, "Go on then. If you feel any searing pain or numbness, find me. At least I'll have something to talk about when my contract is up, and I can return to civilization." Then he turned away, rummaging through his instruments, making it clear that the conversation was over.

Sunlight hit Nick as he stepped outside, and he paused to take a breath. I was lucky. I bet the purification contributed to the lack of lasting damage, but I can't take the chance that it fixed everything. Anything I could do to assist the healing would require me to shape mana, and that's impossible.

Floria's streets buzzed with a subdued energy as people worked to transform what should have been a joyful festival into a somber ceremony. Decorations were torn down or overshadowed by the black ribbons hung to signify mourning.

"Nick!"

Before he could slip into an alley, he was forced to slow down as his mother emerged from a nearby building. From her expression, she somehow already knew about the healer's orders because she marched up to him with a very determined look.

"Don't think, even for a second, that you can slip away and go back to experimenting, Nicholas Crowley," she warned before pulling him into an embrace. She held him for a while, and from the tremble in her arms, he knew just how worried she had been.

"He said that I'll be fine with some rest." His reply was muffled, which didn't make it sound any less like a whine.

"Oh, may Sashara witness me, you will rest alright. Now let's go home." And that was that.

"Your father will join us once he's finished getting everything ready for tomorrow's ceremony. I made him promise he'd be home before dinner." She continued rambling, though Nick understood it was probably just her way of coping with the stress from the past few days.

She kept speaking as they walked, explaining that she had personally debriefed him on everything that happened during their absence until she paused halfway along the road. Nick halted, blinking. "Mom?" he asked softly.

She met his eyes, sighing. "I'm going on ahead, but you have a visitor." She nodded toward a figure Nick hadn't noticed behind the short line of hedges near a partially grown field. "Don't do anything stupid, no magic." Her tone brooked no argument. Then she gave him another fierce hug, turned, and walked down the road.

Nick felt naked without [Wind God's Third Eye], but the memory of Lorenz's scolding stilled him. Even a small spell was risky. Instead, he simply waited for his visitor to show themselves.

After a few seconds, someone emerged from behind them. Elia.

The young fox-girl wore a complicated expression, and her ears were pinned back in tension, which told him the rebellion hadn't spontaneously solved itself.

Nick offered a gentle greeting, but Elia didn't respond verbally. Instead, her face crumpled, tears welling. With a half-choked sob, she lunged forward, colliding with Nick so suddenly that he staggered. Losing his balance on the loose gravel, he fell backward, instinctively wrapping an arm around her to steady them both. They ended up in a half-tangled heap on the dirt path, with Elia's face pressed against his chest.

She sobbed while Nick lay there, momentarily stunned, then gently patted her back, murmuring comforting nonsense. "Hey, hey," he whispered, "it's okay. I'm here." He tried to ease her off him so that he could look at her face, but her arms clenched, and he felt the wetness of her tears soak his shirt.

After a few seconds, Elia lifted her face. Her voice cracked as she whispered words so soft he barely caught them.

He gaped at her, struggling to process what she'd just said.