Low-Fantasy Occultist

Given how the wards were beginning to react to his mere presence, Nick decided to shed the layers of warming charms he’d wrapped around himself, if only to keep them from going off before he could even start his work.

The freezing wind bit at his exposed skin as he stepped up to the towering stone that formed Toneburg’s wall. Up close, the sheer scale of the fortification was intimidating, but it was the invisible layer of magic woven through the structure that demanded his attention.

Closing his eyes, Nick extended his senses outward. The detection wards felt like a sprawling, intricately woven net of fine spider silk. They thrummed, shifting and stirring as the ambient mana brushed their perimeter.

As he’d thought, they were waking up, sensing a foreign presence that didn’t belong.

"These are damn sensitive," he whispered, his breath pluming in the dark. “Any spike in mana or any application of blunt force will echo all the way to the Duke's keep.”

"Can you do it?" Rhea asked softly, standing a few paces back beside her brother.

For a moment, Nick considered making a joke to ease the tension, but neither sibling seemed likely to take it well, and they’d brought him along on their mad quest specifically to handle things like this, so he kept silent.

"I can," he confirmed.

Another breath plumed from his mouth, and he dipped into his soul, bringing his spiritual weight upon the material plane through [Territory].

Unlike his combat applications, this was subtle work. After all, he wasn’t trying to crush an enemy. Fortunately, he had some experience to fall back on from his nightly jaunt into the Valerius Conglomerate’s base. While these wards outshone theirs by an order of magnitude, he now had more and better tools.

A box of isolated space formed, pressing flush against the cold stone. Within that box, sound, air, and ether were completely cut off from the rest of the world. By itself, this would only prevent the wards from alerting the central matrix to their presence, lacking the power to create a breach.

"Now," Nick commanded.

Rhea stepped forward, shuddering as she crossed the invisible boundaries of his [Territory]. She uncorked the vial and splashed the volatile solvent directly onto the stone.

Inside the spiritual quarantine, the reaction was violent. Green liquid clung to the wall, bubbling furiously as it interacted with the complex magical matrices overlaid on the stone. It ate through the runes hidden in the brickwork, unraveling the ward's structure, layer by layer. Brilliant sparks of failing magic flared, yet not a sound or ripple of mana escaped Nick's containment.

Within seconds, a hole was chewed through the detection web, revealing a clear path through a narrow drainage grate at the base of the wall.

“Let’s go," Nick ordered, his mind numb from the effort of keeping the spiritual box perfectly still against the struggling, self-repairing wards.

Gaelen slid through the grate first, disappearing into the city's shadows. Rhea followed immediately. Nick took a steadying breath, dropped into a low crouch, and slipped through the gap. The moment his boots touched the cobblestones on the other side, he released [Territory].

Behind him, the magical matrix snapped back together, its torn strands reweaving themselves with nary a ripple.

They were inside Toneburg, and without the wards to muffle his senses, the city’s presence hit him full force.

Even in the dead of night, it hummed with activity. The air was warmer here, protected from the biting winds by the very wards they’d just bypassed. Distant dogs barked, and the marching of city watchmen echoed down the winding streets.

"Keep to the shadows," Gaelen murmured, drawing his hood up. "I know where we can go. Follow my path.”

He took the point, navigating the claustrophobic alleys with familiarity. They moved in silence, pressing themselves against brick walls whenever the glow of a patrol lantern swept past the intersections. Even without spiritual senses, it was clear the city was on edge, a tense paranoia hanging over the lower districts.

After twenty minutes of weaving through the poorest sectors, Gaelen led them down a narrow flight of stone steps tucked behind a dilapidated warehouse. He pressed his hand against a rotting door, tracing a pattern on the rusted lock. With a low click, the door swung inward.

They stepped into a cavernous, pitch-black stone cellar. Rhea immediately drew a stick from her pouch and cracked it, bathing the room in a dim blue light.

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The cellar was dusty and choked with cobwebs, filled with stacked wooden crates that had long since rotted. A faintly burned heraldic crest—a stylized hawk clutching a runic shield—was etched into the side of the nearest crate.

“This was House Elpen’s," Nick noted quietly, recognizing the symbol from the grand estate they had seen from the mountain ridge.

"An old ingredient cache," Gaelen confirmed, leaning heavily against a stone pillar. His voice was strained, with a wet, ragged edge. "My grandfather built a dozen of these across the lower city to move goods when the order required subtlety. It hadn’t been used in years, even before our fall, so I doubt the Ultimers ever thought to look for it.”

"It will do as a base," Nick mused. He turned his full attention to the older man, and the dim blue light highlighted the horrific condition of his body.

The cursed blade had exacted a terrible toll on their journey. Thick black veins crawled up Gaelen’s neck, disappearing beneath his jawline. His skin was ash-gray, and his eyes were sunken, rimmed with dark, bruised flesh. Despite Rhea’s best efforts, the corruption was waging a bitter war against his vitality, and he was losing.

"Take off your armor; we need to deal with that before we can start moving,” Nick commanded, gesturing vaguely toward his state.

Gaelen stiffened, his hand instinctively falling to the hilt of his blade. "I am fine. We need to set up defenses and establish a scouting plan.”

"You are dying," Nick replied coldly, stepping closer. "Rhea's alchemy can no longer hold the curse at bay, and the death magic in the pass accelerated the rot. Take off the armor, Gaelen.”

"I said I am fine!" Gaelen snapped, his temper flaring with unnatural aggression, a direct symptom of the curse eating at his mind. "We don't have time for this, Nick! The Ultimers are sitting in my home! Alexander is doing Gods know what in the city. I can still fight!”

"You can barely swing your daggers," Nick challenged, narrowing his eyes. "I doubt you can survive a confrontation with a watchman, let alone a King's Shadow, in this state. You are a liability.”

The word struck Gaelen like a physical blow. He bared his teeth and stepped up to Nick, but the height difference was negated by the sheer weight of Nick's aura.

"This blade is the only reason we made it this far," Gaelen growled, his voice trembling with rage. "You might have achieved impossible powers, but without it, I will be powerless! If I don't use the curse to bridge the gap… You saw how useful it was against the enemies we've faced so far!”

"A cracked vessel cannot hold water," Nick shot back, echoing the wisdom Tholm had imparted, even if he doubted the old man had meant it for this. Or maybe he had. An Artificer of his power might have sensed the cursed dagger from halfway across Alluria. "You are letting your vengeance consume you. If you burn out before we even reach Ephor Ultimer, your family’s death will go unanswered. I will not let you die before your time out of sheer stubbornness.”

Gaelen glared, his chest heaving as the black veins throbbed angrily. He had yet to draw on the dagger’s power, but it was already visibly affecting him. That only reinforced Nick’s decision to deal with it now. He’d already put it off too long, only because he suspected the area outside the city was being monitored for mana spikes.

Now was their last chance to take care of it.

Rhea stepped between them, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "Brother, please. Listen to him. If the corruption reaches your heart, no potion in the world can bring you back. Let him help.”

Gaelen looked from his sister's pleading eyes to Nick's unyielding stare. Slowly, the fight drained out of him. Anger gave way to bone-deep exhaustion. He unbuckled his sword belt, setting the cursed blade carefully on a crate as if it pained him to part with it, then stripped off his leather cuirass.

His chest was a canvas of rot. The black veins converged directly over his heart, branching like parasitic roots seeking to choke the life from his organs.

Nick stepped forward. "Sit down. This is going to be painful.”

Gaelen sank onto a wooden stool, gripping the edges so tightly that his knuckles cracked. "Do it.”

A quick application of the [Mire] to the safehouse walls to prevent any ripple or sound from being noticed, and Nick pressed his bare palm directly over the center of Gaelen’s chest. He closed his eyes, shutting out the physical world, and tapped into his senses, filtering his perception entirely through his spiritual affinity. “[Stream of Consciousness].”

His vision shifted. Everything melted away, replaced by the intricate landscape of a soul.

He saw Gaelen's spirit. It was a fierce thing, burning with the dark red light of a deep-seated grudge and profound survivor's guilt. It was strong, tempered by years of harsh survival, but it was being strangled. Thick, thorny vines of black mana were wrapped tightly around the spiritual pathways, sinking their hooks into the core of Gaelen's being. The curse was feeding on his anger, converting his vitality into raw, destructive power.

It became immediately clear that Nick could not simply sever the bond. The cursed blade was bound to Gaelen's soul; severing the tether entirely would shatter his spiritual foundation and leave him permanently crippled.

He had to prune away the rot without killing the tree. Fortunately, he’d gotten pretty good at it.

"Hold him," Nick instructed Rhea. She stepped behind her brother, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders to steady him.

Within the soulspace, Nick summoned [Zealous Flame], threading its conceptual fire through his palm and into Gaelen’s body.

The moment the spell touched the thorns, Gaelen screamed.

It was a guttural cry of pure agony. His body seized, his muscles locking tight as the esoteric fire flooded his veins.

"Keep him still!" Nick ordered, his brow furrowed with concentration.

Making full use of his high spiritual mastery, Nick wielded [Zealous Flame] like a surgeon’s scalpel. He carefully separated the parasitic thorns from Gaelen's core, burning away the excess corruption to ash. The dark magic fought back, hissing and spitting as it tried to retreat deeper into its host’s soul, but Nick's intent was an immovable wall.

He flooded the pathways, driving the darkness back toward the etheric tether linking Gaelen to the blade.

The cellar filled with the acrid scent of sulfur and burning rot. Gaelen thrashed against Rhea's grip, his teeth grinding so hard that Nick could hear the enamel cracking.

Almost there, Nick thought, carefully peeling away the final, thickest layer of corruption from the heart.

With a final surge of fire, Nick severed the parasitic overgrowth, driving the entire lingering curse back into the blade. The artifact vibrated violently for a moment before falling still.

Nick severed his connection and pulled his hand back.

Gaelen collapsed forward, catching himself on his knees. He was panting heavily, sweat pouring down his face, but the terrifying gray pallor of his skin was already fading. A flush rushed back into his cheeks, and the black veins receded, leaving behind nothing more than bruised discoloration where they’d been.

Rhea knelt beside him, pressing two fingers to his neck to check his pulse. She let out a long, shuddering breath. "His heart rate is stabilizing.”

After he gave her the go-ahead, she drew a restorative draught from her pouch and held it to her brother's lips. Gaelen drank greedily, coughing as the liquid cleared his throat.

"Thank you," he rasped, looking up at Nick. The feverish edge to his presence was gone. "I didn't realize how loud it had become until it was quiet.”

Still, his eyes slid back to the blade, and Nick knew he would use it again. Vengeance had always been his guiding light, even before he had dipped too far into dark powers.

I can only hope I’ll be able to pull him back again next time.

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