Low-Fantasy Occultist

It took less than a day for Toneburg to catch fire.

What began as isolated scuffles in the outer wards, as word of the sudden quarantine spread, quickly swelled into thugs marching through the streets, looking for any excuse to commit violence.

It didn’t take long before one of these men, known for several run-ins with the murdered broker, was accused of the deed. When he immediately retaliated by cutting down the one foolish enough to point at him, he was riddled with arrows and swords, along with his companions.

Furious over the murder of their men and the tightening grip of the Ultimer loyalists, the Black Hounds began to retaliate systematically, pushing city watchmen and other mercenaries away from ‘their land’.

There had been a brief attempt at reconciliation. At noon, a parley was held in the central merchant square, mediated by a coalition of lesser nobles seeking to prevent their city from burning.

Nick, observing from a shadowed rooftop, watched the peace shatter in real time. A King's Shadow, invisible to the mundane guards, slipped through the tense crowd and drove a poisoned needle into the neck of the Ultimer envoy before fading away.

The ensuing bloodbath turned the surrounding streets into a war zone. Even several nobles were caught up in the chaos, only pulled away from the jaws of death thanks to the foresight of bringing their own sworn swords to keep them safe.

Now, under the cover of night, Toneburg echoed with the clash of steel and the roar of burning tenements. It was a tragedy for the citizens locked in their homes, whose lives and livelihoods were at stake and would remain uncertain for days to come, especially with the city wards locked down and preventing any escape. But for Nick, it was the perfect distraction.

"The riot is drawing the city watch away from the noble district," he murmured, crouching on a rooftop overlooking the Opal estate. To the east, the night sky glowed an angry orange, and he could only hope the local mages stirred from their guildhall—for there was no Tower in Toneburg, after a severe clash with the previous Duke convinced its Master to relocate to Stonegate fifty miles to the east—to put the flames out before they spread too far. "The patrols are light and more interested in watching the fires’ path than in looking for intruders.”

"Then we should move," Gaelen said in a low voice. His eyes were cold, fixed on the estate of the man who had betrayed his family. Though Nick couldn’t sense any corruption left in him, his natural emotions were dark enough to tell that Lord Opal’s death wouldn’t be a clean one.

Weaving the [Mire] around the three of them, Nick bent the light and muffled their mana signatures, rendering them little more than a trick of the darkness. They dropped from the roof, landing silently in the manicured gardens of the Opal grounds.

The estate was heavily fortified, bristling with warding stones, but Gaelen had spent the day studying their construction. He led them through the gatehouse, where the wards were weakest and couldn’t penetrate the [Mire], and bypassed the main detection arrays by weaving through the decorative hedge maze in a pattern he’d seen the servants use.

Two guards patrolled the inner courtyard, their halberds resting nervously on their shoulders as they kept glancing toward the distant glow of the riot.

Nick didn't break his stride. He raised his left hand, pointing two fingers at the guards, and unleashed twin [Jet Streams].

There was no time for pity. If he hesitated to do the deed, these men would fight back and alert the rest to their presence. He could only hope their next life would be luckier.

Highly compressed, razor-thin currents of air shot forward in total silence. They were entirely invisible in the dark and acted like guillotine blades.

The wind tore through the opening in the first guard's armor, severing his brainstem. The second guard flinched, probably using a sensory skill, but Nick flicked his wrist, redirecting the flow to cut his throat before he even realized what was happening.

Gaelen and Rhea caught the bodies before they hit the ground, lowering them silently into the decorative bushes.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You have defeated [Mark — Opal Estate Guard] [Level 41]

You have defeated [Jeremy — Opal Estate Guard] [Level 43]

+57,200 Exp

The trickle of experience was barely noticeable, and it would take dozens, if not hundreds, of fights like these for him to gain a single level, but it was still something.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

They carved a quiet path through the outer defenses. Nick used [Jet Stream] twice more to silence sentries at the side entrances, reaping the steady stream of experience as his companions disabled the enchanted locks and traps guarding the doors.

Sometimes, Rhea transmuted the materials themselves. Other times, Gaelen worked through the enchantments. Once, he simply picked the lock, drawing an amused huff from Nick.

When they finally slipped into the manor, the air grew warm, heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and polished cedar.

"His private study is on the second floor, east wing," Gaelen whispered, guiding them up a servant's staircase. “By now, I’m certain he is working for Ultimer, but if there is proof, that is where he will keep it.”

They were forced to fight twice more, and both times went without a fight, as the guards were simply unprepared to handle Nick’s power.

Once, they had to make a detour as a new presence caught Nick’s attention. It was an older man whose soul flickered with weakness, one Rhea recognized as Lord Opal’s maternal grandfather. They found him confined to a room stuffed to the gills with suppressive runes and eventually decided he was likely as much of a victim as the siblings.

“I remember him,” she whispered as Nick described his appearance. “He was a loyal retainer of ours. I would have thought they’d have him killed before turning coat, but they might have kept him alive for the information he had about our estate.”

There was a brief discussion between the two Elpens as they debated whether to silence the old man to prevent any further secrets from being spoken, but given his poor condition and the state he was being held in, they agreed he’d likely not given up quite yet.

Revenge is truly a terrible thing, Nick silently contemplated. The Rhea he’d met in Floria would not have even considered killing a harmless old man. Yet, though not to the same extent as her brother, she was clearly eager to inflict as much pain on their enemy as possible, consequences be damned.

Not that Nick could speak of keeping the peace. He had too much blood on his hands, so he stayed silent, leaving the decision to them.

He gave a brief nod when they motioned to move away and made a mental note to grab the old man before they left. If he’d truly managed to keep his mouth shut, they might have an ally with fresh information. If he’d spilled and was being kept alive only because of his blood, they’d need to know what he’d told their enemies.

With a twirl of a finger, he redirected the air to carry them the sounds from within the study, allowing them to hear the panicked voices as they discussed the chaos gripping the city.

Nick could even sense Lord Aris Opal pacing frantically. He was drenched in sweat, tearing thick, leather-bound ledgers from his shelves and hurling them into the flames, all the while muttering that nobody would get him.

"He thinks the rioters are coming for him," Rhea deduced softly, wrinkling her nose at the burning parchment.

No doubt he has made enemies for himself. Since he was once affiliated with the Elpens, he must know he’s seen as a turncoat and a craven. Chaos like this is the perfect time to settle scores.

In fact, the lord had it exactly right. They were here to do just that.

"He isn't alone," Nick warned as he examined two distinct auras emanating from inside the room. "He has guards. Much stronger than the ones we've met so far. Both must be hovering above level eighty.”

Having two powerful warriors serve as mere bodyguards was a glaring testament to the sheer wealth and power the Ultimer loyalists currently commanded.

Such people could have easily made a living as captains of a noble’s guard in smaller towns or even led their own mercenary bands.

"I will take care of locking the room," Rhea said, producing a crystalline sphere filled with swirling, metallic silver liquid. "The moment you enter, I will use it. It establishes a temporary dampening ward, but it will only hold for seven minutes against this level of combat.”

"That is all we need," Nick replied, his voice hardening. He looked at Gaelen. "I will draw their attention. You take the Lord.”

Gaelen nodded, tensing in eagerness.

Nick took a step back, then kicked directly at the locking mechanism. The doors splintered and blew inward, crashing into the study walls.

Before the guards could even raise an alarm, Rhea hurled the crystal sphere into the center of the room. It shattered on the carpet, unleashing a dome of silver light that snapped into the walls, ceiling, and floor, sealing them in the study.

Lord Opal shrieked, dropping a stack of burning papers and scrambling backward across his mahogany desk.

His two enforcers reacted much better, drawing rune-etched swords as their mana flared, and several skills activated at once. They charged the doorway, intent on overwhelming the intruders before they could enter. From the grim determination in their demeanor, Nick knew they would fight to the end.

Stepping directly into their path, he raised the Shard of Human Ambition, weaving a pure stream of untainted mana as he balanced threads of fire and water in a violent outburst.

“[Conceptual Steam],” he murmured.

A superheated cloud of vapor erupted from Nick’s staff, filling the entryway. The intense heat forced the guards to raise their arms, and their armor instantly scalded them as steam bypassed their armor. They were saved from being flash-boiled only by the runes carved into the steel, which flared and took the brunt of the damage.

"A mage!" the taller man roared, swinging his sword in a wide arc to clear the vapor. "Break his casting!”

As planned, they focused entirely on Nick, swinging lethal strikes meant to cleave him in two. Nick danced backward, using [True Flight] to weave between the blades, answering with rapid bursts of compressed air, interspersed with steam to keep them off balance and sap their defensive enchantments of strength.

Waves of cutting force erupted from their blades as they tried to fend off any advance, but Nick merely twitched his staff, redirecting and nullifying the force with kinetic shields.

How strange life is, he had time to think, that I would battle people who would have been gods among men on Earth with the same ease I once reserved for the untrained.

Again and again, the warriors tried to break through his assault, working in tandem and using skills that fed off one another. Clearly, they’d been working together for some time, and Nick would have appreciated their dedication on any other occasion, but he couldn’t afford them any respite, especially as he felt the enchantments begin to falter.

With the elites entirely consumed by the magical pressure bearing down on them, Gaelen slipped through the lingering steam like a ghost.

He completely bypassed the armored combatants, vaulting over the mahogany desk. Lord Opal desperately reached for a decorative dagger on his mantel, but Gaelen was faster. He slammed the hilt of his blade into the nobleman's temple, stunning him instantly.

Gaelen then grabbed Opal by the collar of his fine silk tunic, threw him to the carpet, and pinned him with a blade at his throat.

"Call them off, Aris," Gaelen snarled, his voice trembling with years of suppressed fury. "Or you will die before you can answer for your sins."

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