Low-Fantasy Occultist

The half day since they had hatched their plan had seen Toneburg descend further into madness.

What had begun as sudden riots in the outer rings had rapidly escalated into entrenched urban warfare. The city was now cleanly fractured, with barricaded neighborhoods serving as shifting front lines between the Black Hounds, their mercenary allies and the Ultimer loyalists, which included most of the nobles, though not all.

Nick, observing from the ruined second floor of a burned-out tailor's shop in the merchant district, had watched the conflict unfold.

There were no more attempts at parley. The King's Shadows had done their work too well. Whenever the fighting began to lull, a prominent mercenary lieutenant or an Ultimer quartermaster would turn up dead with an opposing faction's dagger in their back.

Everyone of import seemed aware that tricks were being played and that some other force was moving events, but the momentum was too great and the mercenaries too enraged to stop now.

And it’s not just the Shadows. I sensed more than one noble taking advantage of the chaos to get their licks in, and many of the mercs are little more than brigands with better equipment. They care naught for the reasons, only relishing the slaughter after months of being kept in line.

The smoke rising from the eastern wards choked the morning sun, plunging Toneburg into perpetual twilight.

"They should be coming," Gaelen whispered, crouching by the shattered window.

Nick pulled his attention away from the distant fires. He reached out with [Empyrean Intuition], filtering through the chaotic noise of the burning city. Down the ash-covered avenue, the rumble of a reinforced supply wagon echoed off the stone.

It was surrounded by a heavily armed group of Ultimer guards, who looked ready to take on anyone foolish enough to challenge them. But Nick’s senses immediately caught something else.

"The protection detail is smaller than Raul predicted," he murmured, his eyes tracking the etheric signatures. "But the quality is higher. Look at the driver's seat.”

Sitting next to the human driver was a hulking figure cloaked in a heavy gray tabard. It radiated a cold, utterly stagnant presence. It wasn’t human but a collection of alchemically hardened flesh and rune-carved bone.

"A homunculus," Rhea deduced softly from the shadows of the room. "Nestor’s work. He must really need it to send out one of its defenders.”

"It isn't just the big lump, either," Nick added, his gaze drifting upward.

High above the street, circling through the thick, gray smoke, were two mighty presences he might have mistaken for monsters, if not for the wards not reacting to them. These were bird-like homunculi, their stitched wings catching the thermals as they served as the convoy’s eyes in the sky. If the wagon was attacked, those birds would shriek and immediately alert the nearest Ultimer garrison, then drop in with a formidable strike from above.

"I will handle the scouts," Nick finally said. Those two were annoying but not particularly powerful, and they needed to go before they could make their move.

Raising two fingers, he compressed the ambient air, drawing it taut until it vibrated with tension. Next, he fed it his emotions, his intentions of immediate lethality, and his desire to see the enemy destroyed.

Only then did he release it.

Two invisible needles of spiritual wind shot upward, slicing through the smoke with nary a ripple. They struck the artificial birds perfectly, severing their cores from their stitched bodies and killing them instantly. They tumbled from the sky and crashed silently onto the slate roofs of nearby buildings, out of sight of the guards below, thanks to the clouds.

Huh. Less resilient than I’d have thought. But then again, I’ve gotten quite a bit stronger, and these aren’t meant for battle. The big bruiser will likely take much more punishment.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You have defeated [Avian Construct - Level 54]

You have defeated [Avian Construct - Level 57]

+71,500 Exp

With the eyes in the sky blinded, Nick turned his attention to the street. "Get ready to drop.”

This was the place they’d decided on for their attack for a specific reason.

The wagon rumbled closer. A hundred yards down the intersecting avenue, a makeshift barricade held back a roving pack of Black Hounds while four watchmen did their best to fend them off.

They weren’t trying all that hard, since it was more about posturing than a genuine push, but if something were to happen to make a quick victory possible, Nick trusted the mercenaries to do their unwitting part.

Gaelen nodded, and Nick extended his hand, unleashing a sweeping pulse of wind that slammed into the wooden palisade, sending the guards tumbling with a surprised cry. It groaned and shattered, spilling the enraged Hounds directly into the convoy's path.

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Chaos erupted instantly. The Ultimer guards at the front of the column shouted in alarm, raising their shields in formation as the Hounds charged.

The mercenaries, though, were not so foolish as to charge into the line, and instead went around them, forcing the soldiers to split up and engage them, lest their quarry be stolen under their noses.

In the sudden, bloody confusion, the main wagon slowed to a halt, momentarily cut off from its protectors by thick smoke and the press of bodies.

"Now," Nick commanded.

The three of them dropped from the roof, landing soundlessly in the alley beside the wagon.

The massive homunculus in the driver's seat turned its head toward them, its stitched, expressionless face silent. It then grabbed a large iron mace at its feet, its alchemically enhanced muscles flexing with unnatural power.

It was quite strong, hovering around level eighty, but Nick was faster and infinitely more lethal.

He vaulted onto the side of the wagon just as the homunculus swung the mace at him. Nick shifted his weight with a kinetic push, letting the iron pass inches from his clothes, then twisted in the air, driving his palm into the center of the construct's chest.

“[Hubris’ Reach],” he muttered.

Thanks to its very nature, the spell bypassed the creature's thick hide entirely and pushed through its stitched flesh. The homunculus didn't feel pain and couldn’t scream even if it did, but the intricate runes binding its alchemical core together melted under the intense damage.

With a wet, tearing sound, its chest cavity ruptured, and the internal pressure blew its back out. It slumped forward, dead.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You have defeated [Enforcer Homunculus - Level 78]

+129,300 Exp

Beside him, Gaelen was not idle. He grabbed the human driver by the collar, dragged him into the alley, and stunned him with a heavy blow from his dagger's pommel. Rhea stepped out of the shadows, pressing a cloth soaked in a fast-acting paralytic over the face of the lone rear guard, dropping him instantly.

The brief skirmish lasted less than twenty seconds, and the protection detail ahead was still preoccupied with the clash with the Black Hounds.

Nick dropped into the alley beside Gaelen, looking down at the paralyzed driver.

"Hold him still," he ordered.

He didn't have time for a gentle interrogation, nor the patience to deal with half-truths. Thus, Nick placed his bare hand over the man’s face and violently forced his spiritual senses into the guard's mind using [Stream of Consciousness].

For once, the intrusion lacked finesse. Nick tore through the man’s superficial thoughts, bypassing his fear to dig directly into his memories. He searched for the Elpen estate’s security protocols, the day's passcodes, and the driver's mannerisms with his superiors.

As he sifted through the man’s mind, Nick caught flashes of the man’s recent actions in Toneburg. Images of terrified refugees cornered in dark tents. Laughter as he and his squadmates took whatever they pleased from the vulnerable women fleeing the war, knowing the Ultimer tabard shielded them from the law.

Unforgiving wrath flared in Nick's gut.

He found the passcodes, memorized the patrol routes, and the driver's intonation and cadence. Then, without a shred of remorse, Nick released his grip on the spiritual tether, allowing the violent withdrawal to completely shred the man’s cognitive pathways.

The guard’s eyes rolled back in his head, his jaw going slack as a line of drool slipped past his lips. He was a hollow wreck, his mind entirely broken.

Nick stood, his expression like carved stone. "Slit his throat.”

Gaelen obliged without hesitation, ending the rapist's life with a clean strike.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You have participated in the defeat of [Jarek Bakerson — Lv.44]

+21,750 Exp

"Strip them," Nick instructed, already taking off his coarse wool tunic. "Rhea, do what you need to make us look like them. And we need to replace the homunculi.”

Though they hadn’t expected the avian constructs, they’d prepared for the many ways this mission could go wrong.

Rhea was already adapting her brews before he finished speaking. As the men stripped the dead guards of their tabards and armor, she mixed rapid-setting waxes and skin dyes, then forcefully applied them to Nick and Gaelen’s faces to mimic the bone structures and complexions of the dead men.

“It’s a bit crude, but it will pass a visual inspection," Rhea promised, adjusting the fit of Gaelen’s stolen helmet.

She then turned to the ruined homunculus. Pulling a large jar of gray, foul-smelling alchemical clay from her supplies, she began packing it into the creature's hollowed-out chest. She didn't have the time or the skill to rebuild it, but she didn't need to. They just needed a puppet.

Using an animating reagent, she breathed false life into the clay. The homunculus twitched, then sat back up rigidly. It had no combat ability and would fail if struck, but from a distance, it looked entirely intact. She did the same with the birds’ remains, hiding their ruined cores and tossing them onto the wagon’s canvas roof, where they lay in a stiff, unnatural stillness that mimicked their usual resting state.

Luckily for them, homunculi were eerie at best. Their being a bit jerkier than normal wouldn’t really raise any eyebrows.

"Get in," Nick told Rhea, gesturing toward the back of the wagon, where the crates of requisitioned materials sat. "Keep the canvas drawn.”

Gaelen climbed into the driver's seat, gripping the leather reins tightly. Nick sat beside him, with the hollow homunculus seated on his other side like a silent, towering sentinel.

"Drive," Nick said softly. This was the second part of their plan. Normally, they should have waited for their escort to return, but given the chaos gripping the city, they were counting on few questions being asked if they prioritized the merchandise.

Gaelen snapped the reins, and the draft horses surged forward, pulling the wagon away from the bloody skirmish. Soon enough, they left the fighting behind and rolled smoothly onto the wide, well-paved avenues of the noble wards.

They were undisturbed here, as the Ultimers were still in control.

Though it’s not as solid as they would have liked, or the riots from yesterday wouldn’t have reached the Opal house, external influence or not.

The Elpen estate loomed ahead, and the sheer scale of the desecration made Gaelen's jaw tighten.

The original manor's elegant stonework had been extensively reinforced with brutalist plating. The high wrought-iron fences had been replaced by solid stone walls adorned with defensive runes. Scaffolding covered the sides of the main keep, where Nestor’s workers were busy enlarging the underground vents.

At the front gates, a squad of Elite guards stood at attention, flanked by twin alchemical crystal pillars that pulsed with a searching light to Nick’s senses.

“Keep your wits now," Nick whispered as they approached the checkpoint. “Let me speak and try to avoid meeting their eyes.”

Gaelen exhaled through his nose but pulled back on the reins, halting the heavy wagon just before the heavy iron gates.

A guard captain, whose breastplate was adorned with the Ultimer hawk, met them.

He looked from Gaelen to Nick, his eyes narrowing at the delay. "You're late, Jarek," the captain barked, resting a hand on his sword’s pommel. "Lord Nestor has been waiting for the shipment for an hour. And where in the hells is the rest of you?”

Nick leaned forward, adopting the dead rapist’s lazy, slightly nasal drawl. "The Hounds held us up at the crossing, Captain," he spat, gesturing dismissively back toward the smoke-filled lower wards. "We had to leave the boys behind to hold them off so we could push the cargo through. Bloody savages are tearing the merchant quarter apart.”

The captain sneered, the same reaction Nick had seen in Jarek's memories. These guards held nothing but contempt for the independent mercenaries.

"Let them die for it," he grunted. "Bring it through the scanner.”

He gestured toward the twin crystal pillars, and despite himself, Nick tensed.

This is it.

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