Low-Fantasy Occultist

Toneburg was built to withstand the brutal northern winters, its architecture heavy with thick granite blocks, steep slate roofs, and narrow windows. Yet beneath the grim exterior, centuries of wealth had carved out a distinct culture. As Nick navigated the soot-stained rooftops of the merchant district, he could see it all, including the fractures in the city’s foundation.

Banners hung from the wrought-iron balconies of the lesser nobility, painting a clear picture of the shifting political winds. House Cinder and House Tor prominently displayed the Ultimer hawk, their courtyards bristling with hired swords. These were the opportunists who’d fully bought into Ephor’s promised new order.

Whether out of fear of his wrath, greed, or something else, it doesn’t matter. They’ve made their choice.

Other estates, such as the fortified compound of House Brant, flew the rampant bear of Duke Mordhau von Toneburg along with their own banners. Their gates were barred, and their walls were manned by disciplined archers who kept both mercenaries and Ultimer loyalists at bay.

Ephor Ultimer treated the Duke like a puppet, a relic of a bygone era kept around only to sign tax decrees. With greater care and the benefit of Silas’ wisdom, Nick watched the city and realized just how dangerous that assumption was.

The Duke’s personal guard, the Silver Falcons, held the main intersections of the upper city. They wore polished breastplates over gray wool and carried long, sweeping halberds, and were clearly a cut above mere city watchmen.

Nick had seen a squad of five Falcons repel a sudden charge by a dozen Black Hounds. The guards wielded wind-assisted martial arts, and their boots barely touched the cobblestones as they pivoted and struck in unison.

The mercenaries were quickly broken apart, but they weren’t killed for their bravery; instead, they were allowed to flee back into their territory.

That is very interesting. They could have eliminated them all, and no one would have had anything to say, not even their commander, but they chose not to.

The fact was, the Duke possessed a highly trained, elite military force, yet he held them in reserve, selectively defending specific chokepoints while letting the rest of the city tear itself apart, even though he could have, if not taken it all back, at least vastly expanded his control.

Nick kept moving, tracking the scent of fresh blood. He really needed more exp. The gap between his current power and that of the Ephor Ultimer was not something he’d ever been unaware of, but a glimpse of the old man had made it all too clear for him to be comfortable.

He found his opportunity in a ruined plaza lined with shattered storefronts. A violent clash had just ended, leaving the cobblestones littered with the bodies of a noble retinue and a group of mercenaries wearing blue tabards. The fighting had been brutal, and he could see signs of elemental spells in the cratered cobblestones.

Silence hung over the plaza, broken only by the ragged breathing and low groans of the survivors, as the few still up and about began to retreat.

It was odd to leave their allies behind, but the retinue was still charged with protecting the fat noble, and the mercenaries had taken too many losses to dare mount another attack. It seemed they’d decided to leave the injured to their fate and hope they’d crawl back on their own.

Nick counted roughly two dozen men and women bleeding out among the dead. As far as he could tell, their levels hovered in the high seventies, with a few commanders in the mid-eighties.

It was not an insignificant force. Floria’s guards were all around levels forty to sixty these days, and they were considered very well trained.

Here, however, these people were little more than ants crawling in the shadows of monsters, and while their loss would be noticed, no one would make a fuss about it.

I have nothing against them, but my needs are too pressing to consider their potential innocence, and I’ve seen them destroy homes and shops with very little regard for civilians.

Nick slipped into the plaza, his boots making no sound on the broken stone.

He moved methodically through the wreckage, stopping to kneel beside a dying mercenary and placing a hand over the man's heart. A focused pulse of lightning stopped the damaged organ, granting the man a quick death. He stepped over to a noble guard clutching a severed arm and clamped a hand over the man’s mouth, driving a needle of compressed air into the man’s brainstem.

It was grim, unglorious work. Nick cleared the plaza, dispensing lethal mercy and gaining more experience with each soul that passed. It wasn’t much, since he was only dealing the final blow, but the numbers added up, especially since he was making sure to kill them all with different variations of his spells, trying to squeeze as much exp as possible out of them.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

He found a mercenary lieutenant pinned beneath a collapsed stone pillar. The man looked up, eyes glassy with pain. Nick ended his suffering with a swift burst of spiritual mana laced with kinetic energy.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You have participated in the defeat of [Terrier, Water Lagoon Lieutenant - Level 84]

+41,500 Exp

Level up!

A surge of fresh vitality washed through Nick’s body, easing the lingering exhaustion of the long day and boosting his attributes. He took a steadying breath, letting the new power settle into his bones.

Just six more. Six more, and I won’t be powerless anymore. I can do this.

He had less than forty-eight hours at this point, and for a normal mage, such a feat would have been impossible, but he’d done more under worse circumstances, and he was no normal mage.

Just as he was coming down from the high of leveling up, the ambient ether shifted, growing abruptly cold.

Nick froze. He pushed [Blasphemy] outward to shield himself from possible demonic influence, clamping down on his newly expanded aura until he registered as nothing more than a shadow against the stone.

Yet when a figure stepped from the blackened doorway of a ruined tailor’s shop, he knew he wasn’t dealing with Ephor’s enforcers.

The King’s Shadow wore a dark cloak that seemed to absorb the light, their face hidden behind a featureless porcelain mask. There was no sound of footsteps, no rustle of fabric. The Shadow simply glided through the plaza. Though he sensed very little of their mana, he knew this person far outstripped him in power.

Still, Nick held his ground, keeping his hands out of his coat pockets. The power gap was undeniable, and if the Shadow deemed him an enemy of the Crown, he would die, but things needn’t come to that.

I’ve been waiting for one of them to find me. It was only a matter of time, given the mess we left behind at the Elpen estate.

"You have been busy, Nicholas Crowley,” the Shadow stated. The voice was distorted, neutered of gender or inflection, and rang directly in Nick’s mind, despite [Blasphemy] showing no sign of intrusion.

A communication skill of some kind, then. Incapable of causing damage or change, yet certainly very dramatic.

“I’m merely cleaning up," he replied, keeping his voice calm as he suppressed the sudden spike in his heart rate. "Ephor Ultimer has overstepped his bounds. He intends to break the natural order of this city, and every subject of His Grace should do the same.”

The Shadow tilted its masked head by a fraction of an inch. The silence stretched as Nick was assessed.

He had little doubt the agent believed him, but their goals aligned for now, and he’d already worked for them more than once. That much, at least, should give him some leeway.

Come on. You helped me with the trial in the Tower, and I took your orders when things came to a head in Alluria. We have a good relationship!

Of course, it wasn’t that easy, but it had to count for something.

“It so happens that the Crown agrees," the Shadow finally transmitted. "The Artificer Lord has grown too ambitious. I shall let the dogs tear at his walls, but do not interfere with my marks, young Lord, no matter your ambitions.”

So they know I’m close to Prestige and are giving me the okay to proceed with the attack, as long as I let them continue their purge. Okay, I had no intention of standing in their way anyway.

“I shall do my best to uphold the Crown’s interests," Nick said softly.

The Shadow took a single step back and dissolved into the smoke, leaving no trace in the ether.

Nick let out a long, shaky breath, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple.

Another important step has been taken. I would have preferred their support for the upcoming attack, but this is good enough.

A sharp whistle cut through his contemplation.

Nick vaulted backward and upward, catching the edge of a second-story balcony and pulling himself out of sight just as a company of Silver Falcons marched into the plaza.

He watched from the shadows as the Duke’s men secured the area. A commander in a plumed helm barked orders, and his men worked efficiently, dragging the dead to the side of the road to clear the main thoroughfare.

Another man slapped his hands on the ground, and the broken stones rippled like liquid before reforming into smooth paving, leaving the whole place looking as if nothing had happened.

Once the street was clear, the commander blew a second whistle. The Falcons fell into formation and marched west, leaving the plaza, an important strategic space, undefended.

Suspicious, Nick looked down the wide avenue. It led straight through the merchant district, connecting the southern wards to the noble estates. The Silver Falcons were systematically clearing debris from the main roads, yet despite their numbers, they were not leaving anyone behind to hold them.

If this had been a mere mercenary company, he would have dismissed it. But the Falcons had more than enough men to expand.

The realization clicked into place. Duke Mordhau was fully aware of the impending clash and was pulling his elite forces back to preserve their strength, intentionally leaving the front door of the Elpen estate wide open for Commander Varg.

He couldn’t be sure, not without further spying or delving into the mind of a Falcon, but it seemed to him that the Duke intended to use the mercenaries as a battering ram to destroy Ephor Ultimer, likely planning to sweep in with his fresh, disciplined troops to clean up the exhausted victors and reclaim control of Toneburg.

This is… It works to our advantage, but it confirms that Mordhau is no pawn.

Nick had to wonder about the Duke’s intentions. He’d spent years acting as a patsy for Ephor, supporting him as needed to let his influence grow unchecked, yet he now seemed to be preparing for his downfall.

Is it mere opportunism? The ally he thought he’d built up turned on him, so he might just be taking advantage of the chaos to reclaim his birthright, but that feels too neat.

The possibility that the Duke was working with the Shadows crossed his mind. It would explain his men’s reticence to bring peace to the city, despite the damage it was doing to his reputation among the populace.

But then again, if he sweeps in and cleans everything up nicely enough, he might be able to reclaim his position, with enough fanfare to sweep away most of the animosity.

They were all suppositions, but one thing was clear. The Duke of the North was moving, and whenever he chose to act, he’d have the best and freshest force in the city at his disposal.

“We’ll have to make a note of that in our planning,” Nick murmured, then turned away. There was still more fighting in the city, and he had a lot of experience to harvest.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!