Low-Fantasy Occultist

The air in the courtyard had cooled, though it was not a natural winter chill but the sharp bite of a drawn blade no one could quite see, though everyone was aware it was coming.

A ripple passed through the ether, distorting the light near the ruined gates. The space between a shattered stone pillar and the snow-covered cobblestones seemed to fold outward, and a figure stepped from the gloom.

It was almost a relief, even as everyone tensed further. Known dangers were better than unknown ones, after all.

They wore a tailored midnight-gray coat and a featureless porcelain mask that caught the flickering firelight.

Commander Georg almost gasped, but he dutifully let go of his sword's hilt. Varg took a slow, deliberate step back, his posture shifting from aggressive to fiercely guarded. The Silver Falcons and the Black Hounds lowered their weapons without a single order being shouted.

Everyone in the courtyard knew what the mask meant. It was a King's Shadow, sworn directly to the throne, and would care naught for any duke, general, or magistrate.

The Shadow ignored the assembled armies, turning their featureless mask toward Nick.

“I see you’ve held up your end of the bargain, Nicholas Crowley,” the agent said. The voice was smooth, androgynous, and perfectly modulated so everyone could hear. "My brothers are currently below ground, claiming the remains of the Ultimer Patriarch. The surviving lieutenants of the Circle are being purged from the lower rings, where they’d set up secondary rituals in case the main one failed.”

Nick absorbed the information, keeping his expression neutral even as he cursed himself for being a fool for missing something so obvious.

Of course, Alexander wouldn’t put all his eggs in one basket!

The Shadows had moved with staggering speed, slipping into the darkness the moment they could ensure the most dangerous assets were secured before the scavengers could touch them.

He had no doubt several people and artifacts would be reported missing from the Elpen and Ultimer Estates and from Toneburg proper, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, not when the Shadows had prevented a disaster he hadn’t even seen coming.

Seemingly unbothered by his regard, the Shadow tilted their head, studying Nick in turn. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said there was a thrum of amusement in their presence. "The Crown acknowledges the birth of a new Prestige mage. His Majesty extends a formal invitation to Court. You are expected in the capital within three months.”

Nick froze for a moment, his mother’s words echoing in his ears. Avoiding the Capital had been among his top priorities since learning the truth about the original House Crowley’s fall, but it seemed the choice had been taken from him.

He ignored the gasps of surprise around him. Varg and Georg had recognized his power at a glance, but not everyone was as skilled, and he’d been trying to keep a relatively low profile.

That was no longer possible. Still, it was interesting that he’d been given three months to present himself. Realistically, he could have made the journey in a couple of weeks, perhaps a month if he took time to help stabilize the situation in the city.

Three months were enough for him to gain full control of his new powers and prepare to face the Court.

It was a kindness wrapped in poisoned wrapping. A summons to the capital was not a request but a mandate to present himself and be measured by the King.

He had no doubt that if he was found wanting or even suspicious, he’d meet a quick end, but he was also given a chance to prepare.

"I am honored," Nick replied smoothly, offering a shallow, perfunctory bow. "I will make the journey with all due haste.”

"See that you do," the Shadow murmured. They turned to look at Georg and Varg. "A truce is mandated. No further blood will be spilled in the city. The Duke will arrive on the morrow, and the fate of Toneburg will be decided.”

With that, the Shadow stepped back into the gloom, melting into the ether as seamlessly as a drop of ink in dark water, vanishing without a ripple in space.

An uneasy calm settled over the courtyard, but after a while, their duties began to pull at them.

Unlawfully taken from NovelPhoenix, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Georg ordered his Silver Falcons to establish a more permanent position, forbidding them from crossing the estate's threshold. Varg, seeing the writing on the wall, ordered his mercenaries to pull back, returning to their stronghold in the lower wards and all but abandoning the manor.

It took a while for people to leave, and more than a few had to be searched because their looting went beyond what was reasonable. Eventually, the three Elpens and Nick were left alone in the Estate, while their allied forces began to assess the damage.

Nick would have liked nothing more than to retreat to a secluded room and try to get a grasp of what he’d become, but he knew better.

The fighting was over for now, and it was more important to shore up their position than to learn things he’d have a chance to learn at any other moment.

He still insisted that Gaelen and Rosmaria get some rest, given how haggard they looked, and Rhea helped him see it through.

The rest of the night was spent rebuilding what had been broken, from the cracked gates to the Estate's outer shell, until it looked almost presentable.

It’s going to be months before it can be restored to its former glory, and even longer to ensure every ounce of Nestor and Ephor’s taint is gone, but it will serve for now.

Duke Mordhau arrived just past dawn the following day. He rode into the courtyard, surrounded by a retinue of armored knights and aides, and from what Nick could read of his demeanor, he seemed to expect to sweep into a power vacuum and claim the city for himself with little trouble.

Instead, he found a hornet's nest, and the moment Commander Georg approached and began explaining the truth about what had happened, his expression grew graver and graver, until it settled into grim lines.

Interesting. He truly didn’t know about the Shadows, then? Or perhaps it’s a front. The man certainly has hidden depths; we shouldn’t discount him.

Given that the destruction of House Elpen had been possible only because the Duke had given Ephor free rein of the city, he would consider it a victory if Rosmaria didn’t string him up by his intestines by the time the talks were over.

According to the Matriarch’s will, the negotiations were to take place in the manor’s grand dining hall, so that was where Nick and Rhea had focused their restoration efforts.

The smashed windows had been repaired with alchemy into colorful glass, and although the long table still bore scorch marks, they were easily hidden by cleverly using treated linens that Rhea had infused with calming properties to keep the leftover mana at bay.

It took another hour for everyone to arrive, but eventually four factions sat at the table. Duke Mordhau and Commander Georg represented the regional authority. The Shadow, who had appeared without fanfare, sat alone at the far end, an unblinking avatar of the Crown.

Rosmaria and Gaelen claimed the center, fighting for the Elpen legacy. Nick sat beside them, nominally an advisor, though everyone in the room knew he was the fulcrum on which the entire treaty rested. Varg sat near the door, representing the thousands of armed men currently occupying the city.

The politicking was fierce, shifting hour by hour as the factions found common ground on one issue, only to clash bitterly on the next.

Everything seemed to be going as well as could reasonably be expected until Duke Mordhau asked for free access to the Elpen Forge.

That seemed to freeze any warmth that had crept into the room as the negotiations continued.

Nick tensed, expecting Rosmaria to blow up.

The old woman was clearly weakened by the last battle, but she wasn’t one to be underestimated, much like an animal with no way out would fight to the death.

Surprisingly, only Rosmaria let out a dry, rattling laugh. She looked impossibly frail in the morning light, having needed Rhea’s help just to reach the room, her skin taking on a pale, translucent sheen. Yet her mind remained razor-sharp.

“Your men shall have free access, Mordhau," Rosmaria rasped with a cruel smile. "Send your finest Artificers down to behold it, and see how many of them are reduced to ash when they touch the console. The Forge answers to Elpen blood, and Elpen blood alone. Any attempt to claim it will result in an ugly death, as it did for Ephor.”

The Duke’s face colored, and he seemed to ready himself for a rebuttal when a silky voice cut in.

“The Forge has indeed proven to be an Artifact of national importance,” the Shadow said. Nick was among the few who did not startle at that, as many had forgotten they were even there, such was their skill at fading into the background.

Mordhau seemed relieved and unnerved in equal measure at being backed up, but Rosmaria simply waited, aware that the King’s representative hadn’t yet finished speaking.

“Yet it is true that it is a Lineage Treasure, and it is Common Law that those should always be remanded to the custody of their bloodline.”

Silence greeted his words as several people tried and failed to puzzle out the angle they were taking.

“The Crown’s proposal is as follows: House Elpen shall retain control of the Forge but shall agree to provide the Crown with all of Ephor Ultimer’s research on it and to allow the Duke’s appointed overseer access no more than once a year to ensure its good standing.”

In the end, there was little anyone could do but agree. Nobody was happy, but despite their victory, the Elpens were too weak to oppose such a reasonable request, and the Duke was too afraid of drawing the Crown’s attention to argue for more.

Nick watched the proceedings, sipping lukewarm tea and attuning himself to his new senses. His soul hummed a quiet, steady rhythm. He could feel the emotional currents with startling clarity—Mordhau’s calculating greed, the Shadow’s cold pragmatism, Varg’s simmering anxiety.

The mercenary commander knew his neck was on the chopping block. He had sacked a noble estate and waged open war in a regional capital. Without a pardon, he would eventually be hunted down.

Yet he was also wise enough not to raise the matter himself, waiting and biding his time.

When the topic of the Ultimer treasury arose, Mordhau attempted to claim the entire vaults as reparations for damage to the city.

“Your Grace, your men entered the Estate through an open gate," Nick said softly, speaking for the first time and setting his teacup on the saucer. The quiet clink of porcelain silenced the room.

He looked across the table at Mordhau. Though Nick offered no overt threats, he let the silence and the weight of his gaze speak for him. The temperature in the dining hall dropped. The tea in Mordhau’s cup rippled, and the Duke shifted uncomfortably in his padded chair, suddenly acutely aware that he sat across from someone capable of flattening the manor with a thought.

“It was the Black Hounds who broke the siege," Nick continued, his voice calm and even. "They bled on the walls while the Silver Falcons waited safely. Varg’s contract must be honored, or the thousands of armed men sitting in the merchant district will realize they have nothing left to lose.”

At that, Mordhau bristled. "He is little more than a bandit. Would you have the Crown reward treason?”

"I would have us heed the Crown’s demand for peace," Nick countered, turning his gaze to the Shadow. "Commander Varg acted against Ephor Ultimer when he allied with the Abyss. He provided a necessary service.”

This was it. He would have much preferred to handle this matter through his father, but he couldn’t let the chance pass.

The Shadow remained still for a long moment, the porcelain mask revealing nothing, until the agent finally nodded.

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