Low-Fantasy Occultist

Nick let his boots thump loudly on the fresh snow, letting a fraction of his presence bleed into the ether to announce his arrival. The Black Hound mercenaries on patrol recognized him instantly, lowering their halberds and clearing a path toward the manor doors.

He found Commander Varg in the rebuilt guardhouse, reading letters by the hearth's warming fire.

"The pardon," Nick said, pulling the sealed parchment tube from his coat and tossing it to the mercenary.

Varg caught it, his dark eyes narrowing as he examined the crimson wax seal. “So you did it.”

“My father was understanding once I told him what transpired,” Nick explained, watching the large man relax as hidden tension bled out of his form. "You are now a sanctioned auxiliary force. Mordhau has no legal standing to hang you or touch your gold. But it also comes with a warning.”

Varg grunted, tucking the tube securely into his breastplate. "There is always a catch. Out with it, then.”

"General Nolan will return to Toneburg in a week, perhaps sooner, to lead a victory parade," Nick said flatly. “He’s a powerful ally and a terrible enemy. When he learns you’ve secured a pardon behind his back, he won’t like it. You must buy his friendship, Varg, lest it all be for nothing.”

The mercenary commander frowned, the scars on his cheek pulling at the skin. "How much are we talking about?”

"A substantial part of the silver from the Ultimer loot should suffice," Nick advised. "When the Army arrives, present yourself as a loyal servant offering tribute to the conquering hero. Stroke his ego. Make him believe the pardon was merely a formality awaiting his final approval.”

Varg stared into the burning coals for a long moment, clearly weighing the value of precious metals against the cost of his head. He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "I will kiss his boots if it keeps my men alive and rich. I never expected to walk out of here with all we got, and the loot from the old bastard was never everything.”

Nick nodded, satisfied the alliance would hold. There wasn’t much else for him to do or say, so they exchanged goodbyes, both knowing they were unlikely to see each other again, and he left for the Elpen estate.

Gaelen was in the main hall, already immersed in the exhausting work of governance. He sat at the head of a long table, interviewing a line of anxious men and women—former retainers and guild masters who had remained loyal to the Elpen name through the long years of exile. Gaelen was reinstating them, piece by piece, rebuilding his house's administrative machinery.

Some were sent away when they couldn’t prove their faith, especially when others spoke against them, but most would have their place restored.

Nick waited until the young Lord dismissed the current petitioner before approaching.

"Leaving so soon?" Gaelen asked, rubbing his temples with his good hand. He glanced at the stack of papers. "Take some of these with you. Drop them in a river, for all I care.”

Beside him sat a stack of vellum letters bearing the seals of minor northern houses, offering congratulations and, subtly, their daughters’ hands. Gaelen, newly restored as Count and in possession of a great treasure, was suddenly the most eligible bachelor in the North. He looked utterly miserable about it.

Nick snorted, shaking his head. He was very glad it wasn’t something he’d have to deal with, especially now that he was Prestige. Any House would welcome him, but few would be so bold as to seek him out.

"The Royal Army will start moving to the surface soon," he explained. "The roads will be choked with supply wagons, returning lords, and I expect the Duke will start moving soon to take advantage of it all and put himself in the best light possible, after failing to participate in the campaign. Rhea and I need to leave before we get tangled in even more messes, or we’ll never make it out of here.”

Gaelen sighed as the momentary levity faded. He stood and offered his hand. Of the hateful young man who had suicidally been prepared to charge into his enemy’s fortress, little remained, especially after his grandmother’s passing. Yet a dark glint in his eyes told Nick he wouldn’t take the coming changes lying down.

“House Elpen stands with you, Nick," he said quietly, his grip firm. "When the time comes, and knowing you, I don’t doubt it will, send the word. We will answer.”

“Hopefully, with more than a dozen servants to your name,” Nick joked, earning a wan grin. “Thank you. I appreciate it. And you will always have a friend in me.”

Two hours later, Nick and Rhea rode out through the southern gates of Toneburg. Supplies had been prepared for them, and although there were many people they could have stopped to speak with, none were more important than leaving before it became impossible.

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They avoided the King's Road, knowing it would soon be crowded with military outriders, nor did they take the treacherous smuggler’s path that had nearly killed them on their journey north.

Instead, they chose a middle path, a wide, winding trail that cut through the craggy foothills of the northern mountain spine without passing through the glaciers.

They rode shaggy, sure-footed mountain horses purchased from the merchant district—beasts bred for biting cold and steep inclines, far sturdier than the sleek coursers of the southern plains, and hopefully able to survive the entire journey.

Not that I expect us to be attacked by another mercenary force, but monsters still abound, especially because so many of the watchtowers and towns were left undefended to provide men for the war.

The first half of the day passed in comfortable silence. The sky was a crisp, unbroken blue, and the air was sharp and clean. They moved at a steady pace, putting miles between themselves and the city’s complicated politics.

Nick had almost three months before he was required to appear at the Royal Court. The journey back to Floria would take at least a week, perhaps two, depending on the weather and road conditions.

He welcomed the delay.

He needed time in the wild to test the limits of his new powers and to understand exactly what it meant to be an Eidolon before he walked into the velvet traps of the capital.

The Green Ocean will also serve as a testing ground, but there is always the danger of being under Marthas’s eye there. I would do well to get a better grip on it before I return.

The Prelate was an ally against the coming darkness. He had little doubt about that, especially if the man knew of his actions to save his Goddess from Alexander’s wrath. But that didn’t mean he was without his own ambitions, and he had plenty of power to see them through.

As the sun reached its peak, the trail narrowed, cutting through a deep ravine flanked by sheer, snow-covered cliffs.

Nick’s senses picked up the distortion long before anything could be heard or seen.

Given their size and the traces of blood still clinging to their frames, I’m pretty confident these are Frost Trolls. Not undead ones, though. Thank goodness for small mercies.

He pulled back on his reins, halting his shaggy horse, and looked up at the cliff face to his left. "We have company.”

Rhea stopped her mount, her hand dropping instinctively to the satchel of alchemical vials tied at her waist. She scanned the rocks but found nothing amiss. “Mercenaries?"

"Frost Trolls," Nick corrected casually as he counted the etheric signatures. "A clan of them. Nine adults, a few juveniles, and an elder. They have been tracking us for a while, likely waiting for the ravine to become a choke point.”

Rhea relaxed slightly, moving her hand away from the vials. During their northward journey, a Frost Troll clan would have been a terrifying ordeal, requiring coordinated magic, alchemy, and swordplay to bring down. Now, the prospect of nine barely raised her pulse.

"Do you have any new brew you’d like to test?" he asked, an easy smile playing on his lips.

Rhea waved a dismissive hand, adjusting her woolen cloak against the wind. “They’re yours. It’s cold, and I’m tired. Be quick about it.”

"Give me a minute," he said as he stood in the stirrups and stepped off the horse into empty air.

Without the need for a conscious spellform, Nick floated upward, rising a hundred feet into the air in seconds and clearing the edge of the ravine.

As expected, the Frost Trolls were waiting on the snowy plateau above them.

They were hulking creatures, standing nine feet tall, covered in matted white fur and armored in petrified bone and obsidian. They wielded crude clubs fashioned from uprooted pine trees, with yet more obsidian studded throughout.

Given the magic he could sense woven through them, they’d been enchanted for greater durability.

When Nick crested the ridge, making no attempt to hide, the trolls roared, a guttural, booming sound that shook loose snow from the surrounding trees. They charged, the ground trembling beneath their massive, clawed feet.

Months ago, Nick would have needed to carefully weave fire spellforms, manage his mana output, and keep his distance to avoid the crushing blows of their clubs.

With the aid of others to draw attention away, he might have managed to snipe them out without needing to engage directly.

Now, he almost pitied them as he invoked [Ascendant Flame].

A wave of heat washed across the plateau, sublimating the ice and snow into great clouds of steam and consuming the air itself.

The nine charging Frost Trolls didn't even have time to scream. White-hot fire washed over them, burning hotter than a forge's heart, and incinerated their matted fur, boiled the blood in their veins, and turned their armor into molten slag in the span of a single heartbeat.

The roar of the flames vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving an eerie silence behind.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You have defeated [Frost Troll - Level 68-73] x9

+221,990 Exp

Where the clan of trolls had been charging, there was only a patch of scorched, blackened rock and piles of smoking ash.

The rest of the clan, which had stayed back and not taken part in the attack, watched him warily, with only an elderly Troll standing tall before him.

Yet there was intelligence in those old eyes, and so Nick sent a wave of emotion toward them, telling them that as long as they attacked no more humans, he would leave them in peace.

The old one recovered the quickest from the sudden intrusion, eyeing him even more warily, then gave a slow nod before turning around and herding the remnants of his clan away.

Nick hovered above the plateau for a moment, examining the aftermath. He hadn't felt any drain on his reserves. In truth, he wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been watching.

The ease with which he destroyed was sobering and reinforced his previous feelings. He was a true monster now, and he needed to keep his power tightly chained before he interacted with those so far below him.

He stayed there for a while longer, watching the clan take hidden paths to put as much space between them as possible.

I wonder if they’ll even survive. Without their warriors, the other threats of the mountains may make short work of them.

There wasn’t much he could do about it. He’d given them a chance and a warning. If they survived and broke their word, he expected the returning armies would learn of it soon enough and do his job for him.

Once the trolls were truly gone, he descended smoothly back into the ravine, his boots touching the packed snow beside his waiting horse.

"Done," Nick said, swinging back into the saddle.

Rhea looked up at the ridge, noting the faint wisp of smoke rising into the winter sky, then looked back at Nick. "That was more than a minute.”

“Oh, come on," Nick rolled his eyes, snapping the reins. "The road south is long, and I prefer to sleep in a real bed. If we hurry, we might make it to a village before dark.”

Thus, they continued their ride, the shaggy horses picking their way through the narrow pass, leaving the smoking ashes of the trolls far behind.

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