Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Out of pure reflex, Nick almost activated [Wind God's Third Eye] to scout ahead, but he knew all too well that his strained mana channels could collapse if he overexerted them now. I've rested for a day, which is likely enough to cast a single spell before I have to stop. I need to make it count.

He could reach the town center in roughly five minutes at his current speed, but there wasn't much he could do there on his own. Instead, he veered northwest, heading toward the temple and the beastmen quarter.

The narrow path wound through clusters of houses and communal fields in what might have been a pretty idyllic settlement if it hadn't been so clearly forced to grow away from the town.

It wasn't long before the distant clamor of angry shouts reached his ears, and it became clear that the beastmen were not going to take the mob's approach without a fight. Dozens of them were gathering around Elia's house, and judging by the bared teeth and claws, they weren't there to talk.

Nick didn't intend to stop now, but his path was suddenly blocked. A massive bearkin, easily seven feet tall, stepped forward. His eyes glowed with a fierce amber light, and his stance radiated raw, animalistic power. For a moment, Nick felt some hesitation as he stared down the towering creature. In another life, on Earth, it might have been impossible for him to face such an opponent.

But this was a realm where the impossible was common, and a lone human kid might be enough to face a bear-man.

Locked in a silent standoff, they maintained eye contact. The bear's lips curled into a low growl powerful enough to shake the ground.

A nearby wolfkin jeered at him, sneering, "Stupid to come here alone, kid." It was clear his intention wasn't anything pleasant. Nick doubted he'd been recognized, but he didn't reveal who he was, as he had no idea if some idiot would see the Captain's kid as a juicy hostage. And I really don't want to have to use my one spell for the day here. I will if I have to, but they are not going to like it.

Luckily, he didn't have to do anything because the bearkin pulled back after a moment and stepped aside, allowing Nick passage.

It was entirely unexpected, considering how hostile he had been, but he must have seen something in Nick's eyes that indicated a confrontation wouldn't be as easy as it might have appeared.

Shouts of confusion and anger erupted from the assembled beastmen as Nick sprinted past, but he didn't pay them any mind. I'll come back to them later; for now, I have to hope that Elia will be enough to hold them back from doing anything stupid.

Before long, he reached the temple and started running around the grounds. His target wasn't Marthas, as one might have thought; the Prelate was still recovering, and even if he had been at full strength, Nick doubted the old man had the tact for what needed to be done now.

Instead, he sought the one person who had always treated him as more than an ordinary kid—a man capable of independent, decisive action. Finally, he spotted Vicar Alexander engaged in a heated debate with one of Marthas' aides near the temple's entrance.

With a determined stride, Nick rushed to Alexander's side, interrupting the exchange with an urgency that brooked no delay. "Come with me," he said, leaving little room for argument.

Alexander paused, his ice-blue eyes locking with Nick's. For a moment, silence enveloped them. Finally, with a curt nod, he stepped away from the aide and followed Nick. The man they'd left behind sputtered in shock, unable to comprehend that he had just been abandoned in the midst of a fight.

They dashed along the road that would take them to the center of Florida in silence, but Nick knew he'd soon have to give an explanation. And I will. As soon as I finish putting together a plan.

His first instinct had been to use what little power he could use to make a show of strength—enough to cow any dissenters. But the memory of Marthas' heavy-handed inspection, which had only hardened the rebels' resolve, quickly quelled that impulse. It wouldn't solve anything; it'll just postpone and worsen the problem.

His second idea, more of a hope, really, was to let his father handle things, but as he ran alongside Alexander through the town, the evidence of chaos was everywhere. The streets were a mess of scattered belongings and anxious people peering from the windows of their homes. Soldiers advanced in tight formation, prepared for the worst. Groups of adventurers and commoners, some in mourning clothes, shouted and advanced toward the beastmen quarter, their voices rising in a cacophony of outrage and despair.

No, I need to address some of their fears and anger.

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They halted at the very end of the market district, where the concrete gave way to a wide, open square.

Nick took a deep breath and began to explain. "I want you to stand here and deliver a sermon while I empower you and make it look to be invoking Sashara's judgment. We need to project the image that the goddess herself is condemning the mob's violence. If they see that, it might just cool their fervor, and even the beastmen will be hesitant to act if a goddess interfered."

Alexander regarded him silently as he processed the unorthodox proposal. The idea of faking divine approval was nothing short of sacrilegious, especially so for a priest, and Nick could see his inner turmoil as the man weighed the consequences.

After what felt like an eternity, Alexander exhaled and then, with a reluctant nod, said, "Alright, I'll do it. But I trust you understand the stakes."

Nick managed a tight smile. "I do. But this is our best option. You will stand in the middle of the street, and I'll prepare everything else."

Alexander nodded slowly. "I understand," he said, voice low, and clutched his flame necklace as if it were a lifeline.

Nick gestured to a clear spot in the center of the street. "Stand here," he instructed. "I'll set up the magic."

He moved out of the mob's line of sight, knelt, and began arranging a series of intricate runes and symbols on the ground using a mixture of dust and, after a moment of hesitation, his own blood.

The process was painstakingly complicated. The ritual was much more involved than what he'd usually use, but Nick needed to ensure that the physical components would do most of the heavy lifting rather than his overtaxed mana channels.

His hope was that since [Vitality Drain] wasn't a spell, it wouldn't require the same level of active molding. I used it to absorb mana from a hundred fae at one point, casting an entirely new spell. This should work.

If everything worked as he hoped, he'd merely need to activate the skill, and the ritual would take over the rest, weakening the mob and transforming their energy into a brilliant aura of holy fire.

The plan was audacious, but the payoff would be great. It all depended on the image of divine intervention being persuasive enough to stave off further violence. And on him channeling the stolen power subtly enough not to tip anyone off and skillfully enough to simulate something as mighty as Sashara's judgment.

If this works… I might have found a solution to the entire problem.

He worked feverishly, his fingers trembling as he drew the final lines with his blood. He layered the runes Kaunan and Ansuz for fire and holiness, along with Jera and Othila for harvest and property, atop one another while using Naudiz and Mannaz to define the limits of the spell, forming circles designed to guide the stolen mana into the shape of radiant holy fire.

The Norse runes seemed to have been working well so far. This is a much more complex ritual than it has any right to be, but then again, when all I can do is activate [Vitality Drain] and can't even direct it, this is what I have to resort to.

With a final flourish, he stepped back, taking in the entire matrix. I don't see any stupid mistake. Mannaz should also give me the ability to manipulate it while it's active, especially when used in conjunction with the upside-down Othila, which gives it a formless quality.

Even before he'd done anything, a faint glow began to emanate from the drawn symbols, mingling with the early morning light and lending the pavement an otherworldly glow. There is power in the blood. Even without the stolen mana, the ritual might have enough strength to activate on its own. But it's better to be safe, and I will probably need a lot of power to convince them it's Sashara.

Soon, the mob of angry men and women got closer, and the ring of soldiers struggled to slow them down. Clearly, their usual crowd dispersal tactics weren't working, and the whole thing would descend into violence one way or another.

Nick also didn't need to cast any sensory spell to know that the beastmen themselves were getting closer, evidently not wanting to let the mob reach their homes.

The magic in the air thickened, and the intricate runes pulsed once more before seemingly fading away. Here we go. [Vitality Drain]

For a long moment, Nick held his breath. Then, as if ignited by an unseen spark, the energy began to surge upward, coalescing around Alexander in a column of golden, blazing light. The aura spread outward from him in an almost tangible manner, and it seemed as if the heavens themselves were looking down upon them.

Alexander stood motionless as the radiant light bathed him, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. The golden fire shimmered like a liquid, a celestial flame that seemed to demand reverence.

Nick watched as the crowd began to stop in the face of the new phenomenon. Some knelt, heads bowed, while others exchanged glances filled with hope and trepidation. Yet, not all were moved by the spectacle—several men still glowered, voices rising in protest.

"What is this?!" a man Nick recognized asked loudly. He was one of the few adventurers who had returned with him from the dungeon, and seeing him in the middle of the mob made Nick feel strangely disappointed. "What are you doing, priest?"

Alexander didn't respond for a moment, and Nick wondered just how he would play this. He'd given him instructions to act as if he was following Sashara's will, but he wasn't sure what that would mean.

"Any who break the peace must paint their heads with sacred ash," Alexander finally replied. It was part of a common prayer, but hearing it from a man who was burning in golden flames had a significant effect.

Nick immediately got his meaning and did his best to impose his will on the ritual, slowly shifting the expression of the fire magic so that motes of ash would appear in the air as if snow were falling down the sky.

It was, in the end, a simple adaptation of [Minor Elemental Manipulation] fed with the mana of a crowd of hundreds, but going by the shouts of awe and surprise, it was working well enough.

"Any who lift their hands to their neighbor without reason must put that same hand in the flames and face Her judgment."

At the second prayer, Nick almost hesitated, but by now, it was too late to change things, so he made fire appear around the adventurer's hand.

Unlike the golden flames surrounding Alexander, this was a real fire, and the adventurer yelped in pain, dropping to the ground and rolling to put it out. Of course, being a lesser spell, it couldn't harm him that much, but by the time the man gathered his wits enough to summon his own mana and encase the burning hand in stone, his skin was cracked and bleeding.

This, it seemed, was enough for the crowd to abandon their hesitation. Led by the soldiers, who immediately dropped to their knees—almost suspiciously quickly—what had once been a mob became a fervently praying crowd. They must also be feeling lightheaded from the mana I've been stealing. Huh, this is a good combo.

Alexander didn't hesitate, launching into a sermon about Sashara's warm embrace and how Her Domain encompassed the hearth, the center of the family home, and the place where all ills must be abandoned.

Of course, that was when Nick started to feel something within the fire. Something that felt at once familiar and all too alien.