Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Nick returned home, walking through a town that seemed much different from even that morning.

The streets were patrolled with heightened security, as soldiers in full armor stood guard at every corner, and watchtowers now bristled with new sentinels. Officially, the mourning ceremony had been postponed by two days to allow further reinforcement of the security apparatus.

Yet Nick couldn't help but think that such extreme measures might prove unnecessary, for the recent events had stirred a strange religious fervor among the townsfolk.

It was not entirely inexplicable—after all, a real goddess had descended among them, if only for a few awe-inspiring seconds—but the rapid change in sentiment still unsettled him. There isn't much I can say. The goddess they worship appeared among them. If this was Earth, it'd be pandemonium. I'm surprised people are so reserved, to be honest.

Nick was still trying to process everything that had happened. He liked to think of himself as an adaptable, go-with-the-flow kind of guy, but today was testing his limits.

More than the fae armies, more than the wyverns, the colossus, or the philosopher's stone, Sashara's descent was forcing him to recalibrate his mentality. I can't go on thinking I'm an unknown. She deliberately burned my wand, so she must know something about me.

There was also his minor freak-out to think about. While Nick didn't begrudge himself his fear of being possessed, he didn't want to lose control like that. Luckily, nothing serious had happened this time, but he couldn't be sure he'd be that lucky again, and considering his track record, he had to prepare for a possible repeat.

Finally, Nick reached his destination. An unmistakable presence greeted him as he approached the front door, and a familiar purr echoed in the air.

Talbot appeared at the doorstep, sitting on his haunches. He regarded Nick regally and, after he passed the cursory inspection, nodded and gave him another meow, this time more welcoming.

Nick's heart softened instantly. Despite the harrowing events he'd gone through, the sight of Talbot stirred a comforting warmth within him. He knelt down, bending to gently pet the cat.

For a long, blissful moment, he showered Talbot with affection, murmuring thanks for watching over the house in his absence. He'd already done so the previous day, but then he'd been so tired that he'd barely remembered to take off his clothes before falling into bed. While the cat had probably forgiven his dereliction of duty, given the extenuating circumstances, he knew he had to pay the pet tax.

Talbot purred in contentment as if confirming his thoughts. His eyes closed in bliss while Nick's fingers brushed through his blue fur. Eventually, however, the cat sighed—a sound that was almost human in its finality—and trotted off into the house.

Nick watched him go until he disappeared into the dining room. Moments later, a series of loud, insistent meows erupted from that direction, demanding attention. Talbot was clearly hungry.

"You know, despite the blue fur it's easy to forget you aren't a real cat." A smile crept across Nick's tired face. He shook his head and chuckled softly as he headed into the kitchen.

Talbot let out an indifferent meow, apparently unbothered by the comparison as long as he got what he wanted.

Reaching into the storage box, Nick pulled out two pieces of Thunderhoof steak and a serving of grilled vegetables before going through the effort of heating them up the normal way. Fortunately, they kept a good amount of firestones stocked, so it was only a matter of minutes before the meal was heated up.

Setting the food on the table, he called for Talbot. The cat reappeared, tail held high, and promptly jumped onto the table, meowing louder as if to insist, "Feed me now!" Nick obliged, slicing a piece of steak and placing it before the cat. Talbot sniffed appreciatively, then devoured his portion with measured delight.

For a brief moment, amid all the chaos and overwhelming power struggles of the day, the simple act of sharing lunch with his little guardian gave Nick peace.

Later that afternoon, as the sun descended low and cast long shadows over the rolling fields, Nick stepped onto the porch of the house, yawning as he tried to orient himself. It had been one of those naps after which he woke up sweaty, confused, and uncertain about how much time had passed. However, considering his condition, he felt he could afford to sleep a bit longer than usual.

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Especially since Sashara's descent probably pushed back any talk of rebellion. It's not gone, but the beastmen will wait to see what comes of it before they make a move. We have at least a week, possibly more.

He leaned against the railing, breathing in the fresh air and trying to relax. He knew of no imminent danger, and while he wouldn't slack off, he had to remember that his coils still needed time to recover, so he couldn't occupy his time as he usually did with magical training.

Soon enough, the fields would be planted with new crops, their seeds sown to reclaim the stretches that were starting to fill with weeds. The season was already upon them, but the traditional purification ceremony had been forgotten in all the rush and chaos of the dungeon's raid.

Nick frowned thoughtfully. He wondered if Marthas would perform the ceremony or if the Prelate would need more time to recover from his injuries. If he didn't show up after Sashara herself descended, he must still be pretty weak. I wonder what exactly happened to him…

Reflecting on it, there was one person who could probably provide him with an answer. Arthur had told him to come find him, and Nick had many questions that only a Prestige class could clarify. He decided that if nothing else arose that needed his attention, he would visit the old adventurer the next day. I'll even tell Dad. What a responsible son I've become…

Leaning back from the rail, Nick's gaze fell to the charcoal stick he still carried out of habit. Somehow, it didn't smudge him, but it might have been easier had it acted like a real piece of charcoal. Instead, he felt uneasy about abandoning it, given that it remained highly magical, albeit not in the way he would have wanted.

The sight ignited a bitter anger within him. He'd spent many long hours perfecting the focus with Elia and Rhea, only to have Sashara's divine punishment obliterate it.

His father had told him that this was a "light" punishment, compared to many divine retributions, but it still stung. It was a pretty clear rebuke, but I would like to know what would have happened if I hadn't had the wand in the dungeon. We would have all died, that's what.

Unable to shake his frustration, Nick pulled the charcoal stick from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. He frowned, turning it over and over, feeling its rough texture.

A small part of him longed to do something—anything—to restore it, to reclaim what he had lost. Yet, a voice deep within cautioned him against tempting the goddess again so soon after she had spared him. That would be a foolish risk, one he couldn't afford at the moment. Still, his innate curiosity, combined with his insatiable hunger for mastery over his abilities, compelled him to test it.

He closed his eyes briefly and summoned a faint thread of mana. It was so thin that even he could barely feel it, because even with the nap he'd taken, he had still stressed his coils that morning. I'm kind of getting good at being subtle. Who'd have thought?

Carefully, he prodded the wand, feeling the residual energy that still lingered within. A shiver of discomfort rippled through him as he recognized what was unmistakably Sashara's holy power.

Despite it being possibly even more magical than it had been, his senses told him that the wand was utterly useless for casting now; its internal conduit had been destroyed, and its natural affinity for wind magic was completely obliterated.

Nick wondered, almost with a twinge of hope, if he could use it in a ritual to grant himself a new ability—to get something to compensate for the loss of his focus. The idea was enticing, but he quickly set it aside for the moment, as Ogden's warning that he wasn't ready had been clear. Instead, he decided to study the charcoal carefully, confident it might prove useful one day.

His introspection was suddenly interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps approaching along the gravel path. Nick looked up to see Rhea and Elia hurrying toward him, looking quite worried as they quickly closed the distance.

Before Nick could rise, both girls flung themselves at him, wrapping him in a fierce, unexpected embrace. For a moment, Nick was so surprised that he nearly forgot to hug them back. They clung to him as if he were a lifeline.

After a few moments, they reluctantly released him, yet neither stepped far away. They studied him deeply, looking for signs of injury, conveying silent concerns that went far beyond words. Rhea's gaze was steely while Elia bit her lip.

"We've heard rumors," Rhea began, voice low and urgent. "Some say that Sashara has punished you—others say she's blessed you. The whole town is speculating about what happened this morning."

Nick's eyes narrowed, but he managed a small shrug. "Of course, they are trying to twist what really happened," he murmured. He had almost forgotten that he had become a known oddity, and this latest show wouldn't help his image. "Considering that I haven't told anyone but my father and Ogden what happened, I doubt they have any real idea. But I don't really care anymore. More importantly, is there still tension?"

Elia shook her head slowly. "No, not exactly. My people are still in shock. Some even believe my hesitation to attack was because I had foreseen Sashara's intervention, and that has only elevated my standing among them, so I was able to put off any action."

Nick's brow furrowed as he processed her words. "So they think you're a Seer now?"

Elia's mouth pursed, and she hesitated before answering. "It seems so," she looked annoyed, but given that this was probably what was saving the town from civil war, she couldn't exactly complain. "Slipping out was difficult—people kept swearing themselves to my service, begging for a chance to follow me. I had to be very careful in refusing them. All of this tip-toeing is becoming very annoying."

Rhea patted her on the back before adding, "And there's more—rumor has it there's trouble at the temple. Some priests insist that since Sashara possessed Alexander, he must be her chosen. Others claim he was merely a tool, and that such boasting is unseemly. Marthas is nowhere to be seen in all this chaos, and the Vicar has locked himself away in prayer."

A heavy silence settled over the patio. Nick's mind churned with the implications. Floria was transforming before his very eyes—what had started as a desperate attempt was now twisting into a complex web of power, belief, and authority.

He cleared his throat and tried to make sense of it all, "We have to keep stalling things, at least until we figure out a long-term solution. Elia, I understand that it's uncomfortable to keep this charade for you, but this still seems like the best way to stop the rebellion. Try to bear with it."

Elia nodded slowly, her eyes softening as she regarded him. "I'll do that," she said quietly.

"I will go and speak with Arthur tomorrow to try and get some clarity. I don't doubt he'll have noticed the direction things are going by now. Rhea, try to find out what Ogden knows. I spoke with him this morning, but he mostly concentrated on my situation. I know most beastmen are wary of him, and I'd like to know why and if we can use it."

Rhea seemed conflicted, since she was the man's apprentice, but eventually, she nodded. "I'll do my best. I doubt he'll reveal anything personal anyway; he's too clever for that."

"Good, then we should try to meet up once a day to pool our information until we have a more actionable plan," Nick concluded.

And I really need to get better. All of this could have been avoided if I could have just used my magic. Man, I've gotten too used to this place. Back on Earth, I would have made do with a lot less…