Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Nick hadn't expected to be called forward so quickly.

They hadn't even left Floria's outer perimeter when one of the officers—a scout captain—called his name and gestured for him to move to the front of the formation. This was unusual, as most scouts were expected to spread out along the flanks, staying mobile for quick reports and potential ambushes. However, with his unique sensory spell, Nick was needed where the decisions were being made.

It probably didn't hurt that he was the boss' son, and so everyone was more than willing to bend protocol if it meant he wouldn't be the first one to go once they made contact with the enemy.

As he stepped forward, he felt the weight of several gazes.

The other scouts—trained rangers, seasoned adventurers, and skilled hunters—watched him closely. They didn't speak, but Nick sensed the annoyance bubbling beneath their expressions. Most of them had worked for years to earn their places, while he—a mage, a teenager, and the son of Floria's captain—was being granted a position of prominence without having to fight for it.

Still, none of them objected. This wasn't a casual hunting party or an escort mission. They all knew better than to challenge the chain of command when lives were at stake.

Nick ignored the tension, focusing instead on the task ahead as he stepped into position beside his father. He did make a mental note to keep an eye out for the blonde teen who had tried to intimidate him earlier. People were tense, yes, and the long days of patrols and waiting for the monsters to come back hadn't helped, but he suspected that guy had other reasons beyond his actions.

Hurrying forward, he joined the mission leaders, offering his father a brief smile before settling in next to him.

The path into the Green Ocean was ancient and well-trodden by generations of adventurers and travelers. Twisting roots curled along its edges, gnarled trees loomed overhead, and thick, dense foliage created a ceiling of shadows, making it difficult to tell whether it was morning or dusk.

Despite the eerie stillness, Nick didn't sense any immediate danger.

To be safe, he tapped into [Wind God's Third Eye], extending his awareness like a net cast into the depths of the forest. The wind whispered back to him, brushing through the undergrowth, flowing between the trees, gathering information before delivering it to his senses.

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After several moments, he shook his head. "Nothing nearby," he reported.

Arthur grunted. "It's to be expected. The beasts know better than to be near a force this large."

Marthas hummed, staring in the direction they knew the dungeon would be. "That's only true as long as the numbers remain in our favor." Arthur inclined his head, conceding the point.

Nick watched them closely.

Arthur and Martha were the two most powerful men on this expedition—indeed, in the entire frontier, unless some of the villages scattered across the grassland were hiding a powerhouse. Both held prestigious positions and had amassed incredible strength over their lifetimes.

And yet, despite their overwhelming individual strength, they still walked behind Eugene.

His father wasn't the strongest warrior here—not by a long shot. When it came to raw ability, Arthur could cut through an entire warband of trolls on his own, while Marthas had burned demons from existence effortlessly. Either of them could lead this expedition, yet neither did.

Eugene remained in front. Not because he was the strongest, but because he was the Captain.

Even here, in the depths of the wilds, hierarchy had its place.

Nick stored the thought away, carefully observing how decisions were made at this level. If I want to explore the world once I'm older, I should probably learn everything I can from these two. Prestige classes may not be as scarce in large cities, but I have no doubt they cluster at the top of the food chain. The fact that they still respect Dad's authority suggests that the same likely occurs elsewhere.

Arthur walked with a confident, easy stride, his boots crunching against the ground without a thought for silence—stealth was impossible for a group as large as theirs. He wore armor that appeared to have withstood decades of battle, and his large frame radiated a persistent sense of readiness as if he anticipated a fight at any time. His scruffy beard, worn clothes, and casual demeanor conveyed practicality—the look of a man who had never cared for appearances because his strength spoke for itself.

Marthas, in contrast, was unmistakably a high-ranking priest, even in the middle of the forest.

His robes, dyed in a deep crimson, remained spotless, free from dust, dirt, or sweat. His dark skin shimmered under the changing sunlight, and even as they walked, it felt as though he was protected from the elements, as if the world bent around him instead of the other way around.

One man was raw and unrestrained. The other was extremely calculated, his every motion deliberate.

And yet, they both deferred to Eugene.

Nick had assumed power dictated authority—that the strong led, and the weak followed. That was how it worked on Earth, and nothing he'd seen so far had challenged that belief.

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But now, he was witnessing a different truth: Power alone wasn't enough. People had to trust you with it.

That shouldn't be a problem for me since Devon will inherit the captaincy, and I have no intention of settling down in another quaint little town to become its ruler. But this dynamic is quite interesting.

They walked for nearly two hours before reaching the journey's first real choice. The old path split in two. To the left, the road continued as expected, worn and marked by years of foot traffic. To the right, a calm stream cut across the path, shallow and slow-moving, carving a narrow divide through the forest.

Eugene raised a hand, signaling a stop.

"Alright," he called. "We've made good time. Scouts, get your bearings."

Nick's air sense expanded again, sweeping over the area. He caught no immediate danger, but something about the right path felt… off.

The air was too still beyond the stream.

He frowned but said nothing yet, watching as Arthur stepped closer.

"The left is the usual route," the old adventurer said. "We'll have more cover but less visibility. If something is lurking, we won't know until we're right on top of it." He then added, "The right path is newer. It's more open. The stream could mask our approach, but we'd be exposed. If something is watching, it'll see us first."

Eugene considered both options.

Nick waited a moment, curious to see if the other scouts would interject. When no one said anything, he finally said, "Something's off about the right path."

Arthur glanced at him. "Weird how?"

Nick struggled to put it into words. The air wasn't telling him there was an enemy—there was no scent of blood, no trace of movement, nothing to indicate a trap. But at the same time…

"It's too still," he said finally.

Marthas raised a brow. "Too still?"

Nick nodded. "The wind isn't flowing past the stream naturally. It's just… stopping."

A thoughtful silence followed.

Arthur rubbed his chin. "Might be worth checking before we commit."

Eugene exhaled and finally nodded. "We'll take ten minutes to investigate. No longer." He gestured to a few scouts and adventurers to move forward.

Nick subtly observed Arthur as they waited.

Despite the man's relaxed posture, there was an awareness in how he carried himself that suggested he was always measuring, calculating, and waiting for the right moment. The veteran adventurer could have made a decision right away, and no one would have questioned it. After all, he was the most powerful known warrior present.

And yet, he didn't. He waited for Eugene to make the final decision.

Nick took mental notes. That was power wielded with experience. Arthur could have overridden the chain of command, but instead, he reinforced it. In a town like Floria, where every loss mattered, unity was more important than raw strength.

After a while, the scouts returned, apparently not having found anything of note. One of the men even gave Nick a side look, which he took as annoyance at having been made to waste time.

Instead of ordering the march to resume, Eugene looked at Nick for confirmation. He grimaced and shrugged. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he knew he was feeling something. His father exhaled. "Alright, Arthur. Go."

That was all the permission he needed. Arthur vanished.

One second, he was standing beside them. The next, his boots barely kissed the earth before he exploded forward, clearing the narrow stream in a single bound. His body blurred as a crackle of lightning sparked from his heels, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Nick barely had time to track his movement.

He sensed the way the air twisted violently in his wake, how the ground trembled under the force of his launch.

Nick swallowed, focusing. Now came his job.

Several heads turned toward him, waiting. They wanted updates.

Marthas stood off to the side, his arms folded, clearly uninterested in a detailed retelling. He already knew the outcome, as he had his own sensory skills. But the others—Eugene, the soldiers, the adventurers—they needed a scout's report, and the older rangers didn't seem inclined to stick around. They had already checked the area and hadn't found anything. To them, this was just a waste of time.

Nick closed his eyes and let [Wind God's Third Eye] stretch out over the forest.

Arthur was four hundred feet ahead now, standing perfectly still.

Nick frowned. "He's stopped."

"Why?" Eugene asked.

"He's—" Nick hesitated, trying to interpret what he was sensing. "He's standing with his eyes closed. He's waiting for something."

The words had barely left his mouth when something happened. Nick felt it before he saw it.

A sharp tear in the air, like someone had ripped fabric from existence itself. A split-second later, his air sense failed—right at that point.

Nick's eyes snapped open. "Something just appeared. I—I can't feel the air there anymore."

That caught everyone's attention. "What?" The blonde ranger who tried to intimidate Nick exclaimed in disbelief, but the man next to him silenced him, staring in the rift's direction with intense eyes.

Then, as if summoned from that very void, a dozen Vine Wraiths poured into existence.

They swarmed Arthur instantly, lunging from the rift like starving beasts.

"It's true, something is attacking Arthur," the older scout confirmed, grimacing. "Should we go help him?" he asked, but Eugene shook his head.

Nick felt a ripple of unease pass through the group as he said there were at least twelve wraiths. Even if everyone expected a fight, knowing it was happening just outside their reach was something else entirely.

This was clearly an ambush that had been planned well before they left Floria, or there would have been more signs. Nick had noticed it only because his spell offered him such fine detail.

The wraiths were trying to overwhelm Arthur before he could react.@@novelbin@@

They failed.

Before they even reached him, lightning crackled. A golden-blue current wrapped around Arthur's body, sparking from his fingertips, dancing along his shoulders, illuminating his iron-gray beard with electric fire.

The first wraiths that dared get too close were instantly reduced to ash.

The remaining ones, sensing their impending doom, abruptly changed tactics. Several peeled away from Arthur, turning their focus toward the main group.

"They are coming this way!" Nick barely had time to say as much before Arthur raised his hand.

A low rumble rolled through the air—not the distant cry of a coming storm but the roar of something being summoned.

Lightning fell. The entire forest was bathed in white-hot radiance. A bolt of raw destruction tore through the sky, crashing into the ground with deafening force.

Nick's ears rang as a shockwave ripped through the stream, flattening underbrush and splintering dozens of trees as if they were nothing more than brittle twigs.

For a moment, all was silent.

Then, the smoke cleared.

A scorched corridor stretched before them, as if an unseen blade had carved nature itself away. At the very end of it stood Arthur, completely unharmed.

Nick blinked, taking in the aftermath. The wraiths were gone, and the only evidence of their existence was the lingering crackle of fading electricity in the air.

A stunned hush fell over the expedition. Even the most seasoned warriors had nothing to say.

Finally, Eugene let out a breath. "Are there more?" Nick shut his eyes, reaching out with his senses.

Nothing. The disturbance was gone.

"I don't feel the stillness anymore," he confirmed.

Eugene nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Then we will resume the march."

Nick took a deep breath.

Well, they already knew we were coming. At least this way, we made an entrance.