Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

For a moment, Nick could only stare in horror.

His father had just been swallowed whole by the clay monster that wore his face.

The thing had lost its humanoid shape, melting into a shifting mass of hardened earth and tangled seaweed, which had lunged forward with a mindless hunger, consuming Eugene in an instant.

Nick's mind screamed at him to do something, anything—but there was nothing he could do, not without risking his father's life in the process.

He forced himself to think, knowing he had precious few seconds to do something. A [Wind Burst]? Too dangerous—it could harm his father just as easily as it could tear the monster apart.

A [Force Shield]? Useless—it wouldn't help unless Eugene could fight his way out. The clay monster was already too tightly wrapped around him for Nick to insert a shield. There was no air between Eugene's skin and the mud.

Fire! His father needed fire. He was most likely immune to the level of heat Nick could bring to bear, while the monster had already shown its weakness to the element.

Nick cast [Minor Elemental Manipulation] before he could even finish formulating the plan. A gout of flames emerged from his wand, bathing the area.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have much effect. The spell was too low-level to harm a monster capable of keeping up with Eugene. But after stopping the mana, he noticed something.

The clay was drying. Cracks formed along its surface, thin at first, but spreading rapidly.

Then, Nick felt the air heat up, and his despair vanished. Dad's still fighting.

Even as the clay shifted, attempting to reinforce itself and smother whatever struggle was happening inside, Nick could feel the heat continue to rise.

Hairline cracks became fissures, the clay blackening, smoking from the inside out. Then, all at once, the monster exploded.

A shockwave rocked the battlefield as chunks of superheated clay rained in every direction, hissing as they struck the damp earth.

Nick instinctively threw up a force barrier, redirecting the debris away from the others.

And at the center of the explosion, a figure wreathed in flames emerged.

His father stood among the wreckage, his fiery armor blazing so intensely that the air around him shimmered. His face bore a deadly scowl, his eyes burning like molten embers, and his sword glowed white-hot.

Even the surviving clay monsters hesitated, their faceless heads twitching toward Eugene as if suddenly aware of what they had just awoken.

Nick barely saw his father move.

The closest clay monster had no time to react before Eugene's blade carved through its torso, sending molten chunks flying in every direction.

The next he slammed into with a shoulder check, his flaming armor melting through it like wax before he followed up with a downward slash, splitting it in half.

The remaining monsters tried to retreat, showing a strangely animalistic survival instinct. It was too late.

With a growl of pure fury, Eugene swung his sword in a wide arc, sending a wave of fire rolling across the battlefield.

Nick saw that although most of the flames were directed at the brook, some were approaching them. Before the fire could reach them, he empowered his barrier, diverting the worst of the heat toward the retreating enemies.

One by one, the clay monsters burned. The fire ate away at their bodies, turning wet mud into brittle ash, their frames collapsing into nothing before they could even make a final attack. Only those still in the brook remained now, bubbling furiously from the ambient heat.

His father saw it too, and turned to face the water, still burning like a living torch. Then, with a sweeping motion, he thrust his sword forward and unleashed hell.

A tidal wave of fire and heat surged toward the brook, crashing into the water like a meteor. The brook exploded into a cloud of thick, scalding steam, sending a white haze rolling over the battlefield.

Within seconds, the riverbed was bone-dry, the earth hardened and cracked from the sheer temperature shift.

Nick coughed, waving a hand in front of his face. He then used his control over the air to push the steam upward, dispersing it before it could choke the others. The air cleared, and they could see that more creatures crawled from the brook. No more monsters stirred.

They had won.

For a long moment, the only sound was the distant crackling of dying flames. Eugene stood at the center of it all, his fiery aura slowly dimming, the last remnants of his burning armor fading into embers. Once the air had reached a safe temperature, Nick approached him, reached into his pack, and pulled out a glass vial filled with a glowing blue liquid. Silently, he extended it toward his father.

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Eugene turned, still scowling with rage, but his expression softened when he saw the potion. With a soft grunt, he took the vial, uncorked it, and swallowed its contents. Moments later, the bruises on his limbs and neck started to disappear as the healing magic did its work.

Nick smirked. "Not bad."

His father snorted. "Not bad?"

"I mean, you did let yourself get eaten." He shrugged.

Eugene gave him a long look. Then, he chuckled, shaking his head.

Nick allowed himself a small smile.

Nick exhaled, letting his muscles relax as the last traces of heat dissipated from the battlefield. He glanced around, ensuring no more clay creatures stirred from the now-dried brook. The group had already started shifting back into formation, picking through the remains of the creatures and digging for monster cores.

A soft chime echoed in his head as the System sent its notifications.

He glanced at the glowing text that only he could see.

Not bad. But nowhere near what he wanted. His brows furrowed slightly as he checked his level progression. Still a long way to level twenty-six.

His experience gain was slowing. It was a matter of diminishing returns, that much was obvious. The higher his level climbed, the more effort it took to reach the next threshold.

No wonder every Prestige Class I meet is so old. I'm growing much faster than anyone else my age, and I'm still nowhere near the halfway point.

Nick was beginning to realize just how massive the gap really was. He was strong—far stronger than most people his age—but Prestige was different.

Still, no use dwelling on it now. He had more pressing concerns—like not dying in this damned forest. He took another deep breath, then pushed away his System screen.

His father finished dividing the monster cores. Most of them were given to the fighters who had contributed the most, while a few were placed in the general supply to be divided only once the expedition returned home.

Nick got one.

A small, pale core, faintly pulsing with residual mana. Probably from one of the lesser clay creatures. Still, it was a core. He tucked it into his pouch, adding to his slowly increasing collection. Soon enough, they resumed their march.

Nick walked near the front and was surprised when the eldest ranger stepped up beside him. Typically, the rangers spread out to cover various angles of attack, but he quickly realized that the older man had intentionally moved closer because he wanted to talk.

He was tall and wiry. His sharp, sun-leathered face spoke of years spent tracking across the wilds. His cloak, dyed in muted greens and browns, blended almost seamlessly with the forest.

The ranger spoke first, his voice a gravelly drawl. "You've got a sharp set of eyes on you, boy."

Nick glanced at him. "I'm more of an ears person than an eyes person, really. The wind carries every sound to me."

The older ranger grunted in what might have been amusement. "Morris."

Nick took a second before nodding. "Nick Crowley."

"I know," the man said dryly, stepping over a twisted root. "Whole town knows who you are. Captain's son. The only mage in two batches. A decent one, at that."

Nick didn't bother responding. He doubted the old man was here to flatter him.

Morris continued. "You've got a bright future ahead, if you focus on honing that magic of yours. We don't get too many with your talent."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "I imagine most towns have at least one mage who can use sensory magic."

Morris shook his head. "Not like you, and certainly not at your age." He eyed Nick sideways. "If you're ever interested in pursuing the skill, I can put in a recommendation for you. The Army's Ranger Corps could mold you into something great. You'd get a much better education than whatever you'll find in Floria."

Nick blinked. That was unexpected.

He hadn't even spoken to Morris before this. Yet, the man was offering him a way into one of the most specialized branches of the military. Admittedly, he hadn't spent much time researching the subject, but even he knew it was one of the better career paths available to those on the frontier who wanted to rejoin the "civilized" parts of the kingdom.

He hesitated for only a moment before shaking his head. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not interested in the army right now."

Morris grunted. "Figured as much. You don't strike me as the type to take orders well."

Nick let out a dry chuckle. "That obvious?"

The older ranger smirked slightly. "You'd not be the first talented mage brat I meet."

He adjusted the quiver on his back, then added, "Still, the Kingdom always needs good sensors. Especially now. Pirates have been getting trickier in the eastern seas, according to what the merchants told me. We need more eyes, and I'm too old to help again."

Nick frowned slightly. Pirates? This was the first time he'd heard much about the opposite side of the Kingdom.

Morris let out a short sigh, as if debating whether or not to speak. Then, he nodded to himself. "Most people out here never think about it, but the Kingdom's problems don't end with monsters in the wilds. The east is worse in some ways. People are smarter than beasts."

Nick narrowed his eyes. "How bad?"

Morris gave him a grim smile. "Bad enough that I spent most of my career hunting them before coming back to my birthplace to die in peace."

Nick stayed silent, waiting. The ranger took that as an invitation to continue.

"You ever heard of the Burning Tides?"

Nick shook his head.

Morris clicked his tongue. "Figures, it's been years since the last, and they never caused any trouble inland. But if you're near the ocean, you definitely know their name. Pirates, slavers, smugglers. They used to control the trade routes before the Kingdom cracked down on them. They got pushed out of the ports, so they began raiding villages instead."

Nick absorbed that information. "So you hunted them?"

Morris nodded. "I was part of a detachment assigned to naval patrol. Most of the time, we'd track them down and destroy their ships before they could do any real damage. Other times… we weren't fast enough."

There was an edge to his voice now. Nick didn't pry, but he understood what was left unsaid. They weren't fast enough, and people paid the price for it.

Morris continued, "I remember one mission. We got word that a fleet of raiders had hit an island town off the coast of Cometton. We were supposed to intercept their return route and cut them off. But by the time we got there—"

He exhaled. "We found a ghost town."

Nick swallowed. "No survivors?"

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Morris's mouth twitched slightly, as if remembering something particularly ugly. "A few. Kids, mostly. They didn't fight the raiders, so they got taken as cargo instead. Slaves. The pirates weren't planning on staying—they burned everything they didn't need and left." His fingers tightened around the grip of his bow. "We found their ships three days later."

Nick could guess what came next. "And?"

Morris smiled. It was not a kind smile. "And we made sure they never raided again."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rustling of leaves as they continued through the forest.

Finally, Morris exhaled through his nose. "Anyway. You remind me of some of the better trackers I worked with. Most of them ended up dead, but the good ones lived long enough to make a name for themselves. I heard news that someone picked up the name of the Burning Tides again, so the Army will likely need to up its recruitments."

Nick smirked. "I'm not sure if that's encouraging."

Morris gave him a sideways glance. "Take it how you want. The offer's open if you ever change your mind."

Nick doubted he would. He had no intention of joining the Kingdom's military, but he wouldn't mind hearing more of Morris's stories. While the old man was likely only sharing his glory days, Nick was very interested in learning about the world beyond Floria. After all, he had no intention of spending his whole life there.

But before he could ask more, the last man stepped into the clearing they were going through.

Nick froze. At the same time, so did Morris.

There was a sudden absence. Nick's senses flickered—the wind was gone. Not just calm. Gone.

The air that had been gently whispering through the trees, guiding him with minute details of their surroundings had vanished.