Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 383

The beads of alchemical fire that Nick had seen consuming trolls alive despite their mighty regeneration hovered just above the apprentices’ heads, a death sentence ready to be carried out.

Even if Nick had been at full capacity and not suffering from the aftereffects of absorbing the Southern Guardian, he would have hesitated to take the shot, since the moment the beads made contact with flesh, it would be over. In his current state, he could do nothing but watch.

“This is nothing personal,” Joran said, though his eyes were dilated, almost feverish. He seemed to have anticipated this moment for a long time, which only fueled Nick’s anger.

He’d sensed that something was off about him. He had glimpsed buried emotions, far too intense to be random. But he ignored them, instead focusing his suspicions on Tessa and Ord, on the Hones watching them from the shadows.

The Shard hovered silently by his side, and he knew that if he squeezed himself dry, he’d be able to fire one shot thanks to the level up, but his emotions were too chaotic to control safely. Can I risk it? They will die if I don’t act, but it’s very likely they will be hit if I do.

The beads slowly lowered until they were just inches from flesh, and Nick prepared to act, even though he didn’t know what consequences that might have for him, either, given the strained state of his coils.

A strange sound, like a branch snapping, but clearer and oddly loud in the tense atmosphere, echoed out.

Joran’s expression didn't change. The cruel smile stayed fixed, even as a thin red line appeared across the middle of his neck.

Then, his head slid off.

It hit the mud with a dull thud, rolling once before coming to a stop against a rock, the eyes still fixed in a look of triumphant malice. The body stood for a moment longer before the knees buckled and it collapsed.

The beads began falling.

“Catch them!” Raphael roared.

A tendril of water whipped out as Willow thrust her hand forward, smashing against the beads and flinging them back just moments before even more tragedy could unfold.

Nick looked up to see Raphael standing ten feet away with his hand extended, and his fingers curled into a claw. His face was pale, sweat beaded on his forehead, but his eyes were fearless.

“Stupid bastard always kept quiet, and decided to talk too much now,” he muttered, though there was anguish in his tone. The tremor in his fingers was the only sign of the adrenaline coursing through him.

Tessa and Ord looked at the alchemist's headless body, their faces draining of color. Having betrayed the team like Joran, it was obvious they faced the same destiny.

Clearly, they decided that discretion was the better part of valor and roughly shoved their captives into the swamp, putting as much distance as they could from the deadly Raphael.

The elite squad of House Hone, who had been watching with amused detachment, suddenly snapped to attention as Vane finally intervened. “End it. I don’t want any more trouble from this lot.”

Spells started flashing, forcing the apprentices to quickly recover from their shock and act. Nick was grabbed by the shoulders and pulled away.

“You need to lose weight,” Raphael grunted in his ear, and the complaint was so absurd in that moment that Nick couldn’t hold back a hysterical giggle.

A massive fireball smashed into Willow’s ward, causing cracks to spread all around, and it became clear that without Nick’s import, they wouldn’t last long.

“We need to run, we can’t fight them,” Malik hissed. He was dirty, exhausted, and clearly distraught, but he still took up his position before any of them, despite having just risked his life to a traitor.

“They’ll just catch up; we’re too tired,” Monte replied darkly. His eyes had yet to leave the still form of Terence on the other side of the bank.

“We won’t need to,” Willow surprised them by muttering with more venom than he could ever remember from her. She reached for her left wrist, where a band of braided silver and sapphire sat, the artifact Archmage Tholm gave to every apprentice who survived their first year.

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Is that going to be enough? The earth magic it unleashed was powerful enough to turn the tides against the trolls and the werewolves, but we’re completely outmatched here.

Unlike her fellow apprentices, though, she didn’t channel her mana through it. Instead, she ripped the bracelet off her arm and tore it apart with her bare hands.

“[Awaken]!" she screamed, slamming her hand into the swamp water.

The pulse of mana that was released exceeded anything a mortal could summon. It even outshone anything Vane had done by an order of magnitude, highlighting the enormous difference between Prestige and mortals.

The swamp erupted as mud surged upward beneath the Hones’ feet. Roots as thick as battering rams ripped loose from the sediment, thrashing like a waking giant. The water churned and solidified, rising to create enormous, shapeless forms of muck and stone.

A dozen massive golems rose in seconds, forming a wall of flailing limbs and thick mud between the apprentices and the enemy, each powerful enough to give the Guardian a run for its money.

“Run!” Raphael shouted, grabbing Nick’s arm over his shoulder and starting to pull him away.

The others didn’t need to be told twice, rushing with all their remaining strength. Behind them, the noise grew louder as the Hones soldiers screamed as they battled the constructs, bodies thudded to the ground, and spells tried but failed to clear a path.

They didn’t look back, scrambling over slick rocks and through dense underbrush until finally they were running on fumes, and Nick sensed a hole in the ground.

“There!” He shouted, pointing.

The tunnel gradually descended, hidden from the outside view by a large weeping willow, and they ran into it until their lungs burned, until the sounds of the swamp had fully faded into a dull thrum far behind them. Only when the tunnel leveled out, widening into a cavern filled with glowing moss, did they finally stop.

Raphael propped Nick against the wall and sank down beside him, sliding until he sat on the floor.

Nick’s chest heaved, each breath tasting of blood, and his mana channels throbbed with a phantom burn he knew would take some time to fade.

“What the hell… was that?” He finally asked.

“Tholm’s last resort,” Willow replied, dirty and exhausted but still fierce. “They’ll be busy fending off the golems for a good while, if they even manage to survive them.”

“Why didn’t you use that before?” Malik finally asked. He was one of the least tired, thanks to his higher physical stats, but it was clear that the day’s events had worn him down.

“It’s a one-time use,” Raphael answered for Willow, slowly pulling himself upright. “The bracelet can’t be used again after that, and though it is powerful magic, it’s defensive in nature. It will keep them busy, but won’t hunt them down if they retreat.”

That drew a grunt of acknowledgment from the spearman. He still didn’t look happy, but then again, none of them was. Not after what had just happened.

Silence settled over the cave as everyone tried and failed to process what had happened. They were alive, but not everyone had made it.

“What happened to Terence?” Nick finally mustered the courage to ask. He had been busy with the Guardian when that took place, and although it was a painful subject, he felt he needed to know.

Monte closed his eyes, breathing roughly through his nose, but finally nodded to show he understood the need to know. “He got baited out. There wasn’t even a good reason to target him, but Vane still did, drawing him away from us during the fight by interfering with his attacks, until once the Guardian had stopped attacking completely, he used shadows to make Terence think there might have been a monster. When he went to look, Vane speared him through.”

That was so senseless. Vane was clearly powerful enough to kill any of them if he really set his mind to it, but why would he target Terence, who was among the weakest in the group?

His expression must have shown he was seeking an answer, but it was clear no one else had one.

Is it because he was the heir to Long Reach? To eliminate a potentially hostile noble house?

That made more sense, but it still felt hollow. Having an answer had never seemed so pointless.

“What happened to Joran?” Lina finally asked. She’d been almost eerily silent so far, clearly still shaken, but with Mikel’s arm around her shoulders, she was slowly starting to relax. "What drove him to that madness?”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Raphael said quickly. “You heard what he said. He was never one of us.”

She looked back at him with wide, shiny eyes. “How did you kill him?” she asked, though she flinched once she finished speaking, realizing it sounded almost like an accusation.

Raphael didn’t seem to take offense, though a weary look crossed his face. “I did it because I had to,” he muttered. “He would have killed you. Had been ready to do it.”

“You did the right thing,” Nick said, giving the senior apprentice a nod of respect. “He was a traitor, just like Tessa and Ord. Worse, perhaps, since he has been undercover for years, probably passing out all sorts of information.”

That made more than one person queasy as they suddenly found themselves in the uncomfortable position of having to revisit every conversation they had with Joran, including everything he might have known about them.

“They adventured with us for two years,” Yvonne whispered in the silence that followed. “I just don’t get it. They are nowhere close to Prestige, to sacrifice all they had built for a chance they might never be able to grasp.”

Malik approached the end of the tunnel and drew his sword—not his spear, but the short arming sword he carried as a backup. He drove the point into the soft ground of the cavern floor and looked back at her.

Yvonne gasped, surprised, but a moment later, a new resolve appeared in her eyes, and she moved to join him, placing her hand beside his.

"Eztie, Lord of the Scales," Malik intoned, his voice low and guttural. "We name the dead.”

"Terence," Yvonne said softly. "Taken by the enemy in unfair combat.”

"Joran," Malik continued. "Taken by his own treason.”

“Tessa. Ord," Yvonne added. “Taken by their own treason.”

Nick observed them with curiosity. This was clearly some kind of funerary ritual, probably common among the local adventurers. By calling out the living traitors among the dead, he suspected they were declaring them dead in their hearts. Essentially, it was a formal vow of hostility. There would be no hesitation next time. No mercy.

"We condemn them to darkness," Malik finished. "Let the weight of their deeds be the stone that sinks them.”

Once they finished their prayers, they went back to sitting, though something had shifted; a new weight had been added that hadn’t been there before, but one they welcomed. A new purpose ignited within the two.

“We need to recover as quickly as possible. Vane has the Guardian’s core, so he will likely be heading toward the Well now," Raphael said.

Nick gave a quick nod. His reserves were still dangerously low, but they were gradually recovering, and although there wasn’t much he could do about his soul being stretched, he suspected that would also lessen over time.

“Can we really do anything? He has a head start and is much stronger than us,” Mikel asked.

“I wouldn’t consider it a lost cause,” Nick replied, though it was faint comfort. “The Inner Guardian isn't going to let him waltz in and take over.”