Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 392

Given all that had happened upon their return, Nick felt that a thunderstorm would have been more fitting, yet the morning sun filtering through the high windows of the seventy-seventh floor was bright and cheerful, completely at odds with the gloomy mood of the dining hall.

Raphael sat at the long mahogany table, pushing a plate of eggs around with his fork. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, with dark circles shading the skin under his eyes, and his hand trembled slightly each time metal clinked against china.

“They must have found the body to move so quickly,” he whispered, breaking the silence. "They’re going to argue it was a summary execution.”

"It was, and it was the right thing to do,” Nick said calmly, taking a sip of the harsh, black tea Tholm favored. "He was a traitor in the middle of a combat zone. You didn't murder a student, Raphael. You neutralized an enemy combatant. If you hadn’t done that, Lina and Mikel would have died instead, and we might not have managed to overcome the Hones.”

"The Tribunal is known to be harsh with its methods, but it is fair,” Willow murmured, her hand resting on Raphael’s. “Even with House Illismonde pushing hard, claiming that Joran was not given his rights as a noble scion, when the facts are laid out, they won’t be able to punish you.”

"They can claim the moon is made of cheese," Nick said, setting his cup down. “But everyone knows that isn’t the case. We will defend you, and ourselves, and we will win. You saw how mad Tholm was. He’s not going to let anything happen.”

He stood up, scraping his chair against the floor. "Don't waste your time thinking about the worst-case scenario. Eat. We’ll need our strength, because all they have on their side is influence. They’ll try to break us. Do not make their life easy.”

"Where are you going?" Raphael asked, looking up. He was still clearly affected by the quick turnaround, having suppressed most of his emotions in the field. But now that he was under the spotlight, being called a murderer, the weight of his actions was making itself known.

Nick wished he had a secret weapon to solve the entire problem, like he often did, but sadly, the reality was that they would have to face the trial and endure all the abuse House Illismonde was bound to throw at them.

Once that was over, though… Well, there were some things he could do then.

“I’m going to clear my head. The dungeon didn’t only bring bad things, and it’s important to keep that in mind.”

Tholm’s laboratories were a marvel of enchantment. The walls were lined with mana-dampening lead, and the air scrubbers were efficient enough to handle even the most volatile alchemical fumes.

Nick locked the door and sat in the middle of the room, trusting that everyone else would be too busy to bother him.

In the chaos of the past day, he hadn’t yet found the time to go over his gains, but now that he had a moment for himself, he wouldn’t waste it.

Closing his eyes, he turned his gaze inward.

Before the dungeon, his soul had been bright, yes, but also somewhat formless. It had been powerful enough to withstand the eddies of the ether and had grown to accommodate his greater strength, and yet it was only now that he realized just how vulnerable it had been.

Blasphemy was the only reason he had managed to survive all the dangerous situations he kept getting into. Some were his fault, like his personal experiments with demonic summoning and etheric crafting, but others weren’t. Everything from being exposed to the will of a hostile god to facing off against a Greater Demon should have been enough to damage him.

Achieving Soul Crystallization had transformed everything. The Tree of Life was now a physical structure fused into his spirit, providing the entire system with remarkable strength that it lacked before. He could even see the pathways—the Sephirot—glowing like a circuit embedded in a diamond.

Pulling up his status screen made that even clearer.

NICK CROWLEY

LEVEL

MANA

STR

DEX

CON

INT

WIS

CHA

Occultist/Human

78

309

111

115

124

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

223

291

212

The fact that he, a teenager with just over a year of experience, reached level seventy-eight, something many veteran mages only achieve much later in life, was enough to set him apart from the crowd, but even more impressive were his stats.

The repeated Feats he’d achieved granted him the equivalent of a dozen level-ups, allowing him to face opponents at the upper end of the mortal realm with only minor disadvantage, even though he should have been completely outclassed.

And his Mana stat surpassing the three hundred mark meant he was now nearly twice as powerful, in raw terms, as when he had been at level fifty.

But even that wasn’t all. No, maybe his biggest achievement in his dungeon crawl was the harmony of his affinities.

The Tree of Life provided his soul with such stability that he could now internally channel and modify mana types that would have been impossible to imagine before.

Things that had previously been on the edge of his skillset, requiring him to establish rituals and make sacrifices, were now accessible to him at any time.

“It was a process I was already going through on my own, given my early successes with [Bolt of Wrath], but that was more of a one-time thing, something I only managed when the circumstances were just right. Now, though…”

He extended a hand. Usually, to cast a spell like [Bolt of Wrath], he had to assemble the matrix in real-time by influencing his environment—seeding the electrical charge with other spells, gathering and shaping the emotion from his surroundings, and only when he achieved the right balance could he cast. It took minutes to set up and seconds to channel fully. In a high-speed duel, it was a very unreliable weapon, albeit a powerful one, thanks to the stability provided by the Shard.

With the addition of Binah and Chokmah to his soul, the Understanding and Wisdom, he could generate the required emotion on his own, having already experienced the mental state enough times. This process happened immediately and harmoniously thanks to Tipheret, fueled by Da’at, the Knowledge, and brought into reality by Kether, the manifestation of divine will.

He started weaving the matrix of [Bolt of Wrath], infusing it with the concepts of Rightful Anger and the element of Lightning, and before he even knew it, the spell crackled to life.

Crimson sparks surrounded him, and Nick knew that if he even so much as focused on a specific target, the full power of his spell would be unleashed.

He dismissed it, humming in satisfaction at a job well done, but not entirely satisfied. There was more he could accomplish with this new ability.

[Bolt of Wrath] was the first of his hybrid elemental-spiritual spells, and likely the most destructive he could come up with for a while, but it wasn’t the only one.

[Stream of Consciousness], for example, proved its worth against the Southern Guardian. It allowed him to channel the winds past the hydra’s resistances and direct his mind through it.

It was born from Mercy, a desire for things to end, and just as it could grant him access to minds, it could also become an object of finality.

Green winds howled into existence around him, whistling past his limbs and gaining strength as he focused, until he thrust his palm forward.

The stream of power that burst from him was far stronger than the spell it was based on. [Jet Stream] would always be a part of his arsenal as a quick and flexible magic, but it paled in comparison to the damage [Stream of Consciousness] could do, as seen by the shattered section of the ward where his magic struck.

The Tower repaired the damage quickly, but the fact that it had to do so showed just how powerful this new school of magic he was pioneering was.

Having finished his review, Nick was suddenly filled with a desire to push himself. Maybe it was the circumstances surrounding their return that motivated him, or maybe it was his personal drive, but he couldn’t resist giving it a try.

He approached the practice dummy, a heavy golem crafted from enchanted iron, and eyed it. “There is one element I still haven’t worked on,” he murmured.

[One with the Storm] granted him just as much control over water as the other two elements, and though he hadn’t developed many spells with it, it still answered his call eagerly.

The water vapor in the room condensed instantly, swirling around his form, awaiting a command.

Now for the emotion. Wrath naturally pairs with lightning, and Mercy surprisingly blends with wind, but what about Water? Water flows. It erodes, but it also drowns. It pulls things into its depths and keeps them there.

“Greed,” he decided.

Nick thought of House Hone. He thought of Vane trying to distill a god. He thought of the hunger to possess, to hoard, to drag everything down into the dark that existed in some bend of his soul, and pushed it all into the water.

The clear liquid turned murky, almost black, and started slithering around him. It grew viscous, heavy with desire.

"[Mire of Avarice]," Nick intoned.

The result was less flashy than his other spells, but possibly even more powerful.

His smile grew as the System chimed in.

CONGRATULATIONS!You have created a new spell! [Mire of Avarice] [Proficient]

+100,000 Exp

Nick changed into fresh robes, a simple gray set with no House crests and no flashy enchantments.

He felt a strange sense of disconnection when he looked in the mirror. Although he mostly looked the same, he seemed a bit leaner and taller, making it hard to recognize him as a kid.

He took the elevator down, sneaking out of the Tower with his hood up to avoid the crowds in the main plaza.

Alluria had changed over the past month. The brittleness that once weighed on the city as it recovered from the Circle’s attack had dissipated, but now a new tension had taken its place, and it was easy to see what had caused it.

Priests were everywhere, not just the usual local clergy of Sashara—though they certainly weren’t missing— but new ones. Men and women in robes the color of sea foam, holding staves topped with coral. Priests of Ulter, the God of the Seas, moved in groups, eyeing the mages and merchants with open suspicion.

Others he recognized from the scales embroidered on their vests were of Eztie’s faith, and even more that he couldn’t fully identify.

"The balance is shifting," Nick murmured. The Circle of Pure Souls' attack had frightened the people, and they were turning to the gods for help, which the temples eagerly promised to fill the power gap left by the struggling nobles.

He arrived at the Noble District in good time, stopping in front of the wrought-iron gates of Wolfram Manor.

Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t Sonya who came to greet him, but instead two men in enchanted armor. That the Grandmaster felt the need to increase security when he alone was capable of facing just about any threat was enough for Nick to realize that something weird was going on.

“Halt!” one of the guards said as he approached. “Announce yourself!”

"Nicholas Crowley," Nick said, lowering his hood. "Here to see my brother. And the Grandmaster.”

The guard’s eyes widened. “Ah! Yes, of course. One moment.”

He was admitted quickly and followed his senses to the courtyard, where his brother was shirtless, sweating despite the cold, swinging a heavy lead practice sword through a punishing form.

Xander stood at the other end of the field, watching his apprentice with a critical eye. He’d noticed Nick’s arrival, of course, but he didn’t make a move until Devon had finished his sequence.

“Take a breather, you have company,” he grunted, and Devon’s head snapped to the side.

“Nick!” Devon shouted, dropping his sword and rushing over to crush Nick in a sweaty hug. "You're back. I heard worrying rumors from the south.”

"I'm fine, Devon," Nick said, patting his brother’s muscular back. "I'm fine.”

He looked over Devon’s shoulder. Standing in the shadow of the doorway, holding a tray of refreshments, was Sonya. Unlike the happiness he’d sensed in her the last time he saw her, there was now a deep well of worry gnawing at her, which she was doing her best to hide, but if her pale skin was any sign, she wasn’t very successful.

Devon followed his gaze, and his smile faded. “Ah, yes. She… Well, we should talk.”