Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 397

There was a moment of stillness as the sightless hound precisely tracked Nick’s position. He, blind thanks to the [Ring of Unknowingness], did the same to it.

Although the beast probably wasn't very smart, Nick knew its primitive mind was doing its best to make sense of the conflicting signals he was sending.

After all, the ring made him invisible to magical senses, yet his spiritual presence was now strong enough that the ether rippled around him, coming under his control without even conscious effort on his part.

It was a weakness in his stealth module that he hadn’t considered before, though he could be forgiven since almost no one he’d met so far bothered developing their spiritual senses, preferring to focus on more traditional methods.

Only Marthas could sense something like this, but that guy doesn’t really count.

Eventually, the hound appeared to decide that whatever it had sensed was interesting enough, so it started barking wildly, pulling the two priests toward the warehouse.

Nick’s hand was already raised, a [Bolt of Wrath] ready to release and erase the annoying elemental, when another hand grabbed his wrist.

"Don't!" One-Ear hissed, pulling him back from the edge. “If you kill that thing, every priest in the city will be up our ass. You want to start a manhunt? Because that’s how you get a manhunt!”

Nick hesitated for a split second, letting his reason override his combat instincts. He wasn't in a dungeon; he was in Alluria. Vaporizing a holy construct would be a declaration of hostilities that even Tholm couldn't smooth over.

"Run," he decided, spinning on his heel.

They sprinted across the slate roof tiles, fleeing the confrontation. Behind them, the wet slap-slap-slap of the Hound’s paws on the roof signaled it had closed the gap with a single leap, though fortunately, the priests were quite a bit farther behind.

"It's fast!" One-Ear wheezed, scrambling up a chimney stack and leaping to the nearby tenement building.

Nick followed, activating [True Flight]. Gravity loosened its grip on him, though he didn't rise very high, as that would silhouette him against the moon, hovering just above the tiles, and turning his sprint into a frictionless glide.

He effortlessly cleared the gap between buildings and landed silently next to One-Ear.

"Left!" the broker grunted, diving toward a narrow gap formed between two sloped roofs.

They slid down the tiles, hitting a rain gutter that groaned under their combined weight, and dropped onto a balcony below.

Above them, the Hound reached the roof's crest, barely pausing to judge the direction they’d gone. It spilled over the edge like a waterfall, reforming in mid-air into its lupine shape, and snapping its jaws inches from where Nick had been just seconds before.

"It's tracking my wake," he realized, watching the creature turn its eyeless head toward them with unnerving precision.

"Then do something about it!" One-Ear snarled, kicking open a window and scrambling through an abandoned drying room.

Usually, that would have been a ridiculous request, but it just so happened that Nick was working on something for situations like these. “I can do better than that," he muttered.

He paused in the middle of the room for a moment, ignoring the sounds of the Hound scrambling on the balcony, its claws scraping for purchase on the stone.

Reaching deep into his soul, channeling his mana through Chokmah to acquire the wisdom from nothingness described in the Book of Job, which could only be understood through Binah, he gave form to [Mire of Avarice].

The spell was designed to trap enemies with greedy, heavy water. But the core idea wasn't water; it was Avarice. The urge to take. To hoard. To keep.

“Turn the form into formless,” he murmured.

The ambient mana in the room trembled for a fraction of a second as the spiritual wake of Nick’s crystallized soul stopped influencing the ether; instead, it was pulled back in, consumed by the spell’s hunger. The Mire eagerly absorbed his scent, mana signature, and even his body heat, hoarding everything in a tight, dense sphere around him.

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To the outside world, Nicholas Crowley ceased to exist.

The Hound burst through the window in a shower of glass and water. It landed in a crouch, snarling, whipping its head back and forth. It snapped at the air, confused.

Nick stood five feet away, pressed against the wall, perfectly still. If it had been a physical monster, he would have been finished, but it wasn’t.

The Hound took a step toward him, sniffing the air as water rippled from its snout. It whined a high, frustrated sound, unable to find the trail, even though he stood before it, and ignoring any other scent.

"Come on," One-Ear mouthed from the hallway door, his eyes wide.

Nick moved slowly, sliding out the door as the Hound tore apart a rotting sofa in frustration.

They didn't stop moving until they were five blocks away, sheltering in the shadow of a large warehouse that supplied the markets in the lower district.

One-Ear slumped against the brickwork, breathing heavily. "That... was too close. You owe me double for the hazard pay, Crowley.”

"Put it on my tab," Nick said, dropping the cloak. The suppressed energy surged back into him, making him feel lightheaded for a moment. “What the hell was that thing? I should have been invisible to magical senses!”

“The priests of Ulter are known for hunting down their targets across the seas,” One-Ear grunted. "And it's not the only one. They have packs of them patrolling the sewers.”

"Why?" Nick asked, glancing back at the docks where green lanterns still bobbed. “If they’ve positioned themselves as a benevolent force, there wouldn't be a need for this kind of thing.”

One-Ear grimaced, pulling a flask from his belt and taking a long pull. "It's because of the Circle.”

Nick frowned. "The Circle of Pure Souls? They should be long gone from the city. The Duke led the sweeps himself, and the Tower Master made an example of them.”

The frozen figure of the man who had led the attack on the Tower was gone from the plaza, but Nick wouldn’t forget it anytime soon.

"The attackers were wiped out," One-Ear corrected. "But the priests aren't stupid. They know the Circle didn't just waltz into Alluria, bypass the city wards, and attack the temples without help.”

He took a deep breath, still clearly recovering from the close call, and ran a hand over his face. "They're hunting collaborators. I have no idea how they came to that conclusion, given that they were never allowed inside, but they seem to think that someone inside the Tower opened the back door for the Circle.”

Nick leaned against the wall, ignoring the cold soaking into his clothes. "That complicates things," he murmured.

I know for sure that Hone was at least tangentially involved, but I have no proof, and these priests of Ulter don’t seem like the kind to worry about nuance when seeking revenge.

“Still,” he said, “I have nothing to fear from them. I took part in the raid that stopped the Circle.”

Even as he said it, he knew things weren’t that simple. They never were when faith was involved.

“You don’t believe that,” One-Ear chuckled bitterly. “Eztie’s clergy might be bound to fairness, but these guys aren’t. You should keep your head down for a while and let the Duke and the Archmages handle it.”

"Thanks for the tip," Nick said, pushing himself off the wall even as his mind spun with all the new information. "Stay safe, One-Ear.”

“You too, Crowley," the broker retorted, melting into the darkness of the alleys.

The return to the Tower was uneventful, though Nick felt vulnerable every step of the way. He kept his [Ring of Unknowingness] active and his hood pulled low, steering clear of the main streets.

By the time he reached the gates, the adrenaline had faded into a dull headache. The twin spellblades guarding the entrance still stood before the stone archway, their enchanted glaives visible in the gloom.

They watched him approach, and Nick tensed, half-expecting a challenge, but the senior guard simply jerked his chin toward the gate.

"Late night, student," the guard grunted, not even asking for identification.

“I visited a friend," Nick said smoothly, slipping past them. It wasn’t a lie, as he knew better than to test them, but it also wasn’t the whole truth.

“Better to stay out of trouble for a while," the guard called after him, returning his gaze to the street, unknowingly echoing One-Ear’s words.

That the Tower’s guardians were so cautious told Nick that the tensions were even greater than he had initially thought.

He entered the main lobby, which was empty at this hour. The tall vaulted ceiling was hidden in shadow, with only the glow from the crystal lamps in the sconces providing light.

Walking to the main elevator bank, he pressed the button to call it down, and a few seconds later, the golden cage slid open with a soft chime.

Nick stepped in, leaning against the back wall and closing his eyes briefly to process the information. The Priests hunting traitors, the Hones lurking in the shadows, Sonya’s terror… I’m starting to see a clearer picture, but there’s still much I don’t understand. Should I really stay out of it? I have plenty to keep me busy, especially with the lessons starting again, but I don’t like not knowing.

The doors began to slide shut with a ding, but just before they sealed, a hand reached out and stopped them, and a man stepped into the elevator.

He was not tall, but he had broad shoulders that filled the space. He wore deep violet robes, unadorned with jewelry or sigils, except for a single simple pin of a silver eye on his collar. His head was bald and polished, shining in the magelight, and his face was broad, dominated by heavy-lidded eyes that seemed to see everything and find most of it amusing.

Nick knew this man. “Vice Tower Master, good evening,” he greeted, even as his mind started to analyze the situation.

He hadn’t sensed Politod’s approach, though admittedly, he’d been distracted, but he couldn’t convince himself that the second most powerful man in the Tower had appeared now out of pure coincidence.

The old man didn't look at Nick immediately, pressing a button on the pane, and a moment later, the doors slid shut, sealing them in the box.

Politod hummed a low, gravelly tune, rocking back on his heels. Then, slowly, he turned toward Nick, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Did you have fun on your nightly stroll, young Crowley?" He asked in a low rumble.

"I..." Nick started, then stopped. If lying to the spell blades would have been unwise, considering their connection with the defensive wards, lying to the Vice Tower Master was the height of foolishness. “It was not boring.”

Would he even care about my connections to the underworld? They aren’t exactly a secret since I talked about them with the Duke, and I doubt it hasn’t trickled down to the Tower.

Politod chuckled, a sound like grinding stones, as if he’d said something very amusing. "The air in the docks is bracing this time of year," he mused, turning back to face the doors as the floors rushed by. "Though I hear the pest control problem is getting rather aggressive.”

Is he saying he’s annoyed with the priests too? That I should have done something more?

The elevator dinged on the fiftieth floor, a medical bay, and Politod stepped out without looking back. "Sleep well, Nicholas," he called over his shoulder as the doors began to close again. "Tomorrow is a school day, and you are still a student. You might find some of the lectures to be of particular interest, so do attend them.”

Nick stood alone in the elevator, staring at the closed doors in complete confusion.