Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 421

Nick stood before the altar with his heart pounding in his chest.

Every instinct he had as an Occultist screamed at him to run, as the overwhelming metaphysical weight pressing down on the room threatened to suffocate him, and he knew it was just the side effect of a divine being’s presence.

“Nicholas Crowley,” the strangely harmonious voice called again, and although it felt like it shouldn't have been coming from the Bishop’s mouth, in this place, it was just right.

Nick forced himself to hold his ground and met Her burning gaze, keeping his own mana tightly coiled. Now or never. I should have expected her to interfere, really, and this doesn’t change my plans. If anything, it’s a good thing. If I can convince her.

"The Tower has fallen. An Archmage has hijacked its foundational wards and opened a breach to the Abyss,” he said. It felt wrong to admit such a weakness so openly, but he really didn’t have any other options.

The ambient heat in the temple surged as a low hiss of divine displeasure rippled through the gathered priests, who remained pressed to the floor in complete reverence.

“Yes, the rot always hides in the most unexpected places," the Goddess murmured through her vessel. “And now it taints my city. Why do you come to the flame, mortal? The Tower’s pride has always been its own shield.”

"Because the shield has become a cage, and the rot will not stay contained for long," Nick said, keeping his voice steady despite the sweat beading on his forehead. The temperature was rising, and he didn’t know how casting any magic would be perceived at this point, so he refrained despite his discomfort. "I believe I have a method to rip the corruption out of the wards and free the Tower from its taint, but to do that, I need the ether around to be stabilized.”

The burning eyes narrowed slightly. “And so you come to me.”

"I ask every priest in the city for help," Nick corrected, taking a calculated risk. "I don't know your exorcism rituals or chants, but I’ve seen your people fight such horrors before, and I leave the specific techniques to you, as long as it creates a continuous ring of purification magic around the Tower. You must also compel Ulter’s men to join your efforts. Cooperation between Fire and Water to secure the perimeter is essential for this plan to succeed.”

Silence lingered throughout the hall. The sheer audacity of a mortal making a demand of a deity was enough to startle even the calmest men, yet Nick couldn’t let that stop him. Too much was on the line.

"And what will you do within this ring, mortal?" Sashara asked, and the flames in the braziers flared higher.

"I have a way to connect with the Tower’s spirit," Nick said vaguely. "I will be able to do it if I get a chance. But it is not a chance I can create on my own. It is beyond my means to fight against such power, and of all those within this city, only your devout can achieve it.”

For a long moment, Nick thought he had pushed too far. The overwhelming presence of the Goddess flared, testing the boundaries of his soul, yet his [Blasphemy] held strong, deflecting the invading, purifying light.

"Very well," the dual-toned voice finally declared. "The faithful shall march under the same banner.”

The burning embers in Umlaut’s eyes started to fade. But just before the divine presence fully left the mortal vessel, the Bishop leaned forward. The voice that followed was a faint, amused whisper meant only for Nick.

"You play a dangerous game, little mortal. Your soul has a fascinating protection... something even my light cannot pierce, despite my claim on you. Let’s see if it withstands the darkness.”

Umlaut collapsed forward, gasping for air as the crushing weight of the Goddess disappeared, and the surrounding priests immediately broke their prostration, rushing to help their leader.

Nick didn't stay to help. He spun on his heel, bursting through the heavy temple doors and launching himself back into the night sky.

That is one scary lady. The thought was probably the understatement of the century, and it was funny enough to let Nick unclench his tense muscles.

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It was not his first time facing Her, and he doubted it would be the last, but he couldn’t say he enjoyed it more than he had before. He could only hope that, since Umlaut was a Prestige priest, the consequences of hosting a sliver of divine will wouldn’t be as severe as what Alexander had endured.

[True Flight] once again proved its worth as he tore across the rooftops of Alluria, leaving the temple district behind and heading straight for the tallest, most heavily protected structure in the city outside of the Tower itself.

Castle Alluria buzzed with activity when he arrived, and he saw many squads gathering in the outer courtyards, probably getting ready to deploy around the Tower.

He ignored them, knowing they could do nothing, and completely bypassed the outer gates, dropping from the sky and landing heavily on the high stone ramparts near the main command balcony.

Before Nick could even straighten up, the sound of drawn steel filled the air, and a heavily enchanted broadsword halted just inches from his throat.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t cut you down here,” a gravelly voice rumbled, and, looking up, Nick saw that the Knight Commander was holding the blade.

The man’s aura vibrated with suppressed energy, and his eyes were narrow and suspicious. The demonic pressure emanating from the Tower across the city was clearly fraying the nerves of every sensitive in Alluria, and the Commander looked ready to break.

Considering that the man was a Prestige-tier martial class, there wasn’t much that Nick could do to stop him.

Slowly raising his empty hands, he kept his eyes locked on the knight’s, trying to show that he meant no harm. He didn't bother summoning his staff, knowing it would be too slow, but he kept a tightly wound coil of Wind mana ready to deflect the blade if the man twitched.

"I need to speak with the Duke," Nick said calmly, relaxing slightly when he sensed a presence approaching. "It concerns the survival of the city.”

That didn’t seem to be what the knight wanted to hear, as a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. “You mages have done enough to this city—”

"Stand down, Commander.” The heavy iron doors leading to the balcony swung open, and Duke Anton strode out.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, given the situation, he was strapped into functional, unadorned steel plate armor. His face was as hard as granite, and his aura—usually hidden for political politeness—rolled off him in waves of raw fury. He looked like a man who had finally reached his breaking point with the secret factions turning his home into a battlefield, and Nick knew he had to proceed carefully.

The Knight Commander quickly sheathed his sword and stepped back, sharply saluting as if he hadn’t just been about to decapitate him.

Anton stopped a few feet from Nick, and although he couldn’t sense any malice directed at him personally, it was obvious that the man wanted answers, and he wanted them now. “Lord Crowley," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Tell me exactly what the Tower has done to my city.”

"It wasn't the Tower, Your Grace. It was Elias Hone," Nick answered quickly, lowering his hands. "He's entered into a pact with a Greater Demon and hijacked the foundational wards after his betrayal was discovered. Through that, he locked the Tower down, and I expect he has opened a Breach in the lower levels to prevent anyone from interfering while he deals with the Tower Master.”

Anton briefly closed his eyes, his jaw clenched so tightly that Nick could hear his teeth grinding. When he opened them again, they were clear, and his fury was centered.

"Can it be contained?" the Duke demanded. Notably, he didn’t ask if Tholm or another Archmage was directing the efforts. The fact that only Nick had come was answer enough. Yet he also didn’t dismiss him as a lesser man would have, showing that he remembered his contributions well.

We are going to perform an exorcism from the outside to gain access to the wards," Nick explained quickly, gesturing toward the purple-lit spire in the distance. "I’ve secured the cooperation of Sashara herself. Her priests, and hopefully Ulter’s, are mobilizing to form a purification ring around the base to stabilize the ether.”

For the first time, surprise flickered in the Duke’s eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t expected him to name-drop the goddess herself. "If you have the gods on your side, why are you on my roof?”

"Because the priests hate each other," Nick said bluntly. "Even with demons knocking on the door, they will fight over jurisdiction and positioning. I need your secular authority to force them into line and make sure nothing interrupts the ritual.”

That wasn’t the real reason. It would help, of course, and he suspected there might indeed be trouble in gathering all the city’s priests in the same place, considering what had happened just days ago, but the true reason he needed the Duke himself to go to the field was that he was the one who technically owned the city.

With him present, Nick could leverage that ownership as a starting point, thereby bypassing much of the trouble he would otherwise face.

Anton looked past Nick, staring at the Tower with a complex expression. "Committing my men to the Tower Plaza means I will have to pull them away from the other districts," he finally said, with the heavy pragmatism of a ruler weighing every word. "If your exorcism fails, Crowley, and that breach widens, the rest of my city will be completely vulnerable to the fallout, and we’ll be swept aside in the first wave without proper preparation. I have a duty to all of Alluria, not just the mages who brought this upon themselves.”

"Anton. Please.” A new voice intervened, ragged and broken.

Nick turned to see a man stepping out from the shadows of the doorway behind the Duke’s guards. He was dressed in the silks of high nobility, but his hair was disheveled, and his face was pale with sheer terror.

Although Nick had never seen the man before, it didn’t take long to recognize him. The strong similarities with Bellamy made it clear he was likely his father.

The older noble didn't seem to care about the guards, the Knight Commander, or the political decorum expected of his station. He walked forward and dropped heavily to his knees on the cold stone of the ramparts.

"Anton, I am begging you," the Lord choked out, tears glistening in his eyes. "Bellamy is in there. Hundreds of innocent children are trapped in that darkness. You cannot abandon them.”

Duke Anton looked down at his cousin, and the mask of the pragmatic ruler cracked. For a brief moment, Nick saw the heavy burden of a man forced to choose between his blood and his city.

Then he reached down and pulled his cousin to his feet by the shoulders. "I am not abandoning anyone," he said quietly. He turned his gaze back to Nick, and the steel in his eyes returned, harder than before.

"If you fail, Lord Crowley, there won't be a city left to govern anyway," the Duke stated. He looked at his Knight Commander. "Sound the general alarm. Mobilize the men. We march on the Plaza.”

Nick didn't waste time with gratitude or bows. He gave a sharp nod, spun around, and leaped off the rampart. The wind caught him, and he ignited his mana, carving a straight path toward the Tower.

Now for the hard part.