Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 449

With the Behemoth defeated and the stampede turned to ash by the Prelate’s holy fire, the Green Ocean had retreated into a frightened stillness.

The only sounds were the crunch of boots on the dirt and the exhausted breathing of the three bound prisoners. They stumbled often, their spirits completely broken after witnessing power unlike anything they had seen before.

That Marthas had pinned them with a disappointed look only served to reinforce their situation, and they hunched in on themselves, clearly unwilling to draw more attention from the priest, even after he left them.

They emerged from the tree line just as the last traces of twilight faded from the sky, casting the town into deep shadow.

Floria was on high alert. The gates were shut tight, and dozens of guards lined the wall, holding torches high and gripping their weapons with white-knuckled hands.

Darien stood at the front of a heavily armored shield wall, his sword drawn and his face grim as he scanned the dark woods for any sign of the approaching wave.

"Hold your fire!" Nick shouted. He stepped into the torchlight, leading his team and the prisoners out of the shadows.

A collective sigh of relief spread through the defensive line. The guards lowered their weapons, and Darien immediately signaled for the side gate to be opened.

“Lord Nicholas!" the man hurried forward, his face marked with deep concern. "The scouts reported a huge surge of wild mana heading our way. We evacuated the loggers and prepared for the worst. Did you encounter it?”

"The wave is gone," Nick assured the lieutenant, stepping through the gate and into the safety of the town. "Prelate Marthas intercepted the stampede before it could fully manifest. The forest is secure.”

The guards nearby suddenly erupted into a joyful cheer. The tension that had held them tightly in place vanished, replaced by the deep relief of surviving. They slapped each other on the shoulders, praising their Lord's strength and the Temple’s divine help.

Darien sighed, wiping a gauntleted hand across his brow. "Thank the gods. And the beast causing the initial disturbance?”

"Dead," Nick confirmed. He stepped aside, gesturing to the three bound adventurers shivering behind Gaelen. “Though it wasn’t the root cause of the problem. These men belong to the Valerius Consortium and used a highly disruptive artifact to clear a path, enraging the wildlife and nearly causing a slaughter. Their leader decided to test his luck against me in a duel even after I placed him under arrest, and paid the price for his arrogance.”

Darien looked at the prisoners, noting their fine armor and their humiliated postures. The lieutenant's relief quickly faded, replaced by concern.

"My Lord," he lowered his voice, stepping closer to Nick so the prisoners couldn't hear. "Executing an agent of the Valerius Consortium... this could significantly escalate tensions. They are one of the wealthiest merchant houses in the capital. They have deep pockets, tremendous influence, and a lot of hired muscle currently sitting in our taverns waiting for a reason to draw steel.”

"Let them escalate," Nick replied coldly, ensuring his voice carried enough volume for the nearby guards to hear clearly. “House Crowley welcomes merchants who respect our laws and pay their tariffs. But if they believe their coin allows them to endanger our people and damage our land, they will find that Floria is not a soft target. Lock these three in the holding cells, and keep them under watch at all times.”

Darien straightened his posture, realizing that things had already gone too far to ignore. He nodded firmly. "Yes, my Lord. What about their release?”

"Invite the Consortium’s representatives in town to the manor," Nick instructed, turning to walk toward the main avenue. "Inform them that their agents are being held for inciting a monster stampede and destroying private property, and that a bond will be placed on their freedom. If they refuse to pay by the end of the week, strip these men of their finery and put them to work in the logging camps until their debt is paid.”

The guards cheered again, clearly holding a grudge over how they’d been treated by the haughty adventurers.

The three prisoners turned pale, clearly horrified by the thought of manual labor for who knew how long, but Gaelen pushed them forward into the waiting guards before they could voice any complaints.

"You handled that well," Rhea said softly as the crowd started to disperse and go back to their usual routines.

“It was out of my hands the moment they entered the crystal forest," Nick said, feeling the exhaustion of the long day finally beginning to settle deeply into his bones. The fight with the Prestige beast had drained him more than he cared to admit. "Come on. I need to get back to the manor, and I don’t doubt my mother will want an exhaustive retelling of everything that went on, especially since we need to prepare for the Consortium’s response. I doubt they’ll just take it lying down.”

The following afternoon, Nick found himself walking through the gates of the Temple of Sashara, taking a moment to let the Domain settle against his skin.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

As always, it was like a prick at the back of his mind he couldn’t quite shake, but luckily, [Blasphemy] stopped it from affecting him beyond that.

Acolytes in simple red robes bowed respectfully as he walked through the gardens, their voices kept to hushed whispers.

The closer he approached the temple, the stronger the smell of bonfire and ash became, even though the building itself remained spotless.

Compared to the changes Floria itself had gone through, the building hadn’t changed much, but it was still different from when Vicar Alexander led it.

The white stone was now polished to a mirror shine, and the sense of power hanging over it had grown so strong that even a non-mage could tell a powerful priest lived inside.

A senior priest led him through a set of doors into a private, walled area at the back of the compound that wasn’t there when he last visited.

The garden was a peaceful place with carefully trimmed fire-lilies and smooth, heated stones. In the middle, sitting at a low wooden table, was Prelate Marthas. He wore simple, plain crimson robes today, but the orange-and-gold tattoos across his dark skin made it clear he couldn't pass as a humble preacher.

Despite the carefully designed peaceful environment, the spiritual pressure in the garden was overwhelming. It wasn't a deliberate act of hostility but simply the natural result of a monster like Marthas living in such a confined space for too long, and Nick had to fight the urge to coat himself in the [Mire], not knowing how the exorcist would respond to that particular magic.

Priests in general don’t seem to like it all that much, he thought, suppressing the urge to snort at the understatement.

"Nicholas," Marthas greeted, his deep baritone rolling across the garden. He gestured to the cushion opposite him. "Please, sit. The tea has just finished steeping.”

"Thank you, Prelate," Nick replied, taking a seat and folding his legs beneath him.

Marthas proceeded to pour a clear amber liquid into two porcelain cups, taking his time to follow a set of movements that seemed ceremonial, though Nick wasn’t aware of any such rite among the followers of the Burning One.

Only after the liquid reached the perfect temperature and was still in his cup did he push one across the table, his eyes locking onto Nick’s. The charismatic, fatherly smile he usually wore for the public was completely absent today. Instead, there was a calculating gaze that reminded Nick of when he had taught him about kinetic magic.

A lot has changed since then. I’ve grown so much that it’s hard to recognize me as the same person. Yet I still feel the same trepidation I did back then. He’s truly something else, isn't he?

"You returned from Alluria carrying a much heavier load," Marthas observed, taking a slow sip of his tea. His eyes seemed to pierce straight through Nick's physical form, examining his very foundation. "You even appear to have crystallized your soul. Truly, I was right to consider you a prodigy. Only twice before have I seen such a thing in those still within the mortal realm.”

"Circumstances in the Tower required a firmer foundation," Nick answered politely, offering nothing more than the bare minimum, yet filing away that last bit.

So I’m not the only one who’s achieved this. I’m a little surprised he would admit it, but then again, knowing him, it’s probably just another mind game. I’ll have to think about it later. Let’s not get distracted here.

"Indeed," Marthas mused. "Elias Hone was a fool, but he was a dangerous one. I am glad to see you did not let the taint of the Abyss linger on you. Many ambitious mages would have been tempted by the power he was granted, allowing him to rival the Tower Master, even if only briefly. I’m glad you did not."

“Thank you,” Nick said and took a sip of his tea. It was hot enough to almost sting and spiced strongly enough to be almost too much, yet somehow the two together worked harmoniously, making for a delightful brew.

He knew Martha hadn’t invited him here just to congratulate him on his progress.

"Floria has changed during my absence," Nick noted, deciding to steer the conversation toward more immediate concerns if the Prelate wasn’t going to address the actual reason. "The expansion brings wealth, but the facts of yesterday show that it also brings danger.”

"Growth always attracts scavengers," Marthas agreed smoothly. “Yet greedy merchants should be the least of your worries. The nobility in the capital is deeply unsettled by your father's ascension to Prestige. Many of those posing as peddlers are their spies and provocateurs, hoping to find a weakness in House Crowley before your family secures an unbreakable monopoly on the western trade routes.”

Marthas set his cup down, tracing the rim with a calloused finger. "I have had to quietly relocate several individuals who strayed a bit too close to the temple's vaults in recent weeks.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. The Prelate openly admitted to purging spies within the town's borders. It was a clear signal that the Temple of Sashara was actively protecting Floria, but it was also a reminder that Marthas could act with impunity.

"We appreciate the Temple's vigilance," Nick said carefully. "I plan to help the town guard adapt to its new role, and we’ll fight fire with fire if necessary.”

Marthas studied him closely for a long moment, searching for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, the intense scrutiny softened, replaced by a subtle, almost approving flicker of interest.

"Speaking of fire," he said, seamlessly changing the subject. "I felt a rough spark in the deep woods yesterday, right before the Vine Devil died. It didn’t have a natural affinity, forced into existence by pure, stubborn willpower, but it was powerful nonetheless. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it?”

Nick felt a wave of embarrassment but kept his face calm. To a Grand Exorcist of the Burning Path, his freshly made [Zealous Flame] probably looked like a toddler banging rocks together to make a spark.

"I am experimenting," he admitted. "Regenerative monsters, especially those with a nature affinity, often require fire magic to be taken down. Without an affinity, the conversion process is incredibly taxing on my coils, so I’ve been supplementing it.”

"Treating heat as a physical phenomenon won’t get you anywhere," Marthas criticized gently, raising a hand. A perfectly spherical, smokeless flame ignited above his palm, dancing with effortless grace. "Compressing the ether, forcing friction through spatial pressure, is a brute-force method that might produce some results but won’t allow you to go beyond the basics. Fire isn’t an object, Nicholas. It’s consumption. It’s a process. You need to give it room to breathe before you cage it. Focus on the ignition point, let the mana aggressively consume, and only then direct it with your mind. It will burn twice as hot for half the cost.”

Marthas closed his hand, extinguishing the flame.

Nick absorbed the advice, mentally adjusting the theoretical matrix of his spell. The logic was perfectly sound. He had been so focused on controlling the fire that he hadn't let it naturally fuel itself first. "Thank you. That is a valuable perspective.”

“Ah, not to worry. It is always a pleasure to guide the promising to Her path,” Marthas smiled faintly. Then, he reached into the deep folds of his crimson robes and retrieved a small, intricately carved wooden box.

He placed the box on the table and flipped the latch.

Inside rested a monster core roughly the size of an apple. It burned with a swirling, incandescent orange light, radiating a wave of heat that instantly raised the temperature in the garden, causing the fire lilies to stir, as if in excitement.

Nick stared at it, his breath catching slightly as he realized it was a Prestige-tier fire core. If he absorbed it, he could permanently embed a fire affinity into his soul.

“It comes from a Crimson Basilisk," Marthas explained quietly. "Slain near the volcanoes of the far south. Its core was exceptionally pure and was sent to me for safekeeping.”

Nick tore his eyes from the prize and looked at the Prelate. "That is an invaluable artifact. You are not offering it to me out of simple generosity.”

"No, I am not," Marthas agreed, closing the box with a soft click, though he kept his hand resting on the lid. "I possess something you need to smooth out your difficulties. In exchange, I require you to handle a rather delicate problem on my behalf."