Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai-Chapter 105

The first golden rays of dawn spilled over the horizon, bathing the crater in their glow. The charred landscape stretched in every direction, devoid of life. It kind of looks like that NASA footage from Mars.

Nick watched the sunrise, savoring the warmth it brought him. The sensation couldn't fully dispel the cold emptiness that lingered as the effects of [Welcoming of the Sun] faded, but it lifted his spirits as his watch concluded with no attacks.

I’m pleased with how much it has helped. I’m stronger now, so even without the boost, I should be able to keep up with the others.

Slowly, the camp began to stir.

Canvas rustled as the men emerged from their tents, with some stretching out the stiffness of a night spent on hard ground while others quietly tended to their weapons and armor. A few examined the minor wounds that the priests hadn’t healed to preserve mana, allowing their natural VIT to handle it.

Eugene found Nick as he washed his face with some conjured water. Good hygiene was one of the few things he couldn’t live without, and sometimes, he wondered what he would have done if his Class hadn’t allowed him to summon clean water at will.

His father rubbed his face with one hand while the other adjusted the scabbard of his sword. “Any problems?”

Nick shook his head. “Nothing,” he replied, drying himself with a gust of warm wind. “It’s been completely dead all night.”

Eugene frowned, looking over the wasteland beyond the crater. “That’s very strange. I expected at least a few probing attacks.”

Nick felt the same way. The dungeon’s monsters, especially those commanded by the Summer Court, should have been attacking them throughout the night. After all, it was the perfect time to catch them off guard, and it made no sense to waste their numerical advantage when the humans were so exhausted.

Arthur approached them soon after, looking just as unbothered as ever. “It’s because of the Oni,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

Nick turned to look at the massive corpse still sitting a few hundred feet away. Even in death, and having been carved up for parts, it was intimidating, but he didn’t think that would be enough to keep the monsters away. They should be able to tell the difference between a living and a dead Moss Oni.

“You think its presence kept the monsters away?” Eugene asked.

Arthur nodded. “It drained this place dry.” He gestured to the dead trees, the cracked ground, the utter absence of life. “No mana. No vitality. Nothing left for the dungeon to regenerate from. That makes it a very dangerous place for anything connected to it to enter.”

Nick hummed, considering that. The dungeon was a living entity, always adapting and reshaping itself. If an external force had drained its energy, then maybe that would explain why the fae and their monsters hadn’t launched an attack.

But something about that felt wrong. He opened his mouth to say as much, then hesitated. He was already weird enough. If he started gainsaying someone as respected as Arthur, his reputation would take a dive.

Eugene turned to him with a knowing look. “Nick?”

Nick exhaled and rolled his shoulders, deciding this was more important than his social standing. “I don’t sense any lingering effects. The land around here isn’t regenerating, sure, but there’s nothing actively preventing the fae from attacking us. It feels more like they’re choosing to leave us alone rather than being unable to reach us. They might be preparing a trap for when we step out.”

Arthur gave him a considering look before nodding slightly. “That’s possible.” His tone was unreadable, but Nick could tell he wasn’t bothered that he had spoken up.

Eugene, however, frowned deeper. “Then where are they?”

Arthur crossed his arms. “Two possibilities. One, their forces are engaged elsewhere. If Marthas is still active, his group could be drawing their attention.”

Nick doubted the Prelate had fallen. Anything capable of killing that man should have been very noticeable, even if they had moved far from their predetermined route. “Or they’re gathering near the dungeon core instead, preparing for the real fight. They might have realized they’re wasting their strength, sending waves at us.” He commented.

Arthur met his eyes, lips curling up slightly. “Exactly.”

Being right was not comforting. However, since they could not confirm either theory, they concluded that caution was the best approach.

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Eugene ordered the men to gather their gear and prepare to march. They obeyed quickly, and the lingering tension in the air ensured no one wasted time.

As they prepared to move out, Nick spread out his senses and took the temporary quiet to complete his earlier thoughts.

If he wanted to learn the Moss Oni’s vitality drain, he needed a ritual that could bind the ability to himself, even if only in a weaker form.

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Although he could envision several approaches, only one was subtle enough to be used so close to the others. A Direct Extraction Ritual would allow him to cast protections around the runes to prevent any spillover from being noticed, and it had the advantage of being the closest to what he’d done with the wyvern scale to gain his [Wind Affinity], along with being the method he felt most confident in.

If the ritual went as well as last time, it should grant him a Trait, but he was somewhat skeptical he could reproduce that success, so his actual goal was to gather enough of an understanding of how the vitality drain worked to turn it into a spell.

It’s not like I can use the core for one of my regular rituals. It’d be overkill and a waste.

With the ritual method decided Nick began mentally constructing the steps he would need to take.

First, he needed to anchor the ritual’s magic to himself properly. Runes of Transfer within the spellform would ensure the flow of vitality from an outside source to his own body.

Second, he had to account for control. He didn’t want to drain indiscriminately, so he needed a limiter to regulate the exchange.

Nick’s hand brushed against the pouch at his belt, where the Oni’s mana core rested. That’s the catalyst sorted. Now, I just need an afternoon to myself and not be disturbed while I calibrate my vampiric magic.

They had been marching for nearly twenty minutes when the forest changed again.

One moment, they were in the dead wasteland, where the trees were nothing more than withered husks.

Green started to reappear as delicate blades of grass pushed through the barren ground, and saplings emerged from the withered trees.

Before long, the trees had rich green foliage. Then, the underbrush thickened, and finally, the canopy closed overhead, shielding them from the sun once more.

It was like they had just crossed from one world into another. Nick’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t natural.

Did the Oni’s draining ability have an uneven radius? Or is the dungeon already healing?

He wasn’t sure which possibility was more concerning.

Nick was forcibly pulled away from his planning as he felt something flicker around four hundred feet to the west. It was only for half a second, but it made him startle to attention. When he brought his full attention to the area, he found nothing. Not even signs of passage. And yet, he was sure he’d felt some sort of distortion…

But before Nick could express his concerns, a massive column of fire exploded in the distance, and the sky turned red for a moment.

The towering pillar of fire still roared in the distance, reaching impossibly high into the sky. Even from their position, Nick could feel the mana radiating from it, and soon, a pulse of heat forced him to stumble back. They were too far away to be harmed, so he didn’t bother with a barrier.

The men shouted in surprise as the shockwave struck them, having been staring at the towering fire that blazed somewhere deep in the jungle ahead.

“Looks like we found Marthas,” Arthur murmured.

Eugene wasted no time giving new orders, “We’re going there,” he said, brooking no argument. “If Marthas is attacking the dungeon core, then we need to join him now.”

“The direction seems to be correct.” Arthur nodded.

Nick didn’t argue about his feelings. If Marthas was truly besieging the core, they needed to hurry there. Not because he feared for the prelate’s life but because his men were much more fragile. And I don’t want him to lay his hands on the dungeon core before I can study it. I don’t know why he’s volunteered to come exactly, but something tells me he’s not as selfless as he pretends to be.

“How far?” Eugene asked, turning to his son.

Nick focused, stretching his range and measuring the column’s scale and the wind currents carrying its heat through the air.

“About four miles,” he estimated. “At least five hundred feet tall.”

Some of the soldiers whistled, impressed. Others simply looked wary.

“Four miles through this hellhole.” Morris spat to the side. “That’ll take time.”

“A long time,” Nick agreed. “And we’re already—”

He froze. Another distortion had just appeared, much like the one that he’d felt before. This one, however, didn’t disappear immediately.

It wasn’t close—just outside his old range, six hundred feet away.

Then, another appeared on the opposite side, and he felt dozens of enemies spill out.

“We’re being flanked!” The wind ensured his voice carried to everyone without needing to shout. “It’s mounted hunters, and they are closing in fast!”

Eugene didn’t even question him. “DEFENSIVE FORMATION!” he bellowed.

The soldiers snapped into formation, forming a layered ring of steel. Archers and those capable of long-range attacks fell into the center. Shields locked into place, and spears bristled outward.

“Nick?” Eugene demanded. “Where are they?”

Nick didn’t need to reply as the earth began to tremble.

The sound of hooves smashing against the ground filled the air, like a hundred war drums thundering in unison.

Riders charged into view from the depths of the forest, bursting forth from all sides, circling them with shouts and jeers.

They were all fae, Nick realized.

Their wooden armor gleamed with impossible intricacy, each piece seemingly alive, shifting and growing in response to their movements. Golden and silver helms adorned their heads, framing faces that were almost too perfect—an otherworldly beauty yet devoid of warmth.

These were not like Dewdrop, not seductive tricksters or playful deceivers. They were warriors, and they were here to kill.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he took them in, and his expression turned grim. “A Wild Hunt.”

Nick’s stomach sank. He recognized that name. He had read about them in the myths of his past life and the grimoires of this world.

The Wild Hunt. The Faerie Court’s executioners. They were said to be relentless and unstoppable, a force that never ceased its pursuit, no matter how often their target managed to escape.

Then, Arthur sprang into action. A thunderous boom echoed through the air as he propelled himself forward, raising his sword and aiming it at the oncoming riders. Lightning erupted at its tip, and a bolt of blinding white fury surged forward, aimed straight for the heart of the riders.

The fae wearing the most ornate armor threw back his head and roared a command, and the four closest riders immediately extended their hands.

Their power surged, and a copper-colored root sprang from the ground, absorbing the lightning.

Nick watched in disbelief as Arthur’s attack bent and twisted unnaturally before it was harmlessly dispersed.

The leader of the Hunt pointed his silver spear at them. He shouted a command in an unfamiliar tongue to his comrades, then turned to them and, in flawless human speech, snarled, “Kill the invaders! In the name of the Daughter of Fate!”

And the Wild Hunt charged.