Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai-Chapter 125 - 120

Nick moved slowly through the ash, accompanied by the crunch of fine debris beneath his boots. He was not alone in his struggle.

Almost every survivor around him wore a tired, haunted expression. Losing so many of their companions weighed heavily on them, and he still struggled with Morris's death despite having barely known him. Being torn apart by his own allies only added to the pain.

We knew we wouldn't all come back. It was clear when we first were attacked by the Vine Wraiths, and it became inevitable when we faced the Moss Oni. But still, it's hard to swallow that so many are gone. That it happened so quickly.

Eugene called them all together, signaling with a raised hand before climbing a mound of charred roots for a better view. Despite his injuries and the bone-deep exhaustion etched into his face, he retained his natural charisma. Around him, no more than twenty men—half of the expedition's original near-forty—huddled in a semicircle.

Nick joined them, wincing slightly as his body still throbbed from overtaxed mana channels. It was better now, but he didn't have any more potions on hand, and he certainly wasn't up to making more.

I wonder what would have happened if I had used the thing he gave me. From the way he described it, it's probably better that I didn't, but I can't help thinking that more people might be alive if I had. Still, it's no use regretting the past. I doubt anything I could have done would have changed the outcome for the better—or that anyone else could have, to be honest. We barely made it thanks to Marthas. If he hadn't come…

For all Arthur's strength, Nick privately doubted the old man could have succeeded where the Prelate had barely triumphed. The final battle had been beyond what he thought the Prestige tier to be. The destructive powers had felt like the raw laws of reality, something well beyond what Nick had previously believed the System's top classes could achieve.

I need to learn more, he told himself for what felt like the hundredth time. If there's a level beyond Prestige or multiple levels, I have to know. The world was infinitely bigger and more complicated than he'd imagined, and so was the System's staircase of power.

He pushed those thoughts aside as Eugene cleared his throat. A hush fell over them, broken only by the soft moan of a distant wind.

"Before we set out," Eugene began in a subdued voice, "let's acknowledge the cost of what we've done here. We lost nearly half of our number exploring and battling the horrors of this dungeon. That's a victory by all rights but not one we can celebrate lightly." He paused, scanning their weary faces. "We have combed through the battlefield and the ruins as thoroughly as the circumstances allow and found precious little left. The Daughter devoured nearly all the fae's souls or turned them to dust, and the raging flames at the end burned up or scattered almost everything else. The Feat is a good prize, but it's not enough to make up for the losses."

Several men glanced down. The repeated explosions, cosmic forces, and final conflagration had left meager spoils. Nick felt a pang of bitterness in his chest, remembering how he'd harbored fantasies about capturing the dungeon core or gleaning some lasting boon from it. But it's gone, he reminded himself with a silent sigh. Destroyed under a wave of holy fire.

Eugene continued, "The few salvaged items we found will be taken with us to Floria. Once we're home, we will assess their worth, whether gear or materials. We'll ensure they are shared among those who fought, giving priority to the families of those who died."

He squared his shoulders as murmurs rippled through the group. Many expressions turned stony or discontented, though no one openly objected. "I know some of you might think this is unfair, but it's necessary for those who lost loved ones to be compensated. Floria can't afford to act as if their sacrifice is meaningless. If we want anyone to stand guard or hold a sword for us again, we must show them that we honor those who fall."

Nick nodded at the reasoning. If men see that dying for Floria leaves their kin destitute, the entire town's future is jeopardized. The policy wasn't an act of pure altruism but a practical measure to keep a viable militia and defense force. It was also a matter of decency, and seeing Eugene stand there, battered and resolute, Nick felt a surge of respect for the man. Beyond being his father and a good fighter, he was a great leader.

A few uneasy glances were exchanged among the survivors, but Eugene was someone to be trifled with. No one voiced dissent, at least not now. The tension in the group took the form of grim acceptance.

He let the silence linger a moment, his gaze shifting. "Next order of business is Marthas," he said, extending an arm in the direction of two priests bent over a prone figure. Even from thirty yards away, Nick could see the Prelate had paid a significant price for the show of power. He was awake and quietly talking with his aids, but he didn't look capable of fighting anytime soon. "He gave everything he had during that final clash. By his own account, he's burned out his spiritual reserves." Eugene's mouth tightened. "He won't be able to fight on our way back, so we'll have to protect him."

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A subdued chuckle escaped someone in the back, tinged with rueful awe. "Seems only fair," an adventurer muttered. "The old man did enough for a lifetime in one day."

Nick agreed. He had felt uneasy about the man's religious fervor more than once, but there was no denying that if not for his intervention, they'd all have died. Possibly worse, seeing what the Daughter of Fate did to souls.

Eugene gave a curt nod. "We'll move out soon, since Arthur told me that the dungeon's dispersal is almost complete. I'm hoping we'll get to the staging ground outside the old dungeon, but the crater will do. It'll likely take us three days, maybe longer, to get back to Floria with all these injuries. Everyone who can take on extra weight should take some of the extra supplies. Let's keep it orderly."

The tension that had bound them eased slightly, replaced by a shared sense of readiness. One by one, the survivors drifted away from the circle, collecting the loot or assisting injured comrades.

Nick lingered for a moment longer and looked east toward Floria. Within his chest, a quiet urgency stirred. This problem is resolved, he reassured himself, and that's good. But that means it's time to confront the beastmen rebellion brewing back home.

He doubted his mother or Ogden would allow matters to deteriorate too far, but local tensions were on the rise. That's an understatement. Elia implied it's close to boiling over. That means I need a better strategy than brute force.

If he tried to solve the beastmen question with an iron fist, it could plunge Floria into civil strife. The solution, if one existed, had to address the fundamental sense of otherness. Integrate the beastmen so they don't feel like second-class citizens. But how? He had only vague ideas and half-formed plans. He was no politician, but maybe that was a good thing. He respected his father, but the man obviously hadn't thought the matter needed to be addressed. What would happen if he let him come back to a boiling Floria without a way to solve the matter?

Hoisting his satchel over his shoulder, Nick surveyed the ashen battlefield one last time. The entire adventure had taken only a few days, yet it felt like a lifetime. He had grown by leaps and bounds and even received a new Trait that he really needed to figure out. I'll start slow. A good starting point could be simple [Minor Elemental Manipulation] to see how the channels react to different types of mana. I should wait until I'm sure nothing bad will happen before I try the big stuff.

With his eyes closed, he summoned a trickle of mana, just the slightest amount needed for the spell to function. He was surprised to feel no resistance as the matrix unfolded in his mind, causing a nearby stone to tremble at his command and flatten.

He instantly sensed a bit more soreness than before, confirming that he truly needed to rest, but the outcome was encouraging. It seemed he wasn't restricted to only wind magic as he had feared.

That was actually pretty easy. Easier than I remember it.

Before he could start experimenting in earnest, a screech echoed from above.

Nick's heart lurched. He knew that sound all too well. It was not the call of any bird he'd encountered nor the moan of a wounded soldier. It was a wyvern. He cursed under his breath, abandoning any hope of being able to take it easy to scan the sky.

About half the survivors, having recognized the call, froze in place. Weapons were raised. The men who had begun to drift apart for the march home reformed in a half-circle, looking up in dread. Nick twisted his neck, trying to see into the swirling haze overhead. The light was still dim—maybe late afternoon— and the sun hid behind a pall of ash.

We're battered, exhausted, barely on our feet. Couldn't this stupid wyvern attack when Marthas was still in fighting form? He inhaled slowly, reminding himself he was no longer the same Nick who had first entered the dungeon. His level was higher, his repertoire wider. We might stand a chance. We're all several levels above what we were during the stampede.

He had no idea whether he could even do much to such a powerful wind-aspected creature, but he sure as hell wouldn't go down without a fight. And we have Arthur. He shouldn't be too weakened.

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A second, lower-pitched screech answered the first, confirming that at least one more wyvern was in the area. A man gaped, falling to his knees in despair.

Eugene didn't seem to share the same dread as he immediately began barking orders, "Form up, quickly! Shields in the front, long range behind!" The group sprang into action with surprising discipline, likely thanks to muscle memory alone. Nick forced his limbs to move, stumbling toward a vantage point near a pillar that had once been part of a giant tree trunk. He spotted Arthur as well—slightly battered but very much ready, as lightning began crackling around his sword.

Damn it all, he thought, scanning the gloom overhead. Why does everything in this forest come out of the woodwork just as we think we're safe? But he knew the answer: the presence of a huge surge of mana from the dungeon's destruction had likely drawn the predators. Wyverns were opportunistic, especially if they scented weakness. Or perhaps they had been forcibly kept away by the Daughter's domain, and now that the alpha had died, they were free to roam again.

Or maybe they're a deadman switch. I need to stop focusing on things I can't know and start finding a way to survive this.

His body still needed rest, and using more advanced spells could be suicidal in his current state. If push came to shove, he might have to rely on simpler wind blasts and let Eugene and Arthur take the brunt of it. Steeling himself, he glanced at the men around him. Some looked ready to bolt, but the presence of the two more experienced fighters seemed enough to steady them. They all remembered Arthur killing a wyvern, after all.

A high keening whine descended from above, and Nick glimpsed a massive shape swooping between clouds. His heart pounded, adrenaline surging anew. Yeah, that's an adult, for sure.

He licked his cracked lips, turned his raw eyes skyward, and waited for the shape to reveal itself in earnest. At least the men were prepared. If he had learned one thing from the dungeon dive, it was that unity and cunning could accomplish what raw power alone might not.

So be it, Nick thought as he heard the next ear-splitting screech overhead. Let the carrion feeders come; they won't find a corpse yet.