Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai-Chapter 91 - 89

Nick remained at the front of the group as the expedition progressed, walking alongside his father, Arthur, and Marthas. Having proven himself by spotting the wraith ambush that the other scouts missed, he was tasked with reporting anything unusual before the rest of the team encountered potential danger.

They followed the stream for a while before veering off when it changed direction from their planned route. Given how flashy the fight with the wraiths had been, no one cared about stealth anymore, which meant they could cut straight through the forest.

Nick’s senses stretched outward as [Wind God’s Third Eye] cast an unseen net over the land around him. So far, everything seemed clear. He expected another wraith ambush soon, as the monsters were evidently plentiful enough that the fae would be foolish not to use them to thin the expedition’s numbers. Despite the great care he took to filter through the vast amount of sensory information he received, however, he found nothing.

Which is why, when one of the older scouts suddenly called for a halt, Nick was the first to frown.

"Hold up!" a grizzled ranger barked, raising a hand. The march stopped in an instant, and tension rippled through the group.

Nick turned toward the scout with a frown. "I don’t sense anything."

Before Eugene could issue a command, Arthur cut in.

"Empty clearings like that are a bad sign," he said, nodding toward the open space ahead. "Could be a dryad’s territory."

Eugene frowned. "There shouldn’t be any this close to the main path."

"You’re probably right," Arthur agreed, "but we saw they were prepared for us, we should assume that there are several traps on every route. Best we check before marching through it."

Eugene glanced at the clearing again, then let out a slow breath. He didn’t like wasting time, but he wasn’t a fool either.

"Fine," he said. "I’ll check it out myself."

Before anyone could offer to do it, Eugene stepped forward, unsheathing his sword. Faint flames flickered along its length, licking at the air as if eager to consume.

Nick wrinkled his nose. He still couldn’t sense anything wrong with the clearing.

Eugene crossed the threshold. The air shifted.

Nick barely had time to process the sudden change before the entire grove came alive.

Roots burst from the ground, shooting toward Eugene like spears. Branches whipped forward like writhing limbs, trying to entangle and pierce him from every direction.

Nick tried to scream a warning, but before he could shout—

Eugene moved.

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His blade traced a burning arc through the air with a single swing. The moment the fire met wood, the roots ignited, turning to cinders before they could reach him.

More vines surged ahead. Several smaller ones burned as soon as they got closer, but the larger ones resisted long enough to be dangerous.

With a jump, Eugene soared through the air, dodging a twisting branch that tried to snare him mid-flight. Upon landing, his sword plunged deep into a small burrow in the ground.

A heartbeat later, flames erupted all over the clearing.

Flames erupted from various points, spiraling outward in controlled jets. The burning tendrils raced across the clearing, trailing unseen lines of mana and igniting everything in their path.

Nick inhaled sharply, and the scent of burnt wood filled his lungs. Now that he knew where to look, he could vaguely sense an empty spot below them, but until his father’s flames had reached it, it had been completely filled, with no air at all for him to detect.

A beat of silence followed.

Then Marthas clapped.

"Well done," the Prelate mused in a pleased tone. "I felt the dryad’s presence be snuffed out entirely. A fitting end for a servant of the Feral Gods."

Eugene exhaled and withdrew his sword from the ground. The flames died instantly, obeying his will. He glanced toward Marthas, nodding at the compliment. "Glad you enjoyed the show."

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Nick let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Dryads weren’t the mightiest of foes, but they could be dangerous under the right conditions. If Eugene hadn’t been prepared, or if someone weaker had ventured into that clearing first, it could have turned deadly. He knew this well, given how close he had come to being skewered during his first expedition in the forest, and he sincerely doubted that the dryad had genuinely trying to kill him.

"Scouts," Eugene called, cutting through the lingering tension. "Sweep the area. Make sure nothing else is lurking nearby."

A few murmured confirmations followed as the rangers and adventurers moved to check the clearing’s edges.

Nick remained where he was, biting his lip in frustration. I didn’t sense the dryad until Dad killed it. I doubt I’ll be able to add to anything they find.

The failure annoyed him more than he’d like, but so far, no one seemed inclined to chew him out.

"This is a great spot to set up a staging camp," Eugene said, his tone shifting to something more practical. He pointed to the clearing. "It’s defensible in case we need to retreat; we have access to a water source, and it’s close enough to the dungeon for our strike teams to operate effectively."

Arthur crossed his arms, nodding. "I’m inclined to agree. We should split up now before we go any deeper."

Eugene turned to look around. "Arthur, you’ll take one team north toward the dungeon’s expanding border. Prelate, your team will move through the southern ridge and secure the high ground." He glanced at Nick. "You’re with me. We’ll act as the main prong and draw attention away from the core."

Nick nodded. He had already known where he was going, but he appreciated hearing it outright.

Arthur grunted. "Sounds good enough. Now it’s just a matter of deciding the retreat plan. I doubt we’ll be able to get to the core on our first attempt."

"You’d be surprised at how easily these infidels fall. Sashara’s light shall open our way." Marthas replied with a mysterious smile.

Nick knew his father well enough to understand he wanted to sigh, but the man kept his composure, simply nodding with his head for Nick to leave now that they had to finalize their plans.

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He knew better than to linger, as the division of duties and strategy wasn’t something he could influence, and hovering too close would only make him appear foolish—more than he already did with his bad call—so he complied and quickly moved away.

He let his feet guide him toward the hole in the ground where his father had thrust his sword mere minutes before.

The charred ring of dirt surrounding the opening still smoldered faintly as wisps of heat rose from where Eugene’s fire had consumed the dryad. Nick crouched beside it, peering down.

He felt frustrated. He hadn’t sensed the dryad at all, especially after he’d made an impression by sensing the wraith ambush. I am embarrassed. That, in itself, is humiliating. No one can be perfect. Earth magic counters wind magic naturally. There’s a reason so many scouts are here. With the fae around, we need all kinds of sensory techniques to avoid missing something. No one accused me of making the wrong call.

Still, no matter how much he tried to talk himself into letting go of that emotion, he couldn’t.

The clearing felt normal. He had thoroughly swept it with [Wind God’s Third Eye] before they stepped inside, and he never detected any presence beneath their feet. Even when the trees moved to kill his father, he could sense only the shifting branches, never the entity behind them.

The dryad had been underground. She hadn’t needed to breathe, hadn’t needed to shift physically. That meant she had been safe from his senses, twisting the grove’s roots from below like the puppet master of a wooden marionette.

Nick scowled.

That was a serious flaw in his sensory ability.

He had been relying too much on airflow and breath signatures to locate enemies. He had assumed that as long as something moved, he would be able to track it. But the dryad had demonstrated just how easy it was to circumvent his strengths.

If she had been stronger, if she had controlled the trees with more finesse, his father might not have won that fight.

I need to be more careful, he thought grimly. I must think beyond the limitations of my abilities and start countering them. Once again, I’ve fallen into the trap of viewing myself as limited to my official skills. [Wind God’s Third Eye] is an incredibly powerful skill, but it is not infallible. I could have developed something to address its weaknesses, but it never even crossed my mind.

His fingers tightened into a fist as he stared into the blackened pit. The dryad’s remains were nothing more than scorched fragments of ashen wood now. He could recover nothing from her corpse.

Nick let out a slow breath, forcing himself to let go of the frustration. He had already improved his senses significantly over the past months, but now he needed to refine them further. There were still too many gaps. It felt like a never-ending race. Marthas said it’s a dead end, and he might be right, but I don’t want to give up yet.

If he could get his hands on a live fae, he just knew he could empower his spell even more…

Just as he was about to leave, he felt someone approaching.

His passive air sense alerted him before the first step even landed. The pace and weight behind the stride were familiar.

It was the blond scout from earlier.

Nick didn’t bother turning around. He was half-expecting some kind of passive-aggressive remark or another attempt to assert dominance. The young man stopped a few feet away. And for several minutes, he didn’t say a word.

That, more than anything, piqued Nick’s interest. Why wasn’t he saying anything if he was here to bother him again?

Nick continued to stare into the charred pit, waiting. Finally, the blond scout broke the silence. "You know you’re only here because you’re the Captain’s son, right?"

Nick exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. He didn’t answer, didn’t look up. He simply lifted an eyebrow.

The young man let out a frustrated huff. His voice, though still annoyed, lacked the outright hostility it had before. "You don’t have the qualifications. Any other kid your age would have been turned away."

Nick remained quiet. He wasn’t interested in arguing with someone who had already made up his mind.

The teenager shifted on his feet, clearly irritated by the lack of reaction. "You really don’t care, huh? I was hoping you’d be less arrogant than Devon, but it seems all Crowleys think they’re above the rules."

That got Nick’s attention. His eyes flicked upward, finally looking at the scout properly.

So that’s what this was about.

The grudge wasn’t about him. It was about his brother.

It wasn’t surprising, really. Devon had always been more social than Nick, and he had a way of making strong impressions on people. Sometimes good, sometimes… not so much.

Nick thought about responding. Perhaps something cutting to make the young man regret speaking. But before he could say anything, the scout turned on his heel and walked away.

Just like that.

Nick watched him go, a strange mix of amusement and curiosity flaring within him. He doesn’t actually hate me.

No, this wasn’t personal. This was frustration, resentment, maybe even bitterness—but not hatred. He resents the position I was given.

And to an extent, Nick understood.

He’d seen the flaw within Floria. How some people were barely considered citizens while others enjoyed privileges they didn’t deserve. The Class system only made that difference more pronounced.

He wasn’t about to apologize for being chosen, though. If people thought he didn’t deserve to be here, he’d just prove them wrong.

Before he could dwell on it further, a loud clap rang out across the clearing.

Eugene’s voice boomed over the gathered expedition.

"Alright! It’s time. Get to your assigned strike group and move out."

Nick exhaled one last time before standing up and dusting himself off. It was time to move. At least I’ll get my hands on better ingredients in the dungeon.