Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Nick soared back toward the wall, his thoughts a whirlwind of worry and grim determination.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The gods of the forest were extending their domains. Whether that was a concerted effort to take over Floria, as he knew had once happened, a simple land grab, or even an internal matter, he didn't know, but he couldn't see anything good coming from it.

In a way, he was almost relieved that his suspicions weren't baseless. But that relief came with a heavy dose of dread. He'd have preferred to be wrong, to have misinterpreted the signs.

I can't help but think this is all related to the dungeon. Too much is happening all at once. Of course, it could still be separate, but I'm not that lucky.

His mind churned through possibilities. The coming temple delegation might offer insight. With their expertise and proximity to Sashara's domain, they would likely notice the haze eventually. Perhaps they would even have a way to counter it.

But Nick hesitated to trust them too much. They serve their god, not us. While Sashara is Floria's matron god, and most citizens worship her, she's not an overbearing goddess. That's usually a positive, but it also means I don't know what motivates the clergy. I can guess they want to maintain their influence, but the bishop implied that more was at stake.

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. One problem at a time. The haze isn't the immediate threat—the stampede is.

The sight of the bustling activity below momentarily eased the tension in his chest. Floria wasn't defenseless. Guards moved purposefully, adventurers scouted the perimeter, and makeshift barricades had been erected at critical points should the wall be breached. Everyone was working together, and it seemed the initial tension had been successfully smoothed.

Nick drifted closer to the wall, easily locating his father as he stood among the largest cluster of soldiers. His presence was commanding as he coordinated with guards and adventurers. Even in astral form, Nick could feel the power radiating off him. It was different from what he had seen in his fight with the troll, and it seemed to affect everyone around him.

That has to be a control skill of some kind. I know martial classes, especially knights, get those after a certain level. Dad's not at prestige, but he's probably the strongest person in town after Arthur. If there's someone who knows a battlefield control skill, it's him.

A network of traps spread out before the wall: spike pits camouflaged with leaves, steel wire rigged to snap up and cut through anything that stumbled into it, and rows of sharpened stakes angled toward the forest. Along the parapets, dozens of archers readied their bows, carefully passing around arrows as if just touching them wrong could set off an explosion.

Nick's gaze followed the line of men to a figure working methodically near one of the stairs. Old Ogden was unmistakable even from a distance. He dipped arrows into a bubbling concoction that briefly glowed before going dim. He then handed them to the closest men, who passed them along.

Curious, Nick hovered closer. Whatever the old man was distributing was clearly meant to give the defenders an edge. The alchemist worked quickly but with precision, murmuring instructions to each archer as he passed.

And then Ogden looked up.

For a single, frozen moment, the old man's eyes locked onto Nick's. The astral plane, the invisible layer that separated Nick's current form from the physical world, was supposed to render him undetectable. Yet the gaze that met his was piercing, as if he could see with perfect clarity.

Nick's breath caught—if such a thing were possible in this form. He sees me.

But just as quickly as the moment came, it passed. Ogden turned back to his work, dipping another arrow into the glowing solution and passing it to the nearest archer, making no motion to show he had seen anything unusual.

Nick lingered, uncertain. He wanted to dismiss it as a coincidence, but deep down, he didn't believe that. Ogden's gaze had been too deliberate, too knowing.

Later, Nick decided. I'll deal with this later. He was spooked and resolved to avoid the old man for the battle.

The rising murmur of activity pulled his focus back to the wall. The atmosphere was shifting. The guards and adventurers spoke in hushed tones, growing more agitated. Soon enough, the reason became clear as the sound of distant roars and snapping trees carried on the wind like a warning. The stampede was close.

Nick rose a hundred feet above the wall, scanning the forest's edge. At that height, the cloud of dust became impossible to miss. Occasionally, a bright flash of light would light up the inside, showing that some traps had already been laid, probably by the retreating expedition, but it was not enough to slow the tide.

Soon enough, the forest erupted with noise—cracking branches, the rumble of heavy bodies crashing through the underbrush, and guttural snarls. The sound grew louder with each passing second until it felt like the ground was trembling beneath its weight.

Eugene raised his hand, signaling the defenders to ready themselves. The archers nocked their arrows. Adventurers at the base of the wall adjusted their grips on swords and spears, some muttering prayers while others checked their armor one last time.

Nick hovered above his father, watching as he issued orders with the confidence of a seasoned leader. Beside him, Darien held a massive crossbow, whose bolts were tipped with something that shimmered faintly to his sight.

The tension in the air was electric until finally, the calm before the storm broke as the first creature burst through the tree line.

It was a hulking beast, an amalgamation of a bear and a rhino. Its body was covered in thick, leathery armor. As it charged, its claws dug into the earth, and saliva dripped from its gaping maw.

An arrow shot out, striking the creature's shoulder. The concoction-coated tip flared briefly on impact, and the beast's chest exploded, cutting off its ear-splitting roar.

The defenders didn't celebrate. There was no time.

The floodgates had opened.

More monsters poured out of the forest—a tide of claws, teeth, and fury. Wolves with glowing eyes, serpentine creatures slithering at great speeds, and insectoid beasts whose mandibles clicked with deadly intent.

The archers loosed volley after volley, lighting up the battlefield as Ogden's concoctions took effect. Explosions of light and sound disoriented the advancing horde, and some monsters fell before they could even reach the traps.

But many kept coming.

Nick clenched his astral fists. He wanted to help, to join the fight, but his current state bound him to the immaterial. All he could do was watch as his father led the defense, unwavering even as the horde closed in.

His frustration simmered beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. He had always hated feeling helpless, and now, despite his vantage point and awareness, he was little more than a spectator.

He glared down at his father, who barked orders with unshakable authority, and at the adventurers, who sprang into action with weapons and magic. They were giving it everything they had, yet here he was, floating uselessly above them. Bows thrummed, and the bulk of the stampede drew closer with each moment.

There has to be something I can do.

His mind spun, dissecting possibilities. His encounter with Ogden earlier that night resurfaced. The old alchemist had seen him- he was sure of it- piercing through the veil of the astral plane like it was nothing.

If he can do that, there's something I must be missing.

An idea blossomed in his mind. It was apparent now that the rules of this world were different—looser, perhaps. Mana flowed more freely here, saturating the environment in a way he still couldn't fully wrap his head around. What if that abundance meant the barriers between planes were thinner, too?

If Ogden can see through the layers of reality, I might not be as cut off as I believed.

There were many implications, but he didn't have time for caution. The monsters were coming, and if there was even a chance he could help, he had to take it.

Nick shot away from the wall. He quickly found his destination—the back of the barracks, which was secluded and far from the crowds. No one would notice him here, not that they could see him anyway.

He hovered for a moment, forcing himself to calm down. His frustration had carried him here, but frustration wouldn't help him with what he was about to try. Magic required focus, precision, and willpower.

Okay, he thought, drawing an invisible breath to steady himself. If the rules are different here, I might be able to reach through.

Nick extended his awareness, seeking a connection to the physical world. Initially, there was nothing. Indeed, all his attempt was doing was to waste mana. But then he had a thought. There was something all around him to which he was inextricably interconnected. And so, deliberately ignoring all he knew of magical theory, Nick acted as if the air surrounding him was as close as it felt in his physical body.

A mote of dust shifted before him.

Encouraged, Nick doubled down. He focused harder, pressing his will against the invisible barrier separating him from the material realm.

Nothing changed. He had achieved something considered impossible, which would have made him a pioneer in astral magic, yet the most he could do with it was produce the equivalent of a breath.

Stop. What am I even doing? I'm becoming too used to mana being readily available. I should think of this as being back on Earth.

Yes, that felt like a better train of thought to follow. He had proven he could interact with the physical world, if only barely, but he couldn't do anything with that connection.

"There is always a solution to any problem. You just have to be willing to pay the price." Those were his grandfather's words; now more than ever, they rang with truth.

Ignoring the ever-increasing chaos behind him, Nick desperately pushed his connection to the air to its limits. Slowly, painfully, he carved a hexagram the size of his palm into the dust. It was a pitiful effort, barely neat enough to activate.

He certainly didn't have enough mana in his reserves to power it through the veil and then take part in the battle. Luckily, he would soon have the most common substitute in great quantities. Having proven he could stretch his control into the real world enough to carve a ritual circle, Nick rose again.

A deafening roar split the air, yanking him from his thoughts. Nick turned to the wall, where the monster tide had surged into full view. The stampede's vanguard—a hulking beast that looked like a cross between a shrub and a porcupine and was tall enough to tower over the wall—charged headlong into the trap-laden field.

The defenders' arrows rained down, some exploding in bursts of light and killing the surrounding monsters, others piercing deep into the creature's flesh. But for every beast that fell, three more emerged from the forest.

He reached the southern gate just in time to see Eugene lock eyes with the advancing monsters. His father's face was set in stone as he swung his sword and shot arcs of fire, forcing the vanguard to retreat lest it be burned to a crisp. Beside him, Darien unleashed a bolt from his massive crossbow, striking down a snake-like creature before it could lunge at the defenders and splitting it in two.

Nick hovered just behind his father, watching as he directed the battle. Despite the preparations, the strain was beginning to show. The wall was holding for now, thanks to the traps, but the sheer number of monsters was overwhelming.

It wasn't long before the first man got too reckless and was nailed in the head by a thrown stone. His headless body fell, breaking against the unforgiving ground.

Stone-faced, his companions continued to fire, never taking their eyes off the encroaching monsters.

Nick, on the other hand, had found his power source. Blood had been spilled.