Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

The system messages flashed in Nick's vision, Chekov's blue text flickering like fireflies before his eyes. He blinked away the afterimages, focusing on the first notification.

Nick smiled. He knew that crafting the wand would be the key. At first, he had been hesitant to waste quality ingredients on something he would only use temporarily, but once the process began, all his doubts vanished. The Wyvern wand was destined to be much more than a mere crutch.

The world seemed to tilt for a moment as a surge of vitality flowed through him. His limbs felt lighter and stronger, as if an invisible weight had been lifted. Even his mana, which had been drained from hours of crafting, started to replenish, flowing more smoothly and quickly than before. His body and magic became more harmonious, each strengthening the other.

If anything, the process of leveling up has become even more intense. I thought the gains would be minor after a while—that's what Alexander's lessons taught me, at least, but they were focused on civilian classes. Occultist is certainly not one of those.

His senses expanded. Where before his connection to the wind felt like a whisper, it was now a symphony. He could feel the currents in the room without even trying—how they swirled around Elia's twitching tail, eddied past Rhea's steady hands, brushed against the stone walls, funneled up and away. It seemed that Ogden had been lying when he said the room wasn't ventilated, and Nick had fallen for the ruse, as the movements were so subtle.

Beyond the workshop, his awareness stretched outward, reaching a hundred feet without the wand in hand. The sensation was both dizzying and intoxicating.

Holding the wand intensified it further. With the focus firmly in his grasp, he felt his reach double He could perceive the breeze rustling through the garden, the gentle draft sneaking under closed doors, and even the currents in the nearby houses.

Nick grinned as he turned the wand over in his hands. It was a much better result than he had expected. It was a masterpiece, considering who created it didn't even have the necessary class. With this, he was confident he could master wind magic. He would need to work hard, crafting new spells and refining old techniques, but the foundation was solid. Ingrid's journal still contained spells he hadn't explored yet, and with the wand, he felt sure he could manage even the more complex ones.

A sudden cheer broke him out of his reverie. Rhea launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "We did it!" she shouted triumphantly. There was a great deal of relief in her tone, and tears shone in her eyes. It didn't take a genius to realize she carried some baggage from her family's circumstances and that successfully crafting such a powerful focus made her feel all sorts of things.

Elia wasn't far behind, wagging her tail furiously as she joined the hug. "I can't believe it actually worked!"

The three of them stood there, caught in the rush of their success. Their laughter filled the workshop, a burst of unrestrained joy that seemed almost out of place after the tense hours of work.

Then, just as suddenly, they pulled away, each feeling a bit embarrassed. Rhea cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, while Elia distracted herself by adjusting the folds of her dress. Nick chuckled and shook his head. "Alright, alright. Let's not get too carried away."

Before they could say anything more, Nick sensed a familiar presence approaching. Ogden's heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs, and the old man appeared in the doorway. He scanned the room, briefly pausing on the wand in Nick's hand. For a moment, his impassive expression flickered with what seemed like surprise.

"Well, boy," Ogden said, his voice gruff. "You actually managed it."

Nick straightened under the man's gaze. "Thanks to your help, Rhea's, and Elia's, I truly couldn't have done it on my own." And that was the truth. Nick might have developed a decent focus with enough time and effort, but it wouldn't have benefited from the centuries of tradition that Rhea carried, the materials provided by Elia's mother, or Ogden's expertise.

The old man grunted, coming closer to examine the wand. He didn't touch it, but he seemed to take in every detail, from the silvery surface to the green gem nestled at its base. "A wyvern wand," he muttered, almost to himself. "I didn't think I'd ever see one made in this backwater town."

He straightened, meeting Nick's eyes. "You've got something special there. Don't waste it."

Nick nodded. "I won't."

Ogden's lips twitched into what could have been a smile before he turned to leave. "Girl, remember the cleanup procedures. And you," he added, glancing back at Nick, "don't let that go to your head. There's a difference between talent and mastery."

With that, he was gone, leaving them alone once again. Nick exhaled. Ogden's earlier warnings resurfaced in his mind, but as he gazed at the wand in his hand, a spark of determination ignited within him. He wouldn't let this opportunity slip away.

Rhea clapped him on the shoulder with a smirk that didn't hide the smudged tears. "You heard him. Let's not get cocky."

Nick laughed. "Me? Cocky? Never."

Elia rolled her eyes but smiled all the same. "You better not. I swear if you start acting like your brother just because you have a shiny new toy…"

The three of them shared a laugh, and Nick felt calm for the first time in what felt like days.

The shop door swung shut behind them, the faint tinkling of its bell swallowed by the noise outside. Nick and Elia stepped out, only to be met with an unusual sight. A stream of people—dozens of them, mostly dressed in temple whites and adorned with modest symbols of their faith—was making its way toward the town's eastern edge. Their chatter filled the air with festive energy, yet the pristine state of their robes and the care they had each taken in grooming revealed the significance of the occasion.

Vicar Alexander led the procession, unmistakable with his tall frame and flowing robe. He captured the attention of a group of devout women, who seemed to hang on his every word. Spotting Nick and Elia, he brightened with what appeared to be a warm smile, though Nick couldn't shake the feeling that it was as calculated as everything else the man did.

"Ah, Nicholas!" Alexander called out loudly, extricating himself from his posse. "And Miss Elia, what a pleasant coincidence to meet you here."

Nick forced a polite smile. "Vicar. What's all the excitement?"

"The caravan has been spotted," Alexander explained. "They'll arrive at the eastern gate within the hour. Everyone's eager to greet them, of course."

"Of course," Nick replied, keeping his tone neutral. Beside him, Elia had gone still. She had taken half a step back, lowered her head slightly, and wrapped her tail tightly around her leg. It might have appeared as shyness to anyone, but Nick knew better.

Alexander's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than Nick liked before he shifted his attention back to him. "I trust you'll both be attending the reception?"

Nick nodded vaguely, mumbling, "Thank you for the information." Elia's discomfort was palpable, igniting a deep frustration within him. He hated that the sight of Alexander and the mention of the temple's involvement had reduced her to this state. The Elia he knew wasn't timid; she was fiery, quick to laugh, and always ready with a sharp remark. She could bounce back from getting attacked in a monster-filled forest. She was not a shrinking wallflower.

Without saying another word to the vicar, he took Elia's hand. She tensed at first but did not pull away as he gently tugged her toward the quieter streets, leading away from the crowd. Alexander's voice faded behind them, drowned out by the excited chatter of the growing throng.

They walked in silence for a time. Nick's grip on Elia's hand was firm yet gentle, providing silent reassurance that he was with her. At the same time, his mind raced, with frustration simmering just beneath the surface. The inspection loomed over them like a storm cloud, and he couldn't find a way to shield her from it. Every idea he considered seemed reckless, impractical, or downright dangerous. Defying the Prelate when the forest was so active would only add another layer of problems, and he knew he was far from strong enough to face the consequences. He could only hope that Arthur and his father would be there to protect the beastmen citizens.

Elia's house came into view, and he still hadn't come up with a plan. Nick slowed to a stop as they approached, finally releasing her hand. His frustration boiled over, and he turned to her, his voice low but insistent. "Elia, I'll find a way. I don't know how yet, but I will. I won't let them—"

She cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. "Nick, stop."

He blinked, caught off guard by her serious tone. She stepped closer, and her usual playfulness was replaced by something steely and resolute. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw something there that unsettled him. It wasn't fear or sadness. It was a quiet, burning defiance—something primal and raw.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do," she said, with an edge he hadn't heard before. "I really do. But you don't need to worry about me. About us."

Nick opened his mouth to protest, but she raised a hand to silence him. "We know what's coming," she continued. "We know what the inspection means. And we know what they think of us."

Her tail unfurled, swishing behind her slowly. Her ears angled forward, and her pupils narrowed just a fraction like a predator sizing up its prey. Nick had always known she was a foxkin, of course, but he'd never really considered what that meant. At this moment, standing before him with that defiant gleam in her eye, she was no longer just Elia, his friend. She was something untamed and fierce.

"They want to humiliate us," she said, her voice dropping to a near growl. "To remind us of our place. But we're not weak, Nick. We're not helpless."

He frowned, frustration shifting to concern. "Elia, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," she replied, meeting his eyes with steel, "that we won't take this lying down."

The conviction in her words sent a chill down his spine. He wanted to argue, to tell her that resistance would only make things worse, but the words died in his throat. She wasn't asking for his permission or his approval. She was simply telling him how it was.

"Elia…" he began, but she shook her head again.

Continue your journey with empire

"Go home, Nick," she said softly. "Get some rest. Today was a big day for you. There is no need to ruin it."

He hesitated for a moment, torn between respecting her resolve and his instinct to protect her. But in the end, he nodded, though it felt like defeat. "If you need anything," he said quietly, "you'll tell me, right?"

A hint of her usual smile returned, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I will. I promise."n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Nick turned and began walking back. But as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw her standing there, watching him with that same fierce expression. For the first time, he understood just how little he knew about her world and how much strength she carried, even when she appeared most vulnerable.

I can't do nothing. An internal conflict now would be suicidal. First, let's see what this prelate is really made of.