Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai-Chapter 104

With the Oni dead and being cut down for parts, the strike group set about securing their first real rest since the expedition began.

The crater offered an ideal spot to set up camp. The area was open, granting a clear line of sight and free from the forest’s creeping influence, which made it safer than anywhere else in the Green Ocean. No vines, no roots, no shifting canopies—just scorched earth and charred stone. It’s a bit creepy, but what isn’t in this damn forest.

Nick helped where he could despite his exhaustion. The soldiers and adventurers had already set up watch rotations, posting scouts at the rim of the crater while others dug out makeshift fire pits to keep warm as the sun went down.

It wasn’t long before stews of dried meat and oats were being passed around, along with hard biscuits softened by dipping them into the broth.

It was a simple meal, but it tasted like a feast after the hell they had been through.

Nick kept busy even while eating. He moved from soldier to soldier, refilling water canteens with a ball of water he kept hovering above his head. The men accepted it gratefully, some murmuring thanks, while others simply nodded their appreciation before turning back to their meals.

Being able to help by doing something so simple made him feel better. He doubted they had all forgotten about their suspicions, but now the air around camp was more relaxed. It’s a start. I should try to make them see me in a more positive light with little things like this more often. I have a pretty high CHA, and I should use it.

Honestly, it was frustrating to have to convince people he was a good person, but he had to admit that being the only kid around and having performed two rituals in a row that ended up saving the day was a bit strange. Now that I think about it, maybe it’s not so weird that they aren’t comfortable. Huh, I guess my CHA was pulling its weight, given that no one tried to bother me.

Eventually, Nick made his way to his father, sitting by one of the small campfires where Eugene was slowly working through his meal.

Arthur was nowhere to be seen, having taken the role of scout for the night. Morris and the rangers were stationed along the crater’s perimeter, keeping an eye on any movement in the forest.

This left father and son alone.

Nick hesitated, then flicked his fingers to craft a one-way barrier of air around them, making sure that no sound could escape but allowing them to hear everything outside of it.

His father noticed the gesture and turned to face him, putting his empty bowl down. “So,” Eugene asked, “what’s on your mind?”

Nick, despite steeling his nerves for this conversation, found himself stalling. Rather than diving straight into what he truly wanted to discuss, he began with something innocent. “That healing flame you used after the fight with the Oni—was that a new skill?”

Eugene gave him a look that made it clear he doubted that was what he wanted to know, but he answered easily enough. “Not exactly. I actually developed that when I was an apprentice. But back then, my stats were too low to make good use of it.”

That caught Nick’s attention. “What do you mean?”

Eugene swallowed some water, then gestured loosely with his free hand. “In all skills, whether magical, martial, or mundane in nature, there are certain thresholds based on attributes. You’ve probably noticed already, but the first major jump happens at 50 points, then another at 100, and so on.”

Nick nodded. He had seen his magical ability increase after hitting fifty points in his mental stats, and having just reached a hundred points in WIS, he expected another bump.

Eugene smiled. “Back when I was young, I developed the skill out of frustration. I was always getting injured from being reckless in fights, and I hated being lectured by healers every time I needed treatment.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “So, I thought, why not heal myself?”

Nick smirked. “That sounds like something that’s easier in theory than in practice.”

“And that was a problem,” Eugene confirmed, tapping his temple. “The skill required WIS to function properly, and my class doesn’t give me much of that.”

Nick frowned. “You didn’t have enough to use it?” He didn’t exactly have a wide variety of martial skills at his disposal, but he’d always been able to use the Stalking Gait after learning it. Is it because I learned it after a ritual?

“I could technically use it,” Eugene shook his head, “but it was a waste of mana. Back then, drinking a healing potion was always the better option. After weeks of effort, my flames could heal, but the mana cost was too high, and the effect was too weak. Anything beyond some scratches was too much.”

Nick considered that. It made sense. His own magic had its limits, though his class allowed him to adapt quickly.

Eugene continued, “It wasn’t until I recently hit one hundred WIS when I reached level seventy that the skill became viable. Now that I’m at seventy-three, it actually outperforms most low-tier healing brews.”

Nick hummed in thought. This made him wonder about the Stalking Gait. It was a physical skill, and although his AGI and DEX were decent, they still weren’t high enough to reach the first major threshold.

Maybe it will improve once I hit 50 in my physical stats.

It was an exciting idea, and it gave him something to think about for his future progression. Given how quickly he’d earned levels, he’d need to think about his build more. It was good that he had half the night ahead of him to do so.

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Eugene took another swig off his canteen and looked back at him. “Was that all you wanted to ask?”

Nick hesitated. For a moment, he thought about letting it go, but then he exhaled. “I’m worried I won’t be able to stay in Floria for much longer.”

His father set his bowl down, wiped his hands on a cloth, and then met Nick’s gaze directly, placing a firm hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezing lightly.

“Nick,” he said steadily, “Floria will always be your home.”

Nick swallowed, looking away. “Even if people are starting to be afraid of me?”

“Yes,” Eugene said without hesitation. “Even then.”

Nick didn’t respond immediately, lost in thought. His father’s belief in him had never wavered—not once. But he wasn’t naive. He had heard the whispers; He had seen the looks.

“You might leave one day,” Eugene said, breaking the silence, “but it’ll be because you choose to, not because anyone forces you.”

Nick’s eyes flicked up to him.

Eugene’s grip tightened.

“No one,” he continued, voice firm, “can send you away from our home. Not the priests, not the soldiers, not the people whispering in the camp.”

His father’s confidence was unshakable, and Nick believed him. Eugene truly didn’t care if Nick’s weirdness made his position harder.

A slow exhale left his lips.

Eugene leaned back, finishing off his stew before giving his son a knowing smirk. “But,” he added, “I do have one question.”

Nick arched a brow. “What?”

His father grinned. “If you do leave, will you write your old man once in a while? I want to hear about your conquests.”

Nick snorted, shaking his head. “No promises.”

Eugene laughed, clapping his back, and just like that, the gloom lessened—if only for a while.

Nick woke up in the still, silent dark.

It took just a moment to shake off the lingering exhaustion from the previous day. His body was sore yet stronger than ever, and his mind remained sharp and clear despite the heavy toll he had endured.

Looking up at the dark sky told him it was three hours before dawn, which was just about his time to take over the watch.

He stood up, his boots crunching softly on the dry, lifeless soil of the crater, and noticed Morris coming back from his patrol.

Their eyes met despite the near-complete darkness. Morris nodded once in silent recognition before disappearing further into the camp for a few hours of rest.

That left Nick with several hours to kill on his own. The other scouts had been assigned a different direction to watch, and while he could technically use his magic to talk to them, he didn’t feel like it.

Standing at the edge of the crater, Nick gazed out at the forest that surrounded them. The landscape was creepy; the trees were dry, and the ground was cracked and dusty. Nothing moved. Not a single insect. Not a whisper of life. Even with [Wind God’s Third Eye] sweeping the surroundings, all he sensed was emptiness.

It was eerie.

Instead of letting the unnatural silence unnerve him, Nick used the temporary peace to take stock of his progress.

Yesterday, he had reached Level 29. It was a significant jump in power all across the board, but more importantly, his WIS had finally reached 100 points.

That was the second threshold. From what he knew—mostly thanks to Ingrid’s journal—this would have been a watershed moment for most mages. It was when their ability to manipulate mana truly became refined, and they became able to cast without much waste.

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For Nick, it was different. Due to his Trait [Parsimonia], he had already been operating with a level of fine control that surpassed most spellcasters. This meant that the difference wasn’t as pronounced for him as it could have been for another mage. But he could feel a change nonetheless, and that was with only one stat over the threshold. Limits that had once been firm now felt flexible.

[Wind God’s Third Eye] usually required quite a bit of focus, and it was only with considerable effort that he could cast other spells while keeping it active. This was why he often depended on his other wind magic, as it was the most compatible with it.

To test his feelings, Nick pushed the sensory spell to its fullest. The first change he noticed was that its range extended another hundred feet in diameter. That was a significant bump, though it didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know about his current surroundings—just more lifeless soil.

Secondly, he formed a [Jet Stream] above his hand. The rotating drill of air took barely a thought to create, though it didn’t feel stronger than before.

It’s still a big change. I might be able to multi-cast without needing to stay still now.

Nick rolled his shoulders, trying to think of something else he could do to spend the time. He didn’t want to do anything flashy that might distract him while on watch—after all, his job was still to keep an eye out for any enemy.

So, instead, he decided to work on the next addition to his repertoire. Thinking back to the conversation with his father gave him a possible path.

Eugene had taken years to refine his healing flames. That was the normal way to do things—training until one reached the right attribute thresholds to make a skill function properly.

Nick could go down that same path. If he wanted to heal himself, he could simply train until he was capable of using ordinary healing magic.

Hell, once they met up with Marthas, he could probably just ask the Prelate for a spell and learn it the conventional way.

But Nick didn’t feel like doing things the conventional way. A healing spell didn’t have to be traditional to work; that much was clear from observing the Oni at work.

The thought fascinated him, so he began jotting down theories in his mind, letting his mana shift experimentally as he considered different options. Eventually, he settled on three main paths he could follow.

The first concept was based on what he had seen Eugene do with his flames, but he adapted it to his element.

Rather than directly healing wounds, the spell would stimulate his body into an overclocked state, rapidly accelerating natural regeneration. He could use wind as the basis, circulating oxygen-rich air through his body and empowering his cells to mend themselves.

The pros were that it would be effective over time, sustainable, and could be used mid-fight without much cost. The cons were that it wouldn’t instantly stop bleeding or reattach limbs, and it would be useless against fatal wounds unless he reached a much higher affinity.

It’s not bad, but not quite what I’m looking for.

The second method focused on isolating and sealing wounds. Nick could use hyper-compressed air to force wounds shut instantly, similar to a makeshift surgical seal, rather than healing them.

This could stop blood loss and enable him to keep fighting, but it would demand too much precision to be effective in the heat of battle.

It would have an immediate effect and be effective for stopping bleeding in an emergency. However, it would not heal internal injuries but merely delay the inevitable.

Better than nothing. But not enough.

The third option was the one that made him pause. He had seen Moss Oni regenerate endlessly by drawing strength from the dungeon.

What if I could do the same?

Not with the dungeon, of course, but with other sources of vitality.

There were plenty of precedents for it on Earth. In his old life, legends spoke of sorcerers who stole the life force of others to heal themselves, and he knew that people did just about anything to get the tiniest bit of mana for themselves.

Nick didn’t need to go that far.

But if he could craft a spell that drew upon surrounding vitality, it might allow him to survive wounds that would otherwise kill him by merely skimming off the top.

If his idea worked, it could be activated instantly and would be ideal for emergency healing. The challenge was that it required a source of life nearby—either an enemy or the environment.

It was powerful and efficient. And most importantly, Nick already had the perfect catalyst.

He looked down toward his pouch, where the Moss Oni’s core rested.

This wasn’t just any monster core—it was the crystallized essence of a creature capable of vitality absorption. If there was any ritual component that could anchor such a spell to him, that was it.

A smile crept onto his lips. This can work.

Nick could already envision different possibilities for the ritual, the runes he could carve, the incantations he could use to bind the effect to his own body.

It wouldn’t be a true healing spell, not in the conventional sense, but it would be enough to tip the scales between life and death.

He looked out at the horizon, where the first rays of the rising sun began to peek over the distant, charred treetops.

It may not be good to maintain my appearance as a wind mage, but if I have to leave anyway, then it’s better to aim for the best spell possible, right?