Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

To say that the talk with his father hadn't changed Nick's perspective on things would be a lie. He had known that this world operated on fundamentally different rules, of course. He still checked his system window every morning to ensure he hadn't dreamt it up. But the existence of prestige classes—the fact that the incredible work of magic that permeated every inch of this world called the System would allow people to jump in power simply because they reached an arbitrary threshold… Well, that was harder to swallow.

I don't know why that is. Maybe it's because I woke up during the class ceremony, and young Nick was already fully conscious of what that meant. I inherited his memories and feelings. What's to say, I also didn't get his bias?

Yes, that felt right. His younger self hadn't known about prestige, aside from fantastical stories about heroes getting an incredible power-up at the last moment, but that had been so close to his old life's fantasy writings that he had dismissed them as inconsequential.

Now, he knew better. Anything was possible in this wild world, and it was time for him to start acting like it.

I need more information. That has been my biggest bottleneck; without surpassing it, I can never enjoy the full benefits of having an additional lifetime in my head.

Nick knew more about magic than any other kid should. He had scrounged up the most obscure rituals to achieve feats that were possible with barely more than willpower in this world. He could cast spells with so little mana that no one had noticed his experiments for weeks, and even now, after his usage had been discovered, he could pass under his parents' noses despite them being competent warriors.

Parsimonia was such a hack that he doubted an actual mage would be able to tell he was casting something even if he was next to them.

These were insane advantages, especially since he had a whole lifetime to build upon them. He'd leave everyone else in the dust if he had enough knowledge and resources.

That put learning more about this world's mechanics at the top of his priorities. Higher even than understanding what was going on in the forest, no matter how much he itched to see if his theories about leyline spillings were correct.

I need to start scrying.

That was a good resolution. He really did need to start using one of his most valuable skills more.

The problem was that spells of the divination school were notoriously finicky. Much more than his use of sympathetic links to take control of a tree's roots. This difficulty meant Nick had to either build his mana up until he could support a divination spell on his own—a task he wouldn't be able to achieve in quite some time if Nick was honest with himself— or do what he had done to bypass the problem in his last life: build a ritual and sacrifice appropriate ingredients so that the burden left on him would be minimal.

Now, Nick had two possible solutions to his lack of a centuries-old greenhouse where he could cultivate the needed reagents to his preference. He could take a walk into the Green Ocean and hope he got lucky, which ran the risk of meeting dangerous creatures or even other adventurers, who'd then report him to his father and likely end his freedom for the time being, or he could take the easy path and hope the local shops would have what he needed.

This last option ran the risk of being tattled on. Floria was small enough that his mother knew every shopkeeper on a personal basis, and they wouldn't hesitate to report to her that he was looking for weird plants and stones.

This meant that Nick had only one possible course left. He needed one shop stocked well enough to meet his needs and manned by someone peculiar enough that they wouldn't immediately tell on him.

This mental circus eventually led to the local alchemy shop, the only place that fit all his needs. Nick stood outside, taking in its disheveled state.

The sloped roof sagged, one corner dipping lower than the rest, and a steady drip of water leaked from a crack near the edge, splashing into a small puddle below. The fence that ran along the perimeter was missing planks in several spots, leaving gaping holes that did little to contain the messy garden beyond—wild and untamed, with plants growing haphazardly in every direction. The air hummed faintly with energy, making the hairs on his arms prickle. Magical plants, he thought, eyeing a particularly spiky bush. Its berries glowed faintly whenever the sunlight hit them directly, only for the entire bush to retreat into itself for a moment. It then extended again, berries ready for another dose.

I have never seen anything like that. I can only hope he has enough decent substitutes for what I need, or I might have to risk going into the forest and spend weeks testing every ingredient's properties.

The shop's windows, though, were quite different from the rest of the dilapidated building. They were expensive glass, inscribed with intricate runes which, at first glance, Nick suspected were meant to keep sound and mana fluctuations inside. Of course, he had no idea what the runes themselves might mean. No matter how much he read in the temple's library during his punishments, he did not find anything containing a single scrap of magical knowledge beyond the diary. Nick was well-learned in his old world's runes, but these were beyond him.

Still, he could glean something of the intent behind them just from experience and fine-tuned senses. It made sense to find them here, considering that this was an alchemy shop and alchemy was a branch of magic, but given the little respect the townsfolk had shown Old Ogden, he had suspected it might be less overtly so. Satisfied that he had come to the right place, Nick took a moment to admire the craftsmanship, even if the rest of the building looked like it could fall apart with a stiff breeze.

Once he learned as much as he could from a cursory inspection and committed the runes to memory, Nick pushed the door open, the bell overhead jingling softly. He stepped into the shop and blinked in surprise. Unlike the chaotic exterior, the inside was surprisingly well-kept. It wasn't fancy by any means, but the light from several well-placed lanterns illuminated a dozen rows of shelves neatly stocked with glass vials of every shape and size. Brightly colored liquids filled some, while others contained dried herbs and crushed powders. The smell was both overwhelming and nostalgic, despite not recognizing the majority of the scents. His spirits lifted immediately.

Looks like I won't have to trek into the Green Ocean after all.

Not that a stocked shop meant he'd find everything, but with how magical ingredients popped out of every nook and cranny in this world, Nick doubted he wouldn't find decent substitutes. Even subpar ones would do, given his experience with this specific ritual.

"Well, well," came a gravelly voice from behind the counter. "What brings Floria's newest mage to my humble shop?"

Nick turned to see a short old man standing behind the counter, peering at him through tiny round glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. His skin, a dull, scaly gray, looked like the hide of the ground tortoises he had once seen at the zoo, and a thin, long gold chain hung around his neck, catching the light with each of his movements. Nick had heard the stories—how Ogden had botched an experiment that left him half-scaled like a reptile. The man, of course, insisted it was his kobold heritage, but nobody believed him.

Sharp yellow eyes narrowed slightly as they took in Nick's appearance. "You are the Mage, right? Only one in the latest batch of brats, if I recall."

Nick straightened, trying to seem as composed as possible. "That's right. Nicholas Crowley. And you must be Old Ogden."

That earned a short, sharp laugh. "That's what they call me. It's not my name, but I've been called worse. Now, what's a young apprentice like you doing in this place? Looking to dabble in something beyond your reach?" He spoke casually as if the possibly catastrophic consequences of such a thing wouldn't bother him.

Nick met his gaze, determined not to let the man unnerve him. "Not dabbling. I'm just after a few ingredients. I heard you are stocked to the brim in preparation for the caravans. But that means you are passing on a lot of good ingredients from the forest. I should be able to relieve you of some minor things to make space in your stocks."

Ogden's eyes gleamed with interest. "Is that so? And what exactly are you after?"

Nick hesitated only a second before replying. "A few herbs, some powdered crystals. Nothing too complicated." He'd take a look for himself first. If he was able to identify the proper ingredients on his own, he'd much prefer it, as it would also hide his tracks better. Should he not find them, he would have to explain what properties he was looking for to the old man. He'd do it, but he would prefer not to.

Ogden raised a scaly brow but didn't seem surprised. "Hmm. Well, I am currently well-stocked. It's unlikely you won't find what you need here. But ingredients don't come cheap, boy. And I don't much care for having to go to your parents and ask them for money on your behalf."

Nick took a deep breath, ready to push his luck. "I can pay. There is no need to involve my parents in this. It's a transaction between two magic classes."

The old alchemist leaned forward on the counter, his long, fingers drumming softly against the wood. "Heh. You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that." He peered at Nick for a long moment as if weighing whether to trust him. Then, with a slow nod, he gestured to the shelves. "Let's see if you can find what you're looking for."

Powered stoneroot was the first thing Nick looked for. It was the most generic ingredient of the lot since any non-reactive tree would work. It was the base ingredient for most divination rituals, as it served as an anchor to keep the caster's mind from wandering too far. He found it easily.

Secondly, Nick looked for something to substitute for the most essential ingredient of the lot: the catalyst. In his old world, the Eyes of the Sage Blossom, a peculiar plant whose bulb looked much like an eye, worked best for divinations restricted to the mortal plane. Nick hadn't seen anything of the sort in his excursions around town, though admittedly, he hadn't expected to find any.

After twenty minutes of looking, he gave it up as a bad job. He'd have to ask the old man for a decent substitute or, in the worst case, open his third eye on his own briefly, but that was always dangerous. Some things were better seen through filters.

While looking for the catalyst, he found obsidian—which he would break into sharp shards and scatter around to protect himself from minor spirits that might get ideas with his defenseless body—and dropped it on the counter while he reflected on what was left.

Dragonfern fronds were pretty rare in his old world, but he thought he found a decent substitute in what the vial described as Silverthorn leaves. They had the same waxy, dense feeling that the fronds had, and with a bit of ingenuity, Nick thought he could use it as a concentration aid that would restrict his scope and increase the level of detail.

Everything else was optional. He just needed a substitute for the Eyes of the Sage Blossom.

Now, how can I ask for something to unchain my mind from my body without sounding incredibly suspicious?

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