Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Kinetic spells were funny things. Once considered entirely separate works of magic, such as the classic pull and push as cantrips and levitation among charms, they had slowly come to be regarded as expressions of the same basic concept: the application of force.

While modern casters in Nick's old world weren't exactly the most open and only rarely discussed the specifics of their magic, as revealing one's secrets was considered tantamount to giving up one's advantage, which meant being pillaged by enemies, kinetic spells were so ubiquitous that everyone used one form or another.

This made their discussion one of the very few common grounds for the increasingly sparse and insular magical population. It led to advances in the craft so successful that kinetic spells were considered the most secure magic left in the world. In a time when spells went missing all the time and entire schools of magic disappeared into the mists of time or the libraries of decaying families, that was an incredible achievement. This spurred a few attempts at further cooperation, but those ended in blood and tragedy.

This meant that Nick could rely on a wide variety of spells in this specific instance, not just those passed down through his family line or that he scrounged up from ancient books he bought cheaply at a Goodwill.

For this specific occasion, where he needed to make just enough of a ruckus to send the acolyte away from the hearth but not enough to call the vicar's attention, Nick chose [The Epworth Curse].

It was an almost useless spell that he had learned from a British exorcist while drinking. It caused the room to rattle, incessant knocking, and increasing auditory effects. It was a spell originally meant to curse a building and drive out the mundane inhabitants after convincing them it was haunted. The exorcist had learned it from his mentor, who had gotten it after defeating a witch who was in the business of buying up "haunted" land for cheap, with the Epworth Rectory's case being the most famous example.

Nick stopped himself just as he gathered the necessary mana and used it on himself instead. Hoplite's Help washed over him, enhancing his attributes, even if only slightly.

Better than nothing. I can't afford to be caught with holy ashes in my bag. They might treat me as a heretic at that point.

That done, Nick returned to his little prank.

He took a deep breath and flicked his fingers, whispering the incantation under his breath. Thanks to his current body's talents, the spell went off without a hitch, as he had become accustomed to.

It slithered out like a creeping fog, invisible but for the faint shiver in the air. He felt the tug of his mana latch onto the environment outside the main room, and within moments, the temple garden began to stir.

Next to the entrance, a bench groaned under an invisible weight, its wooden planks bending as if someone very heavy had just taken a seat. The windows along the temple's walls banged shut in quick succession, the sudden clatter echoing through the quiet space. Flowerpots throughout the garden began to hop and rattle, knocking against one another like impatient children waiting for attention.

Nick allowed himself a small smile. The damage was small enough to be dismissed as a rogue sprite's work.

He heard the sharp shuffle of footsteps from behind as the acolyte hurried toward the commotion. The sound of voices followed—a mixture of alarm and confusion—as several others joined him in rushing outside to investigate the odd disturbances.

The moment the acolyte's back was turned and his enhanced senses told him he was alone, Nick moved. He dropped his broom and darted toward his target, his boots barely making a sound on the polished stone floor. The flicker of nervous energy in his chest quickened his pace. The hearth, with its pile of sacred ash, was just ahead.

His eyes locked onto the long iron instrument used to tend the coals. It was nestled by the hearth, worn with use, and blackened by soot. Nick grabbed it firmly.

As soon as it touched the ash, a jolt of energy surged through his arm, like static electricity but sharper, more alive. He gasped softly at the sensation, his hand tingling.

For a moment, everything seemed to still. The rattling outside faded into the background, and Nick stood frozen by the hearth, listening to his pounding heartbeat. Was that the magic of the ash reacting to him? Or had he tripped a protection of some sort? Could the vicar have placed a ward over the hearth?

Nothing more happened.

Realizing he was standing still for far too long, Nick shook off the lingering sensation. There wasn't time to dwell on it. He quickly crouched down, pulling out the small leather pouch Ogden had given him. With a swift motion, he scooped up a generous amount of the ash, more than requested. He'd keep some for himself. He could think of half a dozen exciting rituals he could conduct, even excluding any permanent enhancements.

Blasphemy wouldn't let me… Oh, is that what that was? Idiot, of course, it was. Did I just trip a passive divine protection and barely avoided being turned into dust?

The bag felt warm in his hands as he tied it shut, his fingers still buzzing from the earlier jolt. He put the iron instrument back, making sure it was in the same place, and turned to leave, but he suddenly noticed the silence.

Nick's heart skipped a beat. The spell outside had dropped. He hadn't even realized it, but the noise had stopped. That meant the acolyte would be back any second.

Panic flared through him as he scanned the room. His eyes landed on the supply closet from which he had taken the broom, tucked into the corner of the hall, barely big enough to hold one person. With no other options, Nick dashed toward it, slipping inside just as the door creaked open.

He pressed his back against the wall of the cramped closet, barely daring to breathe. Through the thin wooden door, he heard the footsteps of the acolyte, followed by a heavier, slower tread.

"What in the name of the gods is going on?" Vicar Alexander's deep voice rumbled, full of irritation.

"I'm not sure, sir," the acolyte replied, breathless. "Something strange is happening outside, but it stopped all of a sudden. The benches were moving, and the windows—"

"Damn dust bunnies," the vicar grumbled, dismissing the acolyte's concerns. "I should have known better than to leave that to children. I'll have to send someone to inspect the grounds. You check on the hearth."

Nick felt his heart race even faster as he held his breath. He could hear the acolyte's footsteps growing closer, his shoes tapping against the stone floor as he made his way toward the hearth. Nick squeezed his eyes shut, desperately hoping he wouldn't be caught. Not when he was so close.

The acolyte paused near the fire, and for what felt like an eternity, there was nothing but the sound of crackling embers. Nick held his breath, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Then, at last, the acolyte spoke. "Everything looks in order here."

Nick let out a silent exhale as relief flooded through him.

"Good," the vicar replied, his voice fading as he moved toward the door. "Let's return to our duties. There's no need for more distractions today."

The footsteps receded, and the door to the temple hall creaked shut once more.

Nick waited a few more seconds before finally gulping in air he hadn't realized he desperately needed. His legs felt weak, but he forced himself to stay still a little longer, just to be sure Alexander was gone.

He'd done it. Now he just needed to wait for the acolyte to get distracted and he'd sneak out.

"Well now, this is a surprise."

Nick gave the old man the reply that he deserved. A silent, deadpan look that said exactly what he thought of his sense of humor.

Rather than dignifying that further, he dropped the bag of sacred ash on the counter—containing just half of what he had scooped up, of course. The rest was waiting for him in a secure location.

Though he seemed delighted that Nick had succeeded, Ogden didn't immediately open the bag. Instead, he looked at it like a venomous snake, and only after grabbing tongs from a nearby shelf did he lift it. "Yeah, that's Sashara, alright. Nasty woman."

With a chuckle, he dropped the entire bag in another black box and closed it with a click, exhaling slowly once it disappeared. Ogden's eyes glinted with satisfaction as he turned to Nick, his thin lips curling into a sly smile. "Dream Spider venom," he said, pulling a small, lacquered case from beneath the counter and setting it down with an exaggerated thud. "As promised."

Nick eyed the case, suspicious. The vial was there, nestled in soft fabric, but it was noticeably less than full—only half the amount he'd seen before.

He raised an eyebrow. "Half?"

The old alchemist gave a lazy shrug, adjusting the tiny glasses perched on his nose. "Half for half," he answered nonchalantly.

Nick couldn't help but smirk at that. The old man was sharper than most gave him credit for. Still, there was no anger in his tone, no accusation—just an acknowledgment, as if it were a game played between equals. Nick could live with that. "Fair enough," he said, reaching for the vial.

Before he could pocket it, Ogden pulled out a small, dark satchel, the material almost shimmering as it caught the light. "Take this, too," he said, holding it out. "It's made from Ghostgrass fiber. Completely inert to magic—no leaks, no unwanted reactions. The venom will stay safe in there."

Nick blinked in surprise but took the satchel without argument. He had never heard of ghostgrass, which just went to show how much he needed to learn about this world, but magically inert ingredients were incredibly rare and often very expensive. This was obviously a bribe to keep him quiet about the ash, but it was one he was more than happy to accept. "Thanks."

Ogden waved a hand dismissively, his scaly fingers tapping the counter. "Don't mention it. Just try not to kill yourself. It'd be a pity to lose a promising customer."

Nick chuckled, slipping the vial into the satchel and fastening it securely. "I'll keep that in mind."

With a nod of mutual understanding, he stepped outside the shop.

The sun was low in the sky now, casting orange rays across the cobbled path. Ogden's apprentice, Rhea, was hunched over in the front garden, tending to a patch of what looked like mandrake plants. Her choppy hair stood out in the fading light, catching the last rays of the sun like a flame.

She glanced up as Nick approached, narrowing her eyes when she saw the satchel hanging from his waist. She sniffed, wrinkling her nose in a way that made it clear she knew exactly what he was carrying.

"You alright?" Nick asked amusedly.

She straightened, wiping her hands on her apron, and gave him a look that was part concern, part exasperation. "I'd be better if I knew you weren't about to kill yourself with an ingredient that rare." Her voice was sharp but not unkind. Did she care more than she wanted to show? How cute.

Nick gave her a disarming smile, the same one he saw service workers use to placate irate customers all over his old world. "Don't worry. I'm more careful than I look."

Rhea rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "That's what they all say." She huffed, glancing once more at the satchel. "Just… don't be an idiot, alright? That stuff doesn't give second chances."

Nick raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'll be fine. You'll see me again soon enough."

She scoffed, clearly not convinced.

Nick chuckled softly, turning on his heel and making his way down the street. He had what he needed now. It was finally time to see what secrets Floria held.

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