Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 448

The threat echoed across the clearing. It was meant as a statement of certainty, something the man thought should have made Nick reconsider his next move, but compared to what he’d been through, it felt like a bad joke.

The leader wielded his political support like an impenetrable shield, completely unaware that titles and merchant coin meant nothing in the deep woods.

They had come into his territory, damaged his family’s property, provoked a Prestige-tier beast, and then actively tried to kill his team to save themselves.

There was no room for negotiation.

Nick didn't bother offering a verbal rebuttal, simply expanding his [Territory].

The pressure of his soul crashed down on the clearing with overwhelming force. Three adventurers gasped, their knees collapsing instantly under the immense weight, and they hit the dirt, unable to cycle their mana or draw a full breath.

For the Behemoth, it had been a nuisance, something that slowed it down just enough for the mortals to be able to react to its attacks. For these men, it was a death sentence, one they could not escape, no matter how much they struggled.

Nick was somewhat surprised to see, however, that the leader managed to stay on his feet. He clenched his teeth as a protective amulet on his chest lit up. A dome of translucent energy encased him, pushing back against the pressure.

“How dare you?!” he roared like a young master learning the ways of the world for the first time, forcing mana into his legs and raising his pristine sword. “You will pay for this! The Consortium will—“

Again proving himself cannier than he looked, he lunged forward without finishing the sentence, launching a desperate thrust aimed straight at Nick’s throat.

Nick didn't even bother channeling through the Shard of Human Ambition, raising his left hand and pinching his fingers together as kinetic mana responded to his call.

The space around the leader twisted violently as enough force to crush a boulder suddenly pressed against him. The dome shattered like fragile glass, unable to withstand a direct hit after already enduring [Territory], and the sudden collapse of the barrier threw the man off balance entirely, his sword thrust veering wildly to the side, slicing harmlessly through the empty air.

Gaelen moved to intercept and stop him, but Nick raised a hand to halt him.

"He tried to steal from my family," he said, his voice cold and perfectly even. "He damaged our property. He is mine.”

For a moment, it seemed like Gaelen would refuse him, but with a grunt, he stepped back, knowing the importance of taking revenge with one’s own hands.

Nick took his time walking up to the man, enjoying the fearful way his eyes tracked his approach. Once he was close enough to hear his ragged breath, he pressed his open palm against the center of the silver breastplate and used the unfiltered force from his pride, holding back just enough to ensure it wouldn’t end too quickly.

A pulse blasted from his hand, denting the high-tier alloy instantly, cracking the man's ribs with a sickening crunch and launching him backward. The man flew through the air and crashed heavily into the thick trunk of a tree, the breath leaving his lungs in a ragged, desperate wheeze.

He tried to stand, his eyes wide with a sudden awareness of his mortality, and frantically reached for another artifact secured at his belt.

Nick didn't give him a chance to activate it. He crafted a blade of wind, thin and unimaginably sharp, fueled by his absolute certainty in his own justice, and swung his arm horizontally, dismissing the threat with a simple wave.

The wind blade crossed the clearing in an instant, cutting off the offending hand at the wrist.

A ragged scream left the man as he collapsed on the ground once more.

Nick stood still, watching and waiting to see if he would do anything else.

Unfortunately, it seemed like that was it. He could sense despair clouding every bit of rational thought as he bled freely from his stump, and he decided he’d gone far enough.

Another careless gesture saw the man's head separated from his shoulders, tumbling into the dirt with a dull thud. His body stood rigid against the tree for a brief moment before collapsing forward, spilling bright red blood over the exposed roots.

Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the panicked, muffled whimpering of the three remaining adventurers, who were still pinned to the ground by Nick's spiritual pressure.

"Strip them," he ordered, turning his back on the corpse.

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Gaelen grinned with a predatory gleam in his amber eyes. He moved quickly, relieving the paralyzed survivors of their spatial artifacts, enchanted weapons, and protective amulets hanging around their necks, tossing the collected loot into a growing heap at Nick's feet.

"Please," the injured mage begged from the base of a nearby tree, pale with terror. "We were just following his orders! We have gold!”

“Oh, do not worry, we’ll get to that. This is merely a tax for the damage you caused to the crystal forest," Nick replied smoothly, his tone entirely conversational as he stored the valuable loot within his own ring. "And a fine for your complicity in attempted murder. You are lucky I am feeling generous today.”

I’ll get everything else from you once we return to Floria. This isn’t over yet.

At his signal, Rhea pulled a length of treated rope from her pack and moved through the group, binding their wrists with knots.

The alchemical soak on the rope was specifically designed to resist mana flow, ensuring they wouldn’t attempt any desperate spellcasting or deploy hidden tools during the trek back.

It wasn't anything like the chains that had bound Hone, but it would slow down the adventurers, giving Nick time to step in if they tried their luck.

Only after she was done did he release the pressure, finally allowing them to breathe. The sound of their ragged gulps was a balm to his ears, and he had to stop himself from crushing them again just to feel their despair.

There are more important things to do. I can take my time with them later.

"Get up," Gaelen barked, hauling the mage to his feet by the collar of his tunic.

The three survivors hurriedly climbed up, offering no resistance at all. The fight had been completely beaten out of them. They had stormed into the Green Ocean expecting to conquer it with their superior funding, and now their leader was dead, their wealth was seized, and they were chained as prisoners to a frontier lord who had proven himself merciless.

Despite their stupidity, they knew to stay silent for now. Their only hope was to return to civilization and seek help from their backers. Fighting at this point would only lead to a quick death.

"We need to hurry," Elia urged, looking anxiously toward the east. "The repelling artifact still drove a significant portion of the wildlife toward the town.”

Nick expanded his senses, extending his awareness through the ether, and realized she was right. The Behemoth's death helped calm the environment, but the initial panic caused by the intruders had already set off a dangerous chain of events.

Miles ahead of them, he felt a chaotic gathering of wild energy, where a stampede was actively forming. Packs of Moss Wolves, dire bears, and lesser plant-horrors were joining in a mindless frenzy, rushing straight toward the largest mana concentration, the town of Floria.

"A wave is building," Nick confirmed, his expression tightening. "Keep the prisoners moving. If they fall behind or try to run, cut them down.”

The bound adventurers paled dramatically and forced their exhausted legs into a frantic jog, terrified of being left alone in the dark woods without their armor.

They sprinted, navigating the terrain smoothly as Nick blasted anything that resembled an obstacle into smithereens. He prepared, precisely calculating how much mana he needed to cast a wide-area disruption spell to break the front line of the stampede before it reached the loggers, and how far he could push it if the wave grew even larger.

For now, it was less than a tenth of what once threatened Floria, but these situations tended to worsen as more beasts got caught up in the frenzy.

Suddenly, the temperature in the forest spiked.

A wave of intense heat swept over the trees, instantly drying the damp ground and causing the broad leaves of the ferns to curl and blacken. The ether itself seemed to ignite, burning with an intensity that completely overshadowed the stampede's chaotic signatures.

Two miles ahead, a towering pillar of golden-orange flame burst into the sky, illuminating the forest with the brilliant hues of dawn, as if a second sun had been born.

The chaotic signatures Nick had been tracking disappeared instantly, snuffed out like candles in a hurricane.

"What was that?" Rhea asked, shielding her eyes from the distant, blinding glare.

"Salvation," Nick murmured, recognizing the unmistakable flavor of that particular holy fire. It was a signature he hadn't sensed so strongly in months, but one he would never forget.

They slowed down, approaching the blast's epicenter cautiously. A few minutes later, they entered a wide, blackened clearing that had been completely stripped of vegetation.

The ground was blanketed in fine, white ash. Dozens of monster corpses—wolves, treants, and scaled boars—lay scattered across the clearing, burnt into nearly unrecognizable husks. The sheer scale of the destruction was awe-inspiring, carried out with such precision that the surrounding ancient trees remained completely untouched by the inferno.

Prelate Marthas stood at the heart of the chaos.

The Grand Exorcist of the Burning Path was a truly imposing figure, towering at a full seven feet. His heavily muscled body was draped in flowing crimson robes that fluttered softly in the rising heat currents. His dark skin served as a canvas for the detailed, glowing orange-and-gold tattoos that stretched across his bare arms and chest, depicting sigils of his patron goddess, Sashara.

Though he was only the second-highest-ranking priest in all of the West, Marthas wielded raw power that bordered on the monstrous. He was an Ascended, a living weapon of divine retribution, and this pathetic monster wave could do nothing before his terrible might.

To this day, Nick wasn’t sure what he was doing on the frontier. The dungeon had definitely been a draw, and expanding her divine domain over a part of Floria showed he had plans underway, but even those would have been worthwhile pursuits for a Prestige-tier priest, Marthas far surpassed them.

Yet, he was still here.

He turned to face them as they entered the clearing and offered a fatherly smile, his hands clasped comfortably behind his back. He projected an aura of peace, instantly calming the nervous prisoners.

Nick knew better. Beneath that facade lay a terrifying, burning rage and a fanatical devotion that could easily destroy cities. The ether around the priest vibrated with a barely restrained desire to purge all impurities from the world.

Marthas was a man who constantly kept a raging inferno on a very short leash.

"Ah, Nicholas, welcome back,” he greeted, his voice a deep, resonant baritone. "And the young ladies, Rhea and Elia. I am pleased to see you both in good health. The forest seemed unusually agitated this afternoon.”

"Prelate," Nick replied, offering a respectful nod. "We were tracking the source of the disturbance. It appears you handled the fallout before we could arrive.”

Marthas chuckled, a warm, rich sound that seemed at odds with the charred corpses surrounding him. "I was enjoying my evening meditation when I sensed the panic in the woods. It is the duty of the strong to shield the flock, is it not? A minor exertion on my part saved your hardworking guardsman, Darien, quite a headache.”

The priest’s eyes then shifted to Gaelen. He silently studied him, noticing the dark residue clinging to his aura and the cursed blade resting heavily at his hip.

The fanatic rage beneath Marthas's skin flared for a brief moment, burning hot enough to make Nick's survival instincts scream in warning, before the priest forcibly buried the emotion under his calm smile.

"You walk a very precarious path, young man," Marthas said to Gaelen, his tone soft enough to seem dangerous. "In my youth, I was also an ambitious, reckless mage. I made terrible mistakes in the pursuit of power before I finally found purpose and discipline in Sashara’s service. Do not let the shadows you wield become the master of your soul, or you may find yourself in need of purification.”

Gaelen stiffened, clearly recognizing the threat. He offered a rigid, formal nod, carefully keeping away from the hilt of his sword. "I will keep your counsel in mind, Your Holiness.”

Marthas smiled, seemingly satisfied with the answer. He turned his attention back to Nick. "I must return to the temple. The evening prayers require my presence, and I loathe being late. But it has been far too long since we spoke, Nicholas. Come visit me for tea tomorrow afternoon. We have much to discuss."