Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai-Chapter 94 - 92

Nick forced his breath into the Stalking Gait to keep his composure—it wouldn’t do to let the fae frighten him into recklessness. His senses stretched outward, feeling for the slightest disturbance in the air, the faintest pulse of magic that might reveal the entity that had taken the sword.

Unfortunately, he found nothing. No matter how hard he forced himself to sift through the static created by the tiny particles of air in the ground, they disclosed nothing about where the creature had gone. It was as if it had never been there at all.

One major disadvantage of being the attackers this time is that they possess far better knowledge of the terrain. This is clearly fae magic, but I would find it difficult to track it even if it were a regular spell. I just don’t know where to search.

The men around him remained tense, their eyes darting between the empty space where the sword had disappeared and the shadows at the edge of the clearing. Although they weren’t novices, this was something they hadn’t anticipated. There’s a reason grandpa used to tell me to stay away from contract magic: fae can be incredibly difficult to handle, even when you have summoned them.

After every scout confirmed they could sense nothing, Eugene took control of the situation before it could devolve further, "Enough! Get back in formation. We’re moving out."

The order snapped the strike group out of their hesitation. Armor clanked, bows creaked, and the men scrambled back into their ranks. The pause had already lasted too long. They weren’t there to play guessing games.

Nick cast a final, wary glance at the ground before falling into step next to his father. He wasn’t comfortable with this situation. It was becoming quite clear that they would keep encountering obstacles, and they had not yet reached the true territory of the dungeon.

Every step felt more burdensome now. Every rustling leaf and distant bird call sounded just a bit too loud.

Nick maintained [Wind God’s Third Eye] active the whole time despite being unaccustomed to the overwhelming amount of information flooding his mind. He constantly scanned for anything that might be lurking in the brush.

Then, barely ten minutes into their resumed march, his entire body tensed. Something ripped open the air behind them.

The sensation was subtle but distinct—the same kind of disruption he’d felt when the Wraiths had attacked Arthur. A tear in space, something stepping through.

Nick didn’t hesitate. "Halt!" he roared, already raising his wand. Without waiting for confirmation, he fired.

A barrage of [Wind Bursts] tore through the forest, howling as they blasted through foliage, bending branches and scattering loose dirt.

The entire strike group froze at his shout, weapons drawn, desperately searching for the enemy.

A low cry came from the rift’s direction.

A large shape darted between the trees, moving with startling speed. Nick caught a flash of gray and brown, the shimmer of tough hide. He prepared to attack again, before his brain caught up with what his spell was telling him.

It wasn’t a monster. It was a Rock Deer.

The creature emitted a disgruntled huff as it stopped a hundred feet away, showing that his magic barely marked its stone-like skin. It cast the group a long, unimpressed glance before darting off into the undergrowth, disappearing as swiftly as it had arrived.

Silence followed.

Nick’s heart pounded. He clenched his wand tighter. That… wasn’t right. Some of the men exhaled, shifting uneasily. One of the younger adventurers let out a bitter laugh. "You almost gave me a heart attack over a deer?"

Nick whipped his head toward him, scowling. "That deer wasn’t there before."

The man scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Maybe you just missed it. You’re a good mage, I don’t think anyone can deny that now, but you’re not infallible." That his words rang with truth only made them more frustrating.

Before Nick could snap back, an older ranger interjected. "No. He’s right."

Everyone turned. The veteran scout had his arms crossed, face grim. "Rock Deer don’t appear out of nowhere like that. It wasn’t here when we passed this way earlier. It was placed here—summoned, sent, whatever you want to call it."

A ripple of unease passed through the group. Eugene exhaled through his nose. "Fae trickery."

The other elder scout hummed from his position near the back. "They’re testing us. Watching how we react. They won’t commit to a real attack yet until they are sure they have us all figured out."

The younger ranger, who had been silent so far, finally joined the discussion. "They want to exhaust us like we would a prey animal."

Nick frowned, the pieces clicking together. The Fae were wearing them down, making them react to small threats, chipping away at their focus. I have to wonder if they would have sent something else through the rift if I hadn’t noticed.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

That was a very real possibility. It would allow them to continue testing the strike group’s defenses without wasting resources. They were waiting for them to get careless.

"No more stopping unless absolutely necessary. We need to keep moving if we don’t want to be sitting ducks." Eugene grunted, and the march resumed.

The trees grew denser, their branches creating a nearly impenetrable canopy overhead, plunging the path into semi-twilight. The forest floor was damp, and the smell of moss and decay filled the air.

Then, a sound. The soft, familiar trickle of water.

Nick blinked as they approached a bubbling brook, the water clear and shimmering in the dim light.

Something about it immediately felt off. Nick focused his senses, stretching them outward.

The brook was real. The water was moving, rippling, carrying tiny leaves downstream. It wasn’t an illusion. But something else was wrong.

Nick glanced at the men around him—and his stomach dropped.

They were walking straight toward it, as if they couldn’t see it. None of them hesitated, not even Eugene. Their expressions were blank, and their eyes unfocused.

A ding echoed in his mind.

<table border="1" class="chapter-table" style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 46.7739%">

<tbody>

<tr>

<td style="width: 100%"><span>[Blasphemy] is protecting your mind from an ongoing mental attack.</span></td>

</tr>

<tr>

<td style="width: 100%">

<p style="margin-bottom: 0"><span>[Blasphemy] is protecting your mind from the effects of a Domain.</span></p>

</td>

</tr>

</tbody>

</table>

Nick’s breath hitched as he realized they had finally reached the dungeon.

He could see it now. The thin mist he’d sensed before was present here too, though surprisingly hard to notice in the sparse light. He was so preoccupied with sudden attacks that he hadn’t even noticed when the ambient mana started to gradually change, and now they were in the thick of it.

"STOP!" Nick yelled. His voice rang through the trees, sharp as a whip crack.

Nothing happened. The men kept walking.

Nick chose to abandon subtlety since he had no time for it. He lifted his wand and unleashed a powerful shockwave of wind.

The blast rippled through the group, breaking their momentum and sending several men roughly on their asses.

Eugene blinked, coming to an abrupt stop. Others staggered, as if suddenly awakening from a dream. The priests were the first to shake off the compulsion and begin praying, though it didn’t seem to accomplish much beyond calming them.

Nick didn’t waste time weaving a wind current around those who had yet to wake, dragging them back. "Away from the water! Now!"

Eugene’s expression darkened as he realized what had happened. He grabbed the nearest soldier and pulled him back, seeming to need just a little help to break free.

The others needed more support, and Nick provided it, holding some of them upright as their minds battled against the foreign intrusion, while others only needed a second shock to shake it off completely.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then finally, Eugene turned to Nick. His face was pale, and he appeared shaken by what had nearly happened. "That was almost bad."

Discover exclusive content at novelbuddy

Nick nodded, exhaling shakily. "Yeah. It was." No one argued this time, as they all knew just how close they had come to falling in a trap.

Unfortunately, they weren’t given any more time, as the brook started to churn.

The waters twisted and roiled, as if boiling from within, frothing and crashing against the banks in a wild, unnatural turbulence. The rhythmic trickle of water had vanished, replaced by an ominous gurgling.

R𝑒ad lat𝒆st chapt𝒆rs at free𝑤ebnovel.com Only.

Nick barely had time to pull the last soldier away before they began to rise.

Figures crawled from the depths, pulling themselves up the banks in grotesque silence.

Their bodies were molded from strands of dark seaweed and sandy clay, twisted into human forms. Their movements were jerky and wrong, as if something was trying to mimic the motions of men but failing just slightly.

And then Nick noticed that they weren’t just humanoid. They were them.

Each warrior, each adventurer, even the priests—every single one apart from Nick himself had a distorted twin stepping onto dry land, its shape molded into a warped mockery of their own.

Eugene’s eyes flickered across the creatures before his jaw set. "Another trick. They think they can rattle us."

With a single swing of his sword, flames burst forth in a scorching arc of fire that roared from the blade.

The attack instantly obliterated two of the clay creatures, their bodies cracking and collapsing into steaming puddles. The water behind them hissed and bubbled, rising in a thick cloud of vapor.

Still, despite the unusual nature of the enemy, these were skilled fighters. The adventurers reacted first, immediately closing in before the creatures could build any momentum.

A heavily armored warrior with a spiked mace slammed his weapon down onto his twin’s head. The clay mockery crumpled at the impact, its torso folding in on itself, but it didn’t die—it simply writhed, trying to reform.

Another adventurer, dual-wielding curved knives, hacked into his double’s limbs. The movements were crude, vicious, and most of all, effective. They were not scions of storied martial houses, but they had built a powerful arsenal of skills, and they wouldn’t be defeated by mere illusions and golems.

The soldiers went next, operating like a well-oiled machine. Three men engaged a single foe, interlocking their shields to corral their enemy into position before a fourth thrust a glowing spear through its chest. The clay creature shuddered, but it didn’t fall immediately. Its form shifted as if trying to repair itself.

The soldiers didn’t let it. The moment it faltered, their swords came down together, cleaving it apart.

The rangers at the rear were already firing. Enhanced arrows, tipped with flame and piercing magic, streaked through the battlefield. Each shot tore through the clay creatures, whose bodies reacted poorly to the enchanted projectiles.

The priests added to the chaos, raising their hands and unleashing bursts of holy fire. The flames latched onto the creatures like oil, burning hotter than they should have.

Nick stretched his senses wide with [Wind God’s Third Eye]. He felt it all: every movement, every shift in battle, every cry of exertion or pain.

The moment someone was at risk of being overwhelmed, he was there to help. A twist of his wand, and a roaring [Wind Burst] crashed into a clay monster that had nearly blindsided a distracted archer.

Another flick of his wrist—and a second blast intercepted a struggling swordsman’s copy, sending it tumbling into a priest’s waiting flames.

Nick’s mind throbbed in warning, but he ignored it. This was what he was meant to do.

His father was moving now, carving a path of destruction toward his own copy. It was bigger than the others—taller, denser, and stronger. Where the lesser creatures shuddered under flame and steel, this one advanced undeterred.

It swung a heavy clay fist, and Eugene barely dodged in time, rolling under the blow before bringing his sword up in a scalding arc.

Flames bit into the thing’s torso— but unlike its kin, it didn’t react.

Eugene narrowed his eyes, evidently taking it as a challenge.

A thrust to the ribs—nothing. A slash across the throat—nothing. A downward strike to the skull—the head cracked, but the creature didn’t falter.

Nick clenched his teeth. It was tanking blows that should have ended it, and with how quickly they were moving, he couldn’t find an opportunity to help his father. Then, with great speed, it lashed out.

Eugene barely blocked in time. The impact sent him skidding backward, boots dragging furrows in the damp earth.

He adjusted his grip, pumping more power into his blade, which flared brighter, hotter. "Let’s see how much heat you can take. I’ll cook you like a pot."

With a burst of speed that eclipsed what he’d shown so far, he closed the distance and drove his sword deep into the monster’s chest.

For a moment, Nick thought it would be enough. The same attack had taken down a fae, after all, and the dryad hadn’t been able to endure it for even a moment.

The clay creature shuddered, then melted. Its body collapsed into a flood of shifting mud, sloshing and reforming before Eugene like living tar.

Nick’s breath hitched. No.

Eugene barely had time to react before the mud wrapped around his arms, his chest, and his throat.

Nick saw his father’s eyes widen—And then the clay consumed him.