Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai-Chapter 93 - 91

Nick thrust his wand forward, and the forest howled.

Wind surged around him, and the elemental force coalesced into something massive. Unlike his usual [Wind Blast], this wasn’t just a massive push from above—it was a violent storm, condensed and controlled solely through his mind.

He felt the strain immediately, as this was beyond anything he had cast before. Greater than even his first successful cast of [Windburst].

The air trembled as the winds obeyed him, twisting into a spiraling vortex that began tearing through the trees, upturning them from their very roots.

Instead of a single downburst, he had transformed Ingrid’s spell into a howling tornado. It hadn’t required much effort, as the spell was already primed for massive amounts of damage, but he was using it while keeping [Wind God’s Third Eye] active, which granted him incredible detail. Combined with [Parsimonia], that meant he could control every ounce of force he was exerting.

The tornado tore forward with a deafening roar. The first goblins never understood what was happening.

They were torn from the ground and thrown high into the air like ragdolls. The spiraling wind sent them crashing into the trees, slamming against rocks, and shattering their bodies on impact.

The storm’s sheer volume drowned out their shrieks as those not caught in the initial surge tried to scramble away, but the tornado was relentless. Smaller trees were ripped from the earth, and their trunks were hurled through the battlefield like battering rams. One smashed through a cluster of goblins, crushing them instantly.

Another hurtled toward the hobgoblin.

The creature barely had time to react before a falling oak slammed into it, sending it sprawling onto its back.

Nick felt the pull on his mana reserves, as the spell consumed massive amounts of energy. Even with [Parsimonia] dulling the cost, even with his mana reserves expanded from his training, he knew he couldn’t sustain this for long.

But he didn’t need to. The tornado had already done its work. By the time the winds died down, the battlefield was unrecognizable. The goblins were gone. Obliterated. The only one left standing—barely—was the hobgoblin.

The system chimed.

You have defeated 27 goblins!

27,000 EXP gained!

But there was no time to celebrate, because through the settling dust, the hobgoblin stirred.

Slowly, shakily, it pushed itself up, using its enchanted sword as a crutch. Its eyes were wide with shock.

For the first time, the creature looked at Nick—not with anger, not with rage, but with fear. It could not comprehend what had just happened. Neither could the rest of the strike force.

Nick felt their eyes on him, as the silence stretched. No one had expected him to be capable of something like that, but that did not mean no one took advantage of the moment.

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He had changed the entire battle’s momentum, and Eugene knew better than to let the chance go to waste.

A fiery step closed the distance in an instant. The hobgoblin barely had time to raise its sword before Eugene was upon it. He touched the ground, producing a faint hiss as the churned earth melted, and before anyone could realize what was happening, he swung.

Eugene’s blade carved through its neck, leaving behind a trail of burning air.

The creature’s head hit the ground before its body knew it was dead.

You have contributed to the defeat of a Hobgoblin Captain!

6,500 EXP gained!

You have leveled up!

As the system chimed for everyone, the spell on the battlefield broke. A wave of clarity washed over the strike team as the tension snapped.

The men cheered.

Nick exhaled deeply, feeling exhaustion set in as the aftershock of the spell’s immense power caught up to him. His legs trembled, yet he managed to stay upright through sheer stubbornness. He didn’t even have half his mana left, but he wasn’t accustomed to spending so much of it at once. That’s something I need to improve. I never thought I’d face this problem, but I need to learn how to cast large amounts without suffering from the aftereffects.

The adventurers and soldiers around him gave him weird looks even as they celebrated. There was no suspicion or hostility, but something had shifted.

They had seen what he could do.

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Nick had already accepted that the truth of his might would come out eventually, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so dramatically and so soon.

Before anyone could say anything, Eugene stepped forward. His eyes swept across the warriors—stern, unwavering. With a single look, he made it clear that no one was allowed to question his son. And if he too was looking a bit shaken up by the display, well, Nick could give his father a few moments to come to terms with what he’d done.

The System notifications flared in Nick’s vision as he took a deep breath, trying to push through the last remnants of battle-born adrenaline.

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Level Up! You have reached Level 25.

Nick grinned, feeling a surge of satisfaction. Twenty-five, that’s something alright.

He was advancing rapidly. The gap between him and his future peers in the big cities, who had access to tutors and resources he could only imagine, was becoming smaller and smaller.

He’d need better enemies soon.

That thought stirred something deep within him. He wasn’t just chasing power for power’s sake. He was tired of fear, of hesitation. Of having to care what others thought of him.

He wanted to reach a point where no one could look down on him—where he didn’t have to justify his presence, where he didn’t need anyone’s approval.

Looking around, it was clear things had shifted.

The men no longer saw him as a kid allowed here only because of his father’s authority.

Some looked at him with genuine curiosity. Others nodded in respect, acknowledging that he had earned his place. A few even gave him worried glances, as if re-evaluating just how much of a threat he could be.

Good. Let them stew on it.

Nick had no intention of explaining himself. Instead, he turned away from the group and walked toward the fallen goblins.

He pulled out his dagger and began cutting into the bodies, looking for something specific. If these goblins were strong enough to keep fighting through his spells, then there was a good chance…

Nick dug deeper into a goblin’s chest cavity, working quickly through the mess of green flesh and sinew. He ignored the stickiness of the blood and focused.

A moment later, his dagger scraped against something hard. His fingers curled around it, and he wiggled it free. As expected, it was a monster core.

It was small—about the size of a marble, glowing with faint green light. It wasn’t much more powerful than what he already had, but it was just one of many.

Nick held it up, letting the light reflect off its surface as he felt his father’s presence approaching from behind. Eugene hummed in surprise while he eyed the core. "Hah. Of course they’d start forming cores too. The dungeon’s mana is thick enough for that, but I’ve never heard of a goblin with one."

He turned toward the rest of the strike team. "Check every body for cores," he ordered. "We won’t stop every time we defeat a monster, but we need a break after that battle. Better make it productive."

The adventurers and soldiers didn’t hesitate. No one liked carving up smelly corpses, but loot was loot. I bet the majority of them agreed to come because of that. Greed is a wonderful motivator.

Nick wiped his dagger on the nearest body before standing up, as his father motioned for him to follow. "Let’s check on the hobgoblin," Eugene said as Nick fell into step beside him.

As they approached the headless body, Nick’s gaze flicked around, scanning the others’ expressions. Yes, he didn’t care what they thought of him, but he was far from strong enough to ignore the consequences of his own actions.

Eugene must have noticed his searching gaze because he smirked. "Don’t worry. The majority of the spoils will go to you," he reassured. "You handled most of the horde."

Nick nodded absently, but in truth, his mind was elsewhere. There was something else he wanted, something far more valuable than the cores.

He could get those from any monster, and while additional fuel for his rituals was always useful, it couldn’t compare to the unique object still clutched by the hobgoblin’s clawed hands.

He was interested in the enchanted sword, and he was going to take it.

Nick crouched by the hobgoblin’s body, plunging his dagger into its chest as he worked through muscle and bone. It was an unpleasant task, but he was used to the sensation after dressing helping at Ogden’s.

He ignored the residual stink of burned flesh and charred leather and focused on where the highest concentration of mana seemed to be. He had learned by now that the core was never exactly where you expected it—sometimes embedded in the chest, sometimes lower, closer to the stomach, other times even behind the spine.

This one, however, was particularly well-hidden. Damn, it’s deep.

Nick carefully adjusted his grip, feeling the tip of his dagger scrape against something hard. There.

Slowly, he eased the blade in, careful not to damage the core in the process. Unlike regular goblins, this one was tougher. Its body contained more compact mana, which likely meant the core was stronger too.

After a few tense moments, he finally pried it free.

As expected, the core was significantly larger than the others. Instead of a dull green glow like the lesser goblins, this one pulsed with a deep, vibrant red.

Nick wiped some of the remaining gore off its sleeve and held it up for his father to see.

"Looks like a good one," Eugene murmured from behind him. "Keep it, we’ll find a lot more of this stuff before we are finished."

Nick smiled in thanks and pocketed the core, turning his attention to the murmurs around the battlefield. He was unsurprised to find that the men were still talking about his exploit. Allowing his passive air sense to pull in their words, Nick’s lips twitched as he heard their disbelief.

"Did you see that? A single spell, and the entire clearing flipped upside down."

"No kid could come up with something like that on their own. You think the Captain got someone from the capital taught him?"

"Who has the kind of coin to afford a mage tutor that strong? That must have cost a fortune."

"Hah. The Crowleys are an old family. There are worse ways for a noble to spend their wealth, I’ll tell you that much. At least the kid is taking advantage of it."

"Yeah. If I could afford a tutor like that for my son, I’d do the same."

Nick snorted, shaking his head in amusement. He relayed the whispers to his father, who chuckled dryly.

"They think I brought in a high-class mage just for you and somehow kept him hidden?" Eugene asked, amusement coloring his voice.

Nick smirked. "Apparently, I have a secret master somewhere."

Both of them knew that was far from the truth.

Nick had no formal tutor, no grand magus to teach him. His magic came from sheer trial and error, and a very dangerous amount of independent study. The only "teacher" he had was a single session with the Prelate—who had nothing to do with wind magic.

But let them think what they want. If anything, Nick preferred it this way. If people believed his strength came from outside influences, they wouldn’t look too closely at how he was developing.

Just as Eugene was about to make another comment, something changed.

A sharp hum vibrated through the air. The discarded hobgoblin’s sword—left where it had fallen—began to glow.

A pulse of energy rolled through the clearing, making every hair on Nick’s body stand. Instantly, everyone’s instincts screamed at them.

Danger.

The men scrambled, stepping back from the glowing blade.

The ground beneath it cracked open.

A hand—pale, inhumanly long—shot out from the earth, clamping around the sword’s hilt.

Nick barely had time to react before it yanked the weapon down—disappearing entirely.

Silence fell over the clearing.

The only sound was the last bits of dirt falling into the hole where the blade had once rested, before it too closed up.

"What… the hell was that?" someone whispered.

Eugene’s expression darkened. He stepped forward, approaching the empty spot where the sword had been. Carefully, he knelt and touched the dirt.

There was no sign of movement, no tunnel, no lingering presence. It was as if the hand had never existed.