Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 432

Osmod remained on his knees beside the cot, trembling as he gripped Epistula’s cold fingers, seemingly unaware of everything around him.

Nick didn’t need his empathetic senses to realize he was trapped in a cycle of his own perceived inadequacy, completely consumed by the failure he believed had cost his fiancée her life.

Unfortunately, there was no spell to heal this kind of wound, at least not without causing more harm by tampering with his memory.

He also knew that offering empty platitudes about her being in a better place or claiming that time healed all wounds would only insult his grief.

Just as he was about to leave, Osmod finally looked up, and something in his eyes prompted Nick to speak. He looked like a drowning man, desperately searching for a lifeline, and although Nick probably wasn’t the best person to handle such a fragile moment, he was the only one around who could.

“You killed the demons who did this, didn't you?” He asked.

Osmod let out a bitter laugh, turning his eyes back to the white sheet. "And what good did it do? She’s still gone. I was too slow.”

"Fighting a creature of the Abyss isn’t easy, Osmod," Nick replied, knowing from experience how true that was. “I can tell you almost burned yourself out again trying. While it won’t bring her back, take comfort in knowing you made the abominations pay.”

"It doesn't matter," Osmod whispered, shaking his head, but a spark of life flickered in his eyes, urging Nick to press further.

"It matters to her memory," he corrected, keeping his tone firm but completely free of malice.

"The World, the Heavens, the Sea of Souls, it doesn’t matter what you believe in, but what’s certain is that it reclaims everyone eventually. We are all just borrowing time and mana from the earth. Blaming yourself for her death is an insult to the fight she put up. She didn't die because you were slow, but because Hone betrayed this city and brought monsters into our halls. Direct your anger where it belongs.”

Osmod finally lifted his head fully. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and Nick doubted he’d be okay anytime soon.

His words were harsh, lacking the soft padding of traditional comfort, but they offered something his fellow apprentice desperately needed: a solid anchor in a sea of guilt.

"She fought until the very end," Osmod said, his voice cracking. "She exhausted herself trying to protect the younger students in the hall and took one last demon out with her when she knew it was over.”

"Then carry that forward," Nick told him. "Don't let her final moments be overshadowed by your regrets. Honor the mage she was.”

Osmod looked down at the silver engagement ring on her finger. He gently squeezed her hand one last time before resting it on the cot, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and straightening his posture just slightly.

It wasn’t much, but it was the best Nick could do for him.

Giving the man a quick squeeze on the shoulder, he stepped back, noticing two people approaching from the main aisle.

He intercepted Duke Anton and Tholm a dozen yards from the alcove, wanting to give Osmod the privacy his mourning needed.

The Duke paused, glancing at the white sheet in the alcove before settling back on Nick. He looked physically worn, clearly having been involved in the initial fight to regain control of the lower floors, but there was a solidity in his build that made it hard to see him as weakened.

In fact, he looked in better spirits than the last time Nick saw him, as if having a tangible enemy to fight had revitalized his spirit.

"My knights have secured all the elevators, and the Tower faculty is sweeping the last of the floors, just to be sure we didn’t miss anything,” Anton said, crossing his arms with a clink of steel. “And Archmage Tholm briefed me on the events at the apex. I must admit that when you first came to me, I didn’t have many expectations that you would succeed, despite your past performances, but you exceeded them all and managed to clear the way.”

"I did what was necessary, Your Grace," Nick replied evenly. It was the third time in less than an hour that he had to repeat himself, and he was starting to fear it wouldn’t be the last.

“As expected from a noble scion. But regardless of your motivations, Alluria stands today because of your actions," Anton continued. "The Duchy recognizes its debts, and I can assure you, we will not forget this.”

He gave Tholm a brief glance, then turned and strode back toward the center of the lobby, where he was immediately swarmed by a squad of reporting knights and officers.

Tholm looked at Nick, his weathered face showing a rare hint of fatigue. “I believe I already told you to go to the healers, Nicholas. Your body might be stable, but I can tell the damage you suffered goes deeper than that. You have done enough for one night.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Nick didn't bother arguing further, having already done everything he needed to do. He left his mentor behind and moved through the crowded aisles until he found an available healer—a stern-faced woman in the blue robes of the Tower faculty.

She ran a diagnostic light over his chest and arms, her brow furrowing at the results, even as Nick forced himself to let the foreign mana in.

"You have deep tissue burns and minor lacerations, and your blood toxicity remains high,” she noted as she applied a cooling poultice to his arm that immediately numbed the throbbing pain. “I don’t even want to imagine your previous condition, considering how much damage those can heal. The main concern, however, is your spiritual fatigue. You have channeled forces far beyond your natural limits, and although your mana coils are still structurally sound—which is remarkable—they are extremely inflamed.”

She paused for a moment, clearly weighing how blunt to be, before finally settling on something. “You have drunk too many potions for me to prescribe anything, and I suspect you might have even managed to damage your soul. Complete rest is the best aid I can give you at this point.”

"How long?" Nick asked, sitting heavily on a narrow canvas cot.

"No spellcasting for at least a week. Two weeks would be better, but I doubt you’ll follow that,” the healer ordered, wrapping clean linen around his arm. "Your coils need time to settle and filter out the strange power you absorbed. Rest well, eat nutritious foods, and avoid any stress.”

Once she finished her work, she moved on to the next patient, while Nick lay back on the thin mattress, setting the Shard beside him.

He looked up at the vaulted ceiling of the Grand Lobby. Across the room, the first pale light of dawn shone through the broken stained-glass windows, washing the white marble in a golden light.

The adrenaline he’d been running on finally ebbed, leaving behind a heavy exhaustion he could no longer deny. Nick closed his eyes, and the sounds of the triage center faded into a dull hum as he drifted into a deep sleep.

Xander’s estate was quiet, shielded from the restless energy of the city, and Nick had made the most of it to rest over the past week.

He sat at the more casual breakfast table, taking a bite of his sausage and savoring its rich flavor.

The past few days were a blur of sleep, good meals, and deep exhaustion.

True to the healer’s warning, Nick had completely abstained from drawing mana, letting his bruised soul heal at its own pace. At last, the stretching sensation that had troubled him after hosting the genius loci disappeared.

A strange sense of solidity took its place. His soul space had permanently expanded after absorbing the massive influx of power, making him feel heavier and more grounded in the physical world, yet at the same time more connected to the subtle flows of the ether.

His status screen remained largely the same, but he could sense there had been a significant, qualitative change—something even the all-seeing System wasn’t sure how to measure—and he would need some time to analyze it.

Across the table, Devon was eating a plate of eggs and cured meats. His brother had spent the week running between the manor and the knight barracks, helping with the city’s recovery efforts, but had taken the morning off at his master’s insistence.

That wasn’t a common occurrence at all, so they all suspected something important would happen, though Xander hadn’t mentioned what it might be.

Sonya sat to his right, elegantly slicing a piece of fruit. She had been a calming presence all week, making sure Nick had everything he needed for his recovery while smoothly handling the increased security around the estate. Although he could sense a slight discomfort at sitting with them despite her role as a Maid, it was clear she was trying to get past it.

That’s good. If she wants to stay with Dev, she’ll need to be prepared to become Lady Crowley someday in the distant future.

“I heard that the Tower is expected to officially reopen its lower floors tomorrow," Devon mentioned, swallowing a bite of food. "The faculty has finished purging the residual taint from the lecture halls where the worst of the fights happened, and the sooner they get things back into the usual swing, the better everyone will feel.”

“The Grandmaster said it is a testament to the Tower Master's skill that the structure didn't collapse entirely," Sonya observed after finishing her bite. "The city owes a great debt to the loyalists.”

Nick nodded but set his fork down as he sensed a shift in the ambient mana outside the manor.

While he was interested in learning more about the reconstruction efforts, since he’d been stuck inside for the past week, a powerful, deeply familiar presence had just crossed the estate's outer wards, and he was getting the impression he’d learn a lot more very soon.

A minute later, Xander entered the dining room. The Grandmaster was dressed in a simple linen shirt and dark trousers, looking much more relaxed than he had during the battle, though his eyes still remained sharp.

"Nicholas," Xander said, resting a hand on the back of an empty chair. "Tholm is here, and I think it’s time we had a talk about the current state of affairs.”

Nick pushed his chair back and stood up, feeling a subtle tension settle into his shoulders. "I'll be right out.”

Devon and Sonya shared a glance, and Sonya rose gracefully from her seat. "I will bring a fresh pot of tea to the patio.”

Nick followed as Xander walked through the manor's spacious hallways and exited through the glass doors that led to the enclosed backyard. The area was a carefully maintained sanctuary of exotic plants, protected from the wind by tall stone walls.

It didn’t see much use most of the time, since the Grandmaster wasn’t the type to host parties, but Nick had enjoyed taking his breaks here.

Tholm stood near a circular iron table, admiring a cluster of blooming winter roses. The old man wore his traditional robes, and not a hair looked out of place, but his posture lacked its usual imposing rigidity.

He looked tired.

Clearly, the battle against Elias Hone had taken a toll even on a mage of his skill, despite him being too in control to let it show to anyone who hadn’t spent months learning to read him.

"Nicholas," Tholm greeted him as Nick and Xander approached the table.

"Archmage," Nick replied, taking a seat across from the older man. Xander remained standing, leaning casually against a marble column.

Sonya arrived a minute later, carrying a silver tray with a steaming teapot and porcelain cups. She poured the tea gracefully and, at a subtle nod from Xander, took a seat beside Nick.

Huh, looks like this might be big.

“We have spent the week dismantling Hone's remaining infrastructure in the city," Tholm started. "His assets have been seized, and his sympathizers are being quietly removed from positions of influence. The threat he posed to Alluria is neutralized, and we are working on inflicting as much pain upon his House as possible.”

"But the political theater isn’t over," Nick guessed, reading the tension in the Archmage's shoulders.

Tholm gave a slight nod. “Hone's treason shook the foundation of the city. The Duke and the Tower are currently projecting a united front to prevent widespread panic, but the religious factions are using the instability to press their own advantages once again. Specifically, the Temple of Ulter is claiming they were wronged the most.”

“Is the Tidemaster still looking for heretics?” Nick asked, exasperated. He didn’t think the man would forget, but surely there were more important things to focus on, like the opening of a breach to hell within the city.

“He is, and you might be in his sights. While the Duke and Tower Master recognize your contributions, they cannot openly oppose the Temples after what just happened. As long as you stay within Xander's walls or inside the Tower, you are untouchable, but the moment you step into the city streets, the Tidemaster's agents will be watching.”

Nick let out a slow, frustrated breath.

“It’s a temporary inconvenience," Tholm reassured him. "The political waters are boiling, and they need time to cool. Horatio agrees that the most prudent course of action is for you to leave the city for a few months until the Tidemaster's fervor inevitably wanes."