Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Nick darted through the fields, pumping his legs as fast as he could as he led the two men toward his trap. The sound of their pursuit was never far as Scar's heavier boots crunched in a steady rhythm, while Short's clumsier stride caused him to fall behind.

"You're not getting away that easily!" Scar roared, closer than he'd like.

Nick didn't look back. He just needed to keep them chasing him, to make them think they had the upper hand. It wasn't that hard, considering that he was a child and they were much bigger adults waving sharp objects at him.

Scar was fast—faster than Nick had expected. Even with his head start, a shadow soon fell over him, and Nick felt the man's hand reaching for him. With a quick surge of mana, he used [Minor Elemental Manipulation], and the ground beneath Scar's feet bulged and erupted, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt with a curse.

"Get up!" Short yelled, tone reedy with frustration. Despite being less physically gifted than his companion, there was no hint of strain in his voice, which just went to show how much having the System changed everything. "He's getting away!"

Nick grinned and pushed harder, his lungs burning. The tall grass thinned, revealing a shallow clearing surrounded by jagged stones and puddles of water. He'd spent hours imbuing the soil and air with his blood and mana in preparation for the ritual.

As soon as his feet hit the boundary of the prepared field, he slowed, turning to face his pursuers once he reached the center.

Scar and Short stormed into the clearing moments later, grimacing in anger. Scar roughly brushed dirt from his face, pinning him with a blazing glare.

"End of the line, kid," he growled, drawing a long, serrated knife from his belt.

Short was already moving, circling to flank Nick with the predatory prowl of a wolf. "You arrogant brat. I have to admit, I was sure you'd hide behind your daddy's skirts and force us to wait you out for a long time, but you came straight to us, eh? Are you an idiot, little kid?"

Nick's expression remained calm, but his fingers curled subtly at his sides, mentally pulling up the ingredients he had preemptively buried in the ground. "Funny. I was about to say the same to you."

Short lunged first, his dagger flashing in the sunlight. Nick responded with a sharp pull of his mana and a volley of small, blunt stones ripped free from the earth, hurtling toward the man with a speed that made him yelp and dive for cover.

Unfortunately, Scar used the distraction and was on him before Nick could catch his breath, once again displaying his surprising speed. He slashed at his gut, forcing Nick to backpedal and dodge. The serrated edge grazed his arm, drawing a thin line of blood that stung as it met the open air.

Gritting his teeth, Nick summoned a burst of fire. The flames erupted in a great gout between him and Scar, forcing the man to halt. It wasn't enough to damage him, as he avoided the worst of it, but Nick bought a few precious seconds by expanding them into a wall.

Short scrambled to his feet, his face red with fury. "I'm going to k—!"

Nick didn't let him finish. He raised a hand, and the prepared trap responded to his will. This time, it was sharp, fist-sized stones that launched from the ground, striking Short in the chest and legs. The man screamed, and his dagger fell from his grip as he collapsed, clutching at his wounds. Another stone lodged itself firmly into his throat, ending his struggles.

"That's one," Nick muttered, turning his attention back to Scar.

The man had decided to cut to the chase and go through the fiery barrier with brute strength, and if anything, the burns he now sported only made him more intimidating. Nick barely avoided the first swing, but the second caught him in the side as the blade suddenly elongated, allowing it to bite into his flesh. Pain flared, white-hot and blinding, yet Nick gritted his teeth and staggered back, holding his ground.

Scar grinned savagely. "I have to admit, you're tougher than you look, but it's over." He brought up his knife and slowly let the blood drip off the edge. He seemed unconcerned about his friend's fate or the burns on his skin, hinting at either a special skill or a trait.

Nick didn't reply. Instead, he went through the second and final part of his plan. He gestured sharply, making the man dive for cover as a few stones lifted up. Instead of following through, Nick grabbed hold of the puddles he had prepared in advance, forming a sphere and shooting that at Scar's head.

He thrashed wildly, clawing at the water as it pressed against his face. His muffled screams were frantic, and his movements grew more erratic with each passing second. Nick held the spell firm despite his vision swimming from blood loss and exertion.

"You don't get to hurt anyone else," he said quietly, trembling with pain and resolve.

Scar's struggles slowed, then stopped entirely. The knife fell from his hand, clattering against the rocks. Nick maintained the spell for a few minutes longer, not wanting to test his luck more than he already had. He was rewarded for his paranoia when Scar suddenly lunged at him, clearing the distance in a flash. His hand clawed at the empty hair where Nick had been a second before.

A hail of stones punished the attempt, and he finally fell, a last bubble leaving his lips.

For a moment, Nick simply stood there, his chest heaving and his mind pounding. The clearing was silent now, save for the faint rustle of the wind through the grass.

He looked down at his bloodstained hands, then at the bodies of the two men who had tried to take his life. The ache in his side reminded him of the cost, but he couldn't bring himself to feel regret.

This was necessary, he told himself. The world wasn't built to deliver justice. If he wanted to protect himself—and the people he cared about—he had to take matters into his own hands.

He took a shaky step forward, then another, heading toward the edge of the clearing. There was still work to be done. I'll hate myself later. Grandpa always said to push away any feeling strong enough to interfere with a ritual, especially if it's improvised.

Taking hold of his remaining mana, Nick allowed the ingredients to emerge fully and let the heady scent of blood lull his mind into the proper state.

The two bodies before him were lifeless and motionless, twisted in fear and rage. Nick gazed at them without emotion, using his pain to fuel his work. He carefully finished etching the array into the dirt and moved the corpses until Scar was at the top and Short at the bottom.

The wyvern scales gleamed brightly even in the sunlight, as their natural mana responded to the thickening atmosphere. He arranged them in a star-like pattern around the glowing nightcaps, and Nick sat at the center.

His hand trembled as he reached out to touch the closest line with a bloodied finger. The air around him felt thick, charged with anticipation.

"Focus," he whispered to himself, trying to overcome the tension coiling in his chest. "I need to focus."

Taking a deep breath, he began channeling his mana into the array, and the spellwork came alive. Lines of light spread outward like veins of fire, illuminating his face with an eerie, otherworldly glow. The wyvern scales trembled as the energy passed through them, and their subtle whispers of wind grew louder and more insistent. The nightcaps flared brighter, their soft glow intensifying until it was almost painful to look at.

The bodies of the two men lay inert, but as Nick whispered the ancient words of sacrifice, they began to respond, too. The air grew colder, and the edges of the clearing darkened as if night was falling. Wisps of energy, faint and silvery, began to rise from the corpses, twisting and writhing like smoke caught in an updraft.

Nick's breath hitched, but he didn't stop. He poured more mana into the ritual, guiding the energy as it converged at the center. The ingredients trembled, flaring wildly before dimming as their essence was absorbed into the swirling mass of power.

The whispers grew louder, carrying fragments of sound that Nick couldn't understand but somehow felt intimate. They resonated deep in his chest, filling him with a strange mix of exhilaration and dread. A sudden gust of air spiraled through the clearing, tugging at Nick's hair and clothes as it funneled toward the ritual's core.

He felt the energy shift as the culmination of all the ingredients, sacrifices, and mana converged into a single purpose. Reaching out with his mind, he directed the gathered power into himself. The air crackled as the energy obeyed, flowing through him like a raging storm. His body burned with its intensity, capable of suffering through its passage only thanks to the unnatural malleability given by the nightcaps, and every nerve alighted with sensation as the wind affinity took hold.

The scales' essence merged with his own, their whispers becoming part of him. The nightcaps' glowing power seeped into his blood, bringing with it a sense of fleeting weightlessness as if he could step off the ground and never fall. Two deaths' worth of raw energy healed his body and anchored the transformation, ensuring it held fast and that he wouldn't bleed out.

For a moment, he was genuinely floating, his weight inconsequential as the ritual's energy surged through him. Then, with a final burst of light and sound, the power settled, the array collapsing inward as its purpose was fulfilled, and he fell.

Nick opened his eyes with a groan, afterimages still dancing in his vision. His breath came in gasps as he struggled to reorient himself. The clearing was quiet again, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind—a wind that now felt intimately familiar, like an old friend.

Looking around, he saw two piles of ash where the bodies had been. The ritual had consumed them completely, leaving nothing behind but faint outlines in the dirt. He lingered for a moment before a chime echoed in his mind, drawing his attention to the glowing system window that appeared before him.

Nick blinked, rereading the message twice to be sure he wasn't imagining things. Was the affinity permanent, then? That wasn't what he had expected. He was sure the ritual would grant him only a temporary boost, similar to what the [Welcoming of the Sun] had done, enough to practice and learn the Stalking Gait before the effects faded. Yet the message made it seem like the change was not going anywhere. He had never heard of a temporary trait that wasn't explicitly described as such.

The implications were staggering. If this was possible, what else could he grant himself? What other limits could be circumvented—or redefined—through ritualism? He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. There would be time to think about that later.

For now, he had to capitalize on the opportunity. He didn't know if the System might somehow correct this anomaly later, and he wasn't about to let his efforts go to waste. Rising to his feet, he winced as the pain in his side reminded him of the wound Scar had inflicted. Blood had stopped tricking from the gash, thanks to the sudden absorption of excess vitality, but he'd need to clean up before he got home.

Nick moved to the edge of the clearing, finding a flat stretch of earth to practice on. Closing his eyes, he focused on the newfound connection to the air, the new sense thrumming within him. It was subtle, like the whisper of a breeze against his skin, but it was there.

He began to move, replicating the steps for the Stalking Gait. His movements felt lighter and more fluid than during his previous attempts. The wind seemed to respond, guiding him and making each step easier and quieter. He adjusted his posture, testing the balance of his weight as he transitioned from one motion to the next.

It was slow at first, as he could admit he hadn't practiced enough to make the movements natural. But as he continued, he felt the wind working with him. His steps became lighter and faster, and soon, he was gliding across the ground.

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