Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Nick walked near the front, rubbing his arms in an attempt to alleviate the soreness from repeated conjurations, his eyes half-lidded with fatigue. His body craved rest in a proper bed and an opportunity to let his newly transformed mana channels settle into place. It probably doesn't help that I did some testing this morning. This is like that time that I broke my foot as a kid and then kept walking on it, isn't it?

Even though he wished he could play with his magic, he had to tackle the crucial problem he had largely overlooked until now. What am I going to do about the beastmen rebellion?

Initially, when Nick pictured returning to Floria, he'd felt a fleeting surge of confidence. He had leveled up more times in this dungeon fiasco than he had hoped for, and if the rebellious beastmen rose in arms, he was sure he could suppress them by force with enough preparation.

Overwhelming might was a crude weapon, yet no one could deny its effectiveness. It would serve as a stern example to anyone who thought they could rebel in his family's lands. I wouldn't even need to set up a ritual at this point.

The image sprang unbidden to his mind: him standing in the center of Floria's main street, unleashing vacuum spheres that had decimated entire swaths of the fae. Everyone would cower, from Wulla and her conspirators to anyone who dared to speak ill of him. I haven't forgotten what they all think of me. They know better than to say anything within earshot, but I don't doubt they'll start talking behind my back the moment we are back in Floria.

But even as the mental image took shape, Nick's stomach churned. The tactic felt awkward, echoing Marthas's heavy-handed approach. The inspection had inflamed the beastmen, strengthening their belief that they were outsiders. He did find a demonic infiltrator, but that only gave him a bit of leeway, and he didn't do anything with it.

It was easy to predict that another show of might would only harden them, pushing them further toward open rebellion. Resorting to sheer terror was no way to unite a community. If anything, it would ignite deeper hatred, ensuring future bloodshed in the long term. Nick sighed at how easily his tired mind had jumped to such a brutal plan. It'd be easier only in the planning stages. Everything else would be a mess.

His second, more rational idea was to reveal to his father what he knew and press for a diplomatic solution.

The beastmen demanded greater respect, improved living conditions, and a seat at the table. Now that Nick had proven his mettle in the dungeon (and beyond), he could leverage his fame or intimidation factor in a more constructive manner: as an envoy who could push them toward the negotiating table.

After all, he had sixteen men, all bearing tales of his deeds, which would provide him with a political weight he previously lacked. That is the positive side to being seen as a freak of nature.

Yes, he was still a kid, but a kid who had helped defeat a danger that had threatened the entire region. The accounts from the men would spread quickly, raising his stature. Perhaps enough that rebellious beastmen would hear him out.

That might buy him time to craft a workable compromise.

The problem was the memory of how furious and resolute Wulla had been. She and her allies weren't timid folk who'd cower in the face of a new local hero.

They'd probably see Nick's newfound prestige as further proof that the humans of Floria were amassing unstoppable champions to keep the beastmen suppressed. Or they might simply stage an ambush. The notion made him sigh. Diplomacy was worth a try, but not guaranteed.

His third and final idea felt more in line with his skillset: operating from the shadows, pulling strings to undermine the beastmen's efforts while systematically dismantling their reasons for rebellion.

If they believed integration was impossible, Nick would prove them wrong by building bridges between them and humans, ensuring that those who still insisted on revolt would have no supporters. He would do this while quietly sabotaging their militant cells, perhaps taking the more dangerous elements out, while making sure those who weren't too far gone found friends in better places.

He found himself liking that strategy best, if only because it aimed to avoid bloodshed, and he did owe Wulla a debt for her help with his wand. He wouldn't allow her to put his family in danger because of it, but he couldn't ignore the issue entirely.

Magical debts are a real thing. Acting as if it's not there will only end up badly.

But such an endeavor would take time, resources, intelligence, and allies.

Ogden would probably help. The old man had a wide network of contacts and deep knowledge. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure he'd be up to it anytime soon. His coils still hurt, and even minor spells felt uncomfortable.

I haven't used [Wind God's Third Eye] because the forest's been very quiet so far, but I should probably keep an eye out. Being attacked now when we are so close would be terrible.

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Extending his senses, Nick suppressed a wince at the overwhelming influx of information pouring into his mind. It seemed that this type of magic was enhanced by [Arcane Circuitry].

"Hey Rick, what are we gonna do about Mad's? We swore we would help each other's family if we didn't come back." Nick heard from behind. Normally, he wouldn't waste time listening to private conversations, but this felt like a good exercise to test how much he could hold his senses open before he had to pull back.

"His wife will be devastated. We'll have to see what the Captain scrounges up as payment, but I don't think we can do much to help." Another man replied, shaking his head.

"You know she doesn't have an income. Mad was the only one earning anything. She has a kid coming, man."

"Well, then, she should take it up with the damn beastmen. They didn't send anyone on the expedition!" Rick replied, raising his voice enough that Nick heard him through his ears.

Several heads turned at the outburst, and the man grumbled but fell silent. It seemed to be a common sentiment since no one said anything to defend the beastmen.

Ah, I may not have been cautious enough. If they are harboring resentment against the beastmen for their absence, it doesn't bode well for a peaceful resolution.

Nick had seen two bearkin with Arthur's group at first, but they had died early on the expedition, and that sacrifice didn't seem enough to quell the discontent.

He waited for a while longer, hoping that someone would speak up. But when even Eugene said nothing, merely grimly staring ahead, Nick knew he couldn't hope things would solve themselves.

He exhaled, shaking his head. Yeah, it was a stupid plan. I might still have to use shock and awe, but I can't do it on my own, especially when even just this much sensing makes me tired.

"Hey, Dad, I need to talk to you about something."

Nick was half-lost in a reverie of relief—home was near—when his passive senses alerted him to nearby movement, distinct from the small animals or occasional deer. Human presences, a dozen or more.

"I sense humans in front of us. Possibly a patrol." He relayed.

A wave of relief went through the men. Their exhausted expressions brightened, though Eugene frowned—he hadn't smiled since Nick had told him about Elia's warning before he left.

"Are they friendly?" he asked in a clipped tone.

Nick paused, trying to discern their signatures. "Yeah. I recognize Darien among them."

For the first time in days, Nick saw genuine smiles breaking out among the battered soldiers. Soon, the weary strike group stumbled into a wide glade, where a dozen armed guardsmen froze mid-step, their weapons half-raised. For a moment, all was silent—then Darien grinned widely, opening his arms.

"Captain!" he shouted, rushing forward with three others. The men behind him gawked, and Nick knew they must have made for a sorry sight. "Gods, after the explosions, I wasn't sure if we'd find survivors." He looked between them, furrowing his brow. "Where… where's the rest?"

Eugene grimaced. "We lost them," He said, voice raw. "There's only us left."

A hush fell. The patrol's expressions turned hollow, and a few men cursed under their breaths, some with tears welling in their eyes.

Darien's shoulders sagged, eyes flicking over each battered face, doing a silent headcount. "Only sixteen…" he muttered.

Then, before grief could overwhelm the group, he asked. "Did you...did you succeed?" A flicker of desperation stained his voice—as if he were pleading for it not to be a meaningless sacrifice.

Eugene stood straighter. "The Summer Court is destroyed," he said solemnly. "The dungeon core has been broken. The threat is gone."

Darien let out a slow breath, voice trembling with emotion. "They… they died for a good cause, then." He looked about as though saluting the fallen. "Floria owes them."

For a moment, no one spoke. Nick felt his throat tighten. The men behind him lowered their heads, remembering close friends who hadn't made it back. The silence lingered, thick with sorrow yet tinted by pride.

Darien cleared his throat, turning to one of his subordinates—a younger guard with anxious eyes. "Run back to Floria. Let them know the expedition returns. Prepare a hero's welcome. A feast, medics, everything. Hurry!"

The guard nodded, saluted, and dashed off, jumping between the trees with great speed. The rest of Darien's patrol formed a supportive perimeter around the battered expedition, offering water skins and potions. Nick found himself accepting a canteen from a sympathetic guard and drank after giving it a sniff.

The sensation of Ogden's potion working its way through his battered body was heavenly, and Nick fought the urge to moan in relief. He hadn't realized just how much pain he had been in.

"We're roughly an hour away from Floria. The path is clear of monsters, and we haven't had other problems of note." Darien reported.

The battered men brightened, though Nick saw his father hide a grimace. The revelation of what was brewing hadn't gone down well, but Eugene had at least maintained control over his emotions.

He didn't like that I kept this from him, but he didn't get too angry. Probably because I implied I was only told before we left…

Some guards from Darien's patrol helped carry the travois holding Marthas, while others supported Arthur, who was doggedly trying to walk.

The prospect of good rest and real food motivated them. Nick also felt his heart lighten. At least we won't die in the forest; I would have hated to be eaten.

By the afternoon, the outer farmland began to appear through the trees, showing that they had gone a bit too far north. If they had kept going, they would have emerged from the forest a few miles away from the town. Which, given the lack of scouts, isn't that bad. We could have gotten lost.

A quick course adjustment, and they were finally on the last stretch.

"There." Darien stepped aside, letting Eugene and Nick come up front. Through the trees, they finally spotted the wall.

Nick's breath caught in his throat, feeling nearly overwhelmed. Grief for the men lost, pride in how much he'd grown, relief at the sight of home, and the slow burn of worry for the beastmen crisis—It all mixed together.

Behind him, subdued cheers rose from the battered expedition.

Nick rubbed his sore arms, blinking away tears of gratitude for being alive.

Eugene exhaled, shoulders relaxing for the first time since they'd spoken. "We're back," he said quietly, turning to Nick. "Later, we'll handle what we talked about, but first, I have a duty to attend to."

Nick nodded. "The men who died. You have to tell their families…"

"Yes. They were my responsibility, and handling this takes priority, especially because the next few days will be complicated."

Nick almost laughed at the understatement. Between the welcome that Darien's runner would have arranged, the demands for an explanation, and the brewing beastmen tension, he guessed the coming days would be anything but calm. But at least they'd have a chance to heal.

Unless they acted just after Darien left, I doubt there had been a takeover. That means we might have enough time, even if Dad's plan isn't exactly what I'd do.