Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 457

The night had been exceptionally long. Between the grueling integration of the Prestige core, the hunt for the feral spirit in the Crystal Forest, and the diplomatic extortion he had just concluded at The Gilded Stag, his body was begging for rest.

Yet a steady, thrumming warmth radiated from his core, keeping exhaustion at bay. The newly acquired fire affinity seemed to have more uses than just destruction, something he was starting to realize applied to his other traits as well.

Who would have thought that adding stuff to your soul would change you?

That he was only noticing it now was a bit alarming, but when he’d first integrated the elements, the affinities had been weak, barely enough to cast anything, really.

The power of the Basilisk core was so great that he’d jumped all the way to [Proficient] in one go, making its effects much easier to notice.

The only other time he could have seen it was when he’d first developed his spiritual arts, but by their very nature, they were expressions of his innermost self, brought to life by mana.

I’m really going to need to set aside some time for personal training. My powers have grown a lot since the last time I did so, and I’m starting to feel that consolidation might be better than reckless growth, in preparation for the final leap.

Still, he had one final piece to move before the board was fully set and he could rest.

Nick walked toward the merchant square, arriving at a newly constructed timber building on the corner of the main avenue. Even at this early hour, the lamps inside were bright. A beautifully painted sign above the double doors read: Yohan’s Emporium of Weapons and Gear.

Pushing the door open, he stepped into a chaotic symphony of commerce. Open crates littered the floor, polished armor stands stood in disarray, and racks of enchanted steel gleamed in the lamplight.

Yohan, the bearded merchant who had sold Nick his ticket to the Allurian auction months earlier, was sweating profusely as he directed two workers trying to mount a glass display case.

"Careful with that corner, you louts! It costs more than your yearly stipends!" he barked, wiping his brow with a rag. When he turned, he caught sight of Nick in the doorway, and his face broke into a wide, genuine grin. "Oho! Lord Nicholas, what a pleasure! It’s been a while.”

"Yohan," Nick greeted warmly, stepping around an open crate of whetstones. "I see the Honeyton expansion is proceeding well.”

"Floria is where the coin is flowing," Yohan laughed, walking over and slapping Nick heartily on the shoulder. "Besides, after I gave you that sword for your father and he went and hit Prestige, my reputation skyrocketed. Everyone wants a blade from the man who arms the Crowley family. Speaking of which, do you need any gear? I have some lovely enchanted leathers fresh from the capital that would be wasted on local adventurers.”

"I am well supplied for now," Nick smiled. "I actually came to give you a piece of advice. Consider it a professional courtesy between friends.”

Yohan’s jovial demeanor shifted instantly. Though the man had a good heart, he was a frontier opportunist, forged on the rough trade routes of the borderlands, and he could smell a chance when it presented itself. He waved his workers to the back room and leaned heavily against the wooden counter. "I'm listening.”

"The market is going to experience a violent shift by this afternoon," Nick told him quietly, making sure their words didn't carry out into the street. "The Valerius Consortium overplayed its hand. The Polliver-Bolliver Conglomerate and the Dunstonburough family are moving in to take their contracts today. When they do, they are going to try to absorb the smaller independent suppliers in the town to consolidate their new monopoly.”

Yohan swore under his breath, running a calloused hand through his thick beard. "Those two houses are working together now? They’ll squeeze us dry. They’ll undercut my prices until I have to sell the shop to them just to afford the carriage ride back to Honeyton.”

"Not if you secure your supply lines first," Nick advised with a glint in his eyes. "Go to the mercenary guilds and the local hunters today. Lock them into long-term contracts for their monster cores, raw hides, and alchemical reagents before noon. Offer them a fair premium, something the big houses wouldn't bother with.”

Yohan’s mouth opened, but after a moment’s thought, he closed it and nodded.

"By the time Emile and Silas realize what you have done," Nick continued, "you will hold rights to the raw materials they desperately need to fulfill their new trade agreements with my family. You won’t be able to get everyone, so don’t be too greedy. Enough to secure your future will let you ride the waves, and once the storm has passed, you’ll only grow from it.”

“I see. They’ll have to buy from me to keep pace, but not enough to threaten their entire line,” Yohan whispered. “You’d have me be the middleman in the biggest trade deal on the frontier.”

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"Exactly," Nick said with a smile. “Though they will help us, we cannot let them take full control. You backed my family before we became what we are. I want to see you thrive here.”

It also had the benefit of ensuring a check on the two greedy merchants, one of whom would be doubly bound to House Crowley, both because of honor and need.

If Yohan ever earned their disfavor, it’d be easy for them to void the contracts, but with their protection, he’d be untouchable.

“In that case, I accept. I owe you a drink, my Lord. Hell, I will send you a cask of the finest vintage I can find," Yohan grinned as a fierce, opportunistic fire lit up his expression. "I need to go see a man about some contracts. Do not be a stranger, you hear? Come by if you ever need anything!”

With a satisfied smile, Nick watched the merchant hurry out into the street, setting off to secure his fortune.

It was a beautiful display of symmetry. The large houses would break the Consortium, but Yohan would be the thorn in their side, ensuring that Emile and Silas could never grow too comfortable in their new positions. Fostering competition was the surest way to prevent any single entity from challenging House Crowley's authority.

With his final task complete, Nick turned back toward the manor.

He found Elena and Devon in the dining hall, breaking their fast over plates of smoked thunderhoof and fresh bread. They both looked up as he entered, clearly curious about how the night had gone.

Nick walked to the table and pulled the ledger from his spatial ring, setting it down directly between them.

Devon picked it up and flipped through the pages. As his eyes scanned the meticulously recorded bribes, a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. “Damn, they really got to every contracted mage. The sums are staggering.”

"I took the liberty of visiting the Polliver-Bolliver Conglomerate and the Dunstonburough family on my way home," Nick said, pouring himself a cup of water and sitting down. "I offered them the Valerius market share if they broke the strike by noon. They accepted, so the trap is set.”

Elena looked from the ledger to Nick, then reached over and took his hand in hers. “Good job, love,” she murmured, and he coughed in embarrassment, patting her hands before freeing himself.

To ease the awkwardness, he took a sip of his water, letting the silence stretch for a moment as he watched his family.

For the past year and a half, since he had reincarnated, Nick had carried an unspoken weight on his shoulders. He possessed the esoteric knowledge of a past life and the rapidly expanding power of an Occultist in a world unprepared to face him. He had fought the dungeon, maneuvered through the politics of Alluria, and bled to protect their borders.

Subconsciously, he had harbored the arrogant fear that if he stepped away, the town would crumble, especially with Eugene stuck on the front lines.

Watching his mother orchestrate a flawless public execution to unify the refugees and watching his brother seamlessly step into the role of Heir cured him of that fear.

House Crowley did not rely solely on his might. Elena was a master of the political board, with a pragmatic intellect that kept the wolves at bay. Devon was becoming an unshakable leader, commanding genuine loyalty and respect from the guards and citizens alike.

Nick realized, with profound relief, that he did not need to carry the town on his back. He was the hidden blade, the magical vanguard, but they were the foundation. When the time came for him to leave for the North, to march into the heart of House Ultimer’s territory, he could depart knowing Floria was in exceptionally capable hands.

"The Consortium representative requested an audience this afternoon," Devon said, closing the ledger with a satisfying snap. "He sent a courier at dawn. I expect he wanted this to be the final confrontation, with us giving up, but things are quite different now.”

Nick smiled. “I see, how nice of them to come to us.”

He had a day to rest, and then he’d have to be ready, because he wouldn’t miss the coming confrontation for anything.

The receiving hall of Crowley Manor was designed to project authority. Tall windows let the afternoon sun pool across the polished stone floor, while the banners of their House, depicting a fiery sword on a green field, hung from the high rafters.

Devon sat behind a table at the far end of the hall. He wore his formal clothes, with his broadsword resting within reach on the wall, and looked the part of a young Lord.

Compared to the teenager who’d so enjoyed hiding his thirsts with the local girls he’d been before leaving for Alluria, he was a different person altogether, though Nick could spy the mischievous schadenfreude in his signature that reminded him of the boy he’d once been.

Nick stood entirely still by the western wall, half-hidden in the shadows of a draped banner, his presence completely retracted. He was there to ensure no merchant tried to use a charismatic skill on his brother and to sever the hand of anyone foolish enough to reach for a concealed weapon before Devon would need to dirty his own.

A minute after a servant arrived to inform them of their guest’s arrival, the double doors groaned open.

Cassian, the Valerius Consortium's lead representative, strode into the hall. He was a stout man draped in rich burgundy velvet, his fingers heavy with gold rings. He walked with an arrogant, entitled stride, flanked by two hardened guards from the capital, their hands resting casually on their sword hilts.

The mere fact that he’d been allowed to enter the manor with them should have told him something wasn't quite right, but if he’d still come, he had to be wholly ignorant of what had transpired the previous night.

Cassian stopped a few paces from the table, looking at Devon in surprise, and glanced around the room, noting the matriarch's absence.

"I requested an audience with Lady Elena," he said, a barely concealed edge in his voice. “I normally wouldn’t mind entertaining you, young lord, but matters of importance mean I have no time to parley with the Heir.”

"My mother is overseeing a dispute regarding the construction of a new warehouse," Devon replied smoothly, his voice perfectly level. "She delegated this meeting to me. You will find that my voice carries all the authority required within these borders. Now, state your business.”

The representative felt to Nick as if he really would have liked to sneer, though he quickly masked it with a facade of false sympathy. "As you wish. I come bearing a solution to your current... crisis. My agents report that construction in the refugee camps has halted entirely. It is a tragedy, truly. Winter approaches, and without mages to cure the timber, those people will freeze. House Crowley clearly lacks the capital to pursue such an ambitious project.”

Devon simply watched him, offering nothing in response.

"The Valerius Consortium is willing to shoulder this burden," Cassian continued, stepping closer to the table. "We will import our own builders and supply the necessary materials. In exchange, we require exclusive, untaxed rights to all logging and quarry exports for the next decade. Furthermore, we require the immediate release of our bonded agents, who are currently languishing in your dungeon, along with a formal apology for their unlawful detention.”

Even in the circumstances they’d faced before, it was an insulting demand. Cassian was asking for the town’s economic soul and the public humiliation of the ruling family.

"You seem very aware of the troubles that plague us," Devon said quietly.

"I assure you, I’m only saying this out of concern," the merchant countered, brimming with smug confidence. "You have no mages and no leverage. Sign over the rights, and all your problems will disappear.”

"We have plenty of mages," Devon corrected. "In fact, the structural work in the eastern district officially resumed this morning.”

Cassian frowned, and Nick stifled a chuckle.