Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Casting the Epworth Curse wasn't enough for Nick to earn another level. Unfortunately, he was already out of the stage where every new spell would grant him a significant exp chunk, but he'd expected it sooner or later.

Indeed, the first thing Nick did after completing his read-through of the diary was to begin casting all the simplest spells he knew—especially those that didn't require any external components.

It had become apparent that spells that were each a simple derivation of the other, would be severely penalized and not considered new ones. The Epworth Curse was unique enough to give him five hundred Exp, which was insufficient to get him over the line, given the increased requirements for each level.

All other kinetic spells he could reliably cast without aid earned little more than a few dozen experience points. His mastery was too limited, and their similarities were too significant.

This meant he couldn't game the System by spamming slightly different spells. Given his substantial advantages, Nick wasn't too broken up about it, especially since direct casting had never been his forte. Old Nick never had a significant enough connection to magic to throw active spells out as needed, and their knowledge had become increasingly lost to time anyway.

While his path to explosive growth had been cut off, Nick still had a wealth of knowledge in the more esoteric arts that went far beyond what anyone else in this little town—save perhaps old Ogden—could prepare for.

"I even managed to sneak around without any magical aid. Yes, no one would expect a kid to be interested in espionage, but you'd think people would be more paranoid given how many monsters live nearby," he grumbled to himself in his room as he drew ritual lines on the floor with the powdered stoneroot. For more chapters visit novｅlfire.net

The pentagram slowly took shape, and Nick stopped for a moment to observe his work critically. It wouldn't do to make a rookie mistake like having a flaw in the circle just because he got cocky. That and ingredient testing were the most basic security measures any good ritualist needed to take, and his grandfather had drilled them into his mind too often to forgo them now.

Especially since that led me to my death. I'm still not sure what happened after the ritual went wrong, and the more I think about it, the less I'm confident in my initial assessment, but that doesn't mean I can be sloppy. I'm not doing that again.

Fortunately, it seemed that he hadn't lost his touch. Grabbing the meticulously carved obsidian shards, Nick placed one on each of the pentagram's points and five more around the center, where he'd sit.

I'm not risking leaving myself open to attacks. The dryad might not have shown up again, but if there is a fae, there is probably more. Some might call this overkill, but I'm willing to limit my sight to earthly matters if it means I cannot be possessed.

After all, rituals were about give and take, much like alchemy. His grandfather would say they were the ancestors of modern alchemical practices, though Nick had always suspected it was a case of concurrent development.

With the ritual circle completed, Nick took a deep breath, feeling some trepidation about what was to come. The lines of stoneroot powder would be hard to clean after he was done, given how finely ground the substance was, but Nick couldn't afford any stupid mistakes. Preparing for and conducting the ritual without overextending his reserves was a delicate, painstaking process. If he had to keep some mana in reserve to defend his spirit from any nearby non-corporeal beings, he'd never be able to leave the house, much less explore Floria.

Satisfied with his preparation, Nick knelt in the center of the circle, legs folded beneath him, and reached for the Silverthorn leaf. He had never used this particular herb before, which meant a whole day of testing whether its effects were as close to the dragonfern as he thought. Luckily, his senses hadn't betrayed him, and it was as good a concentration aid as he anticipated, which made it a more natural source of magical Adderall than what he had used in his past life when the going got tough. He placed the leaf in his mouth, its sharp bitterness flooding his senses, and chewed slowly, grinding it between his teeth until it formed a pulpy mass. The taste was almost unbearable, but he endured, swallowing it in slow gulps.

A soft chime echoed in his mind, followed by the familiar whisper of the System: