Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

"You're leaving?"

Arthur turned to find a familiar frown. He offered a brief smile before shaking his head. "Just going to meet someone in town. I'll be back by evening."

Rose grunted, seemingly unbothered, but he knew the girl well enough to recognize the signs of relief. Her shoulders relaxed, and her fists unclenched.

"Bah, try not to be too late. I won't keep the stew warm for you." She grumbled, turning around and walking into the fields.

"What did I do to get blessed with such an affectionate granddaughter?" He murmured, enjoying the way she twitched and hurried off.

Being cursed with wanderlust had not made their relationship easy. Or, well, it hadn't made any relationship easy. But if he hadn't been willing to roam around so much, he wouldn't have met the dirty, flinty-eyed little girl who now eagerly took care of his land and practiced from dawn to dusk to one day take over from him.

While Arthur was not one to suffer from loneliness, he could admit to feeling glad to have someone to return home to—someone who could serve as his legacy.

She's a good 'un. Not like Griselda at all.

The memory of his biological daughter left a bitter taste in his mind, and he quickly channeled a spark of electricity into his brain, suppressing the emotions that threatened to surface.

Now was not the time to get lost in reminiscence. He had an old friend to meet.

As Arthur walked through the fields, he inhaled the fresh air to steady himself. Horatio was someone he could only meet in his best condition.

Friend or not, he remained the Archmage of Alluria. Courtesies could only go so far when a prize as valuable as a dungeon—or its remains—was at stake.

"Sir Arthur!" A farmer called, waving as he worked hard to loosen the first crop of potatoes.

"Loren," he acknowledged. "Any problems with the harvest?"

"Nay, if anything, it's coming in sooner than 'xpected. We was afraid we might have one less coming in, since we started so late, but the Prelate got us back on schedule."

Arthur nodded before moving on. Marthas was an arrogant man who took advantage of a moment of weakness to expand the temple's influence, but no one could deny that he knew what he was doing.

So much power, and yet so focused on inconsequential matters.

But wasn't that true for nearly everyone who crossed into Prestige? While being skilled at killing was essential—indeed, it was very rare for anyone to gain the necessary experience otherwise—it wasn't enough by itself.

You needed an obsession—something to push you beyond mortal limits. For most people, that obsession was the thirst for more power.

Well, at least he seems focused on spiritual power rather than temporal. If it had been otherwise, Arthur would have had to take matters into his own hands.

Not that he could stand up to the Prelate directly. Even with all his skill, he was merely a bonfire before the howling blaze that was Marthas.

But he had his resources, with connections across the continent that surpassed those of most major nobles.

If it came down to it, Arthur could simply let word reach the Bishop of Ulter, god of the seas and rivers, and suddenly there would be a revival of interest in their forgotten borderland. Even the mere excuse of protecting a nearby stream, flimsy as it might be, would suffice for Sashara's sworn enemy.

Just because a century of surveys hadn't revealed anything but minor deposits and a few natural treasures hiding within the Green Ocean, it didn't mean that everyone had forgotten about Floria.

There had once been much more interest, something that the presence of a dungeon alone threatened to revive.

Which explains why Marthas went to such lengths to destroy it. Already, unconfirmed rumors have reached powerful people. If the dungeon had been allowed to grow, we would have seen thousands flock here, bringing those with enough power to thwart whatever little project he has cooking up.

Regardless, the exiled Prelate could play as he wished as long as he didn't harm anyone. Arthur had bigger issues to deal with.

Can't wait until the kid is strong enough to take over. He should be close to Prestige by now. Having such an abnormal son will light a fire under even the most slothful noble. Heh.

Having finally reached the town proper, Arthur stretched his senses outward. They weren't as fine as that little monster Nick, who could notice the movement of a blade of grass half a mile away, but that had never been his area of interest.

Arthur was a big game hunter, and the only thing he cared about was knowing who was the biggest, baddest one around.

The burning blade that was Eugene rested on top of the wall, practicing to make the final push towards Prestige. The kid was distracted, likely feeling antsy about how close he was.

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I need to visit him and give him a talking-to before he takes the plunge. Breaking through can't be done in Floria unless he wants to burn it down.

That old monster, Ogden, was once again sitting on his porch, looking eastward and coiling his cursed power into himself, always observant of the old Pact. He was probably checking in to ensure that the kids hadn't killed themselves yet.

As if that could happen. Nick alone is enough to ward off any danger in the grassland. Unless something really big happens and the dwarves break through the blockade, he won't have to worry about anything except a few scouting parties and renegade soldiers. It will be a good experience for him, and it's certainly better than being here while Horatio is sniffing around.

Arthur would pay to see the face of the first dwarf stupid enough to mess with the kid's head. They'd probably die on the spot.

Even he had no idea what they had been sheltering, aside from him being an aberration of the highest order.

A young one, to be sure. Just getting his footing. But an aberration, nonetheless. He'll shake the world one day, no matter how much he might not want to. Power attracts power, after all.

Next came the thin, suffocating haze that represented Sashara's encroaching domain. She was almost everywhere now, and for such a young goddess, she was impressively mighty. But neither she nor the blazing star that was Marthas was what he was looking for.

Finally, he found it.

Controlled. Power so tightly reined in that anyone who didn't already know him would have dismissed him as mundane.

Horatio was waiting for him in a private room at the adventurers' guild, seeming to any outside observer like a simple man, albeit dressed a bit strangely.

Arthur knew better. This was the most powerful mage in the west, someone capable of not only immense destruction with his personal skill, but also influential enough to move every noble family from here to the capital with a word.

If he wanted to make trouble, he wouldn't need to lift a finger. That he had come here was a testament to the respect he felt for Arthur—a respect that wasn't born from power, as much as some might foolishly believe, but out of good neighborliness.

Arthur managed the neglected western border while House Crowley attempted to recover, allowing Horatio to focus on research without the concern of minor monster incursions.

No, it is not my power that has led me here.