Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

[Emakimono] was an extremely versatile spell. It allowed Nick to weave multiple effects into simple tags, which alone would have made it one of his favorites. More importantly, it was perfectly suited for providing stability to most minor rituals, enabling him to bypass many ingredient requirements that had previously hindered his ability to fully utilize his otherworldly knowledge.

Today, however, he was about to try a different use for the spell.

Tradition mainly used emakimonos as painted scrolls, rolls, and tables, but that wasn't all they could be. There was one specific kind Nick had avoided, simply because he didn't have the right tools.

But a little bit of tinkering with the Heretical Needle, as he'd started to call it, and he was set.

Carving a hole at its top to allow a thread to pass through took him more effort than he'd expected, but he quickly fixed that by turning the simple wind manipulation he cast into a [Jet Stream], if a thinner and more stable variation localized around his finger.

Pulling his hand back from the now modified sewing needle, Nick nodded to himself in satisfaction. "I won't win any contests with this thing, but I only need to sew a few symbols."

The cloak he bought the other day lay on his bed, unaware of the violence it was about to face, and if he said anything about it, the rest of the world would stay just as ignorant.

Keeping my protections secret is very important, of course, but if I'm honest, I just don't want to deal with Sonya pouting about me ruining the clothes she picked for me.

Perhaps he could have gotten a decent result by painting the inside of the cloak. The magic should have held, but he wasn't satisfied with just good enough. No, what he aimed for was to create a permanent enchantment, the kind that masters of the craft needed to work hard for.

And the key to that was the thin black needle in his hands.

When he first found it in the ruins of the last beastmen temple, he'd been mostly worried about what its presence might mean. A group of people dedicated to ritualistic enhancement and destroying places of worship running around the grassland didn't sound like the kind of thing he wanted near his family's lands.

That, and this doesn't seem like the kind of artifact you would leave behind carelessly.

The needle itself wasn't actively magical, at least not in the way most enchanted items were, but it possessed an unmistakable inherent quality.

Having carefully removed any remaining ink from its tip, as it was too emotionally charged to be near an enchantment, Nick ran his hand over the black metal, trying to feel its echoes.

[Empyrean Intuition] made that pretty easy, but he wasn't interested in the surface level, which only told him it had been used in a ritual that required pain and dedication. No, what he was looking for was why it had been left behind when, to him, it still felt perfectly viable.

The older residues were more difficult to interpret, both because time had worn them down and because they came from multiple sources. The needle, it seemed, had been used many times—so often that the remaining ink on it from the last time it was used couldn't blend with the rest as he was increasingly convinced it should have.

Is it really that simple? It seemed like a quick problem to fix, especially since spiritual mana easily responded to his call, but before messing with something he couldn't fix, Nick tested it a bit more.

It was a good thing he did, because only after unraveling the different layers of old emotions did he realize what the stick truly was.

Not metal or crystal as he first thought, but layers upon layers of old ink, all built up to create something new.

But how is it so passive when the fresh ink is so noticeably magically active? Considering the resistance it had put up to being carved into, he had been certain it was a spiritual alloy of some kind, but it seemed that was only tangentially true.

"A lot of blood has gone into making this thing," he muttered, slowly unraveling its secrets. It was clear now that it hadn't been left behind out of carelessness, but on purpose.

"When the needle becomes sufficiently saturated, it no longer serves as an effective tool for inking and instead acts as a perfect anchor for a ritual, especially one designed to cannibalize a domain field."

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Nick had been fooled by the fact that it had been outside the temple, but powerful enough anchors didn't need to be inside the circle after the ritual began, especially if one aimed to make the effects more subtle.

However, despite being a fascinating object that represented an entirely new field of magic for him to explore down the line, it remained true that he had to adjust the layers of ink slightly to successfully channel his spell through them.

Running a finger along its surface, Nick cautiously began to pull at the spiritual mana. He had to be careful because pulling out too much would reduce the needle's usefulness, while extracting too little would leave it saturated, preventing any complex spell from passing through.

His first attempt was less than successful. The dark, metal-like needle didn't move at all, not showing any sign of its power.

Thus, Nick increased the strength of his pull until he was actively fighting against it, and he could feel a sheen of sweat forming on his brow.

By the time he removed the first layer, he was nearly panting and decided that this approach wasn't working. The metal-like needle was ever so slightly redder, instead of the obsidian black it had been, but that didn't mean much, since the trickle of pure mana he ran through it stopped before it was even halfway through.

To run a spell, he'd need to peel back at least another dozen layers.

Fortunately, he now had a faster way to do that, since he knew it was actually possible.

A quick check around the manse told him that he was alone. His brother and Master Xander had been gone since early morning, as the old man sometimes advised the duke on martial matters and thought his now-ennobled apprentice could benefit from learning some of the duties of ruling. Meanwhile, Sonya had gone to buy some ingredients for dinner.

Which meant now was the perfect time to try something he was sure would raise a few uncomfortable questions.

It wasn't so much that [Vitality Drain] was a particularly brutal skill. Any mage worth their salt would have far worse spells in their arsenal, and even apprentices could kill with simple fireballs, which didn't produce particularly clean deaths.

But the skill he'd gained from the Moss Oni had something more to it. It touched the soul, something incredibly rare, which Nick was sure wouldn't be well received by anyone with a hint of religiosity.

Activating it, he made sure to keep the suction at a low level, focusing entirely on the needle, and was soon rewarded with layers of old, spiritually-charged ink coming off.

One by one, they kept being drawn out, broken down into pure mana and life-force, strengthening him temporarily, until he felt something give, and a chunk of pain-filled energy broke off from within, freeing the flow.

Nick immediately stopped the process, smiling happily that his suspicion was confirmed. Repeatedly using the needle to tattoo transformed it into a powerful catalyst by absorbing blood and emotions, but it also rendered it increasingly unusable for its original purpose.

"It's a good thing I have a use for all this dried ink."

It would take more effort than it was worth to cleanse it, especially when it served as a perfectly good anchor for a ritual, but it was just enough to add another spiritual layer to his thread, meaning he wouldn't need to dip into the ether to grab an unrelated spirit.

I really love it when everything falls into place just right. Still, I wonder why I didn't find another when they burned Eztie's temple, but maybe they don't need it, or perhaps only use it when they have it.

In the end, it didn't matter. Nick had his needle and could finally get to sewing his ofudas.

Telekinetically pulling the cloak closer, he pushed the thread he'd bought from the market and bathed in a bowl of his own blood into its head, and set about casting the first of many protections.

Word had already begun to spread around the city about his wealth, despite Mr. Bloom's best efforts. The sale of the Alpha Thunderhoofs caused more of a stir than he anticipated, as those specimens weren't often seen in the market, especially during a drought of their kind.

Considering his plans to explore Alluria's seedier underbelly and make contact with at least one information broker, Nick expected someone to try their luck with him sooner rather than later. This meant he needed to step up his game in case they were lucky or wealthy enough to possess magical weaponry that could actually harm him.

By the time he finished sewing, the day was almost gone, but Nick couldn't be too mad about it, even if his fingers still throbbed from his first, clumsy attempts.

Fortunately, with a Dex of seventy-four, his agility was enough for the task, and he quickly got the hang of it.

Looking at the finished result, Nick could admit that maybe it wasn't quite an artist's dream, but he had a vision and faithfully replicated it.

"Then again, it's not meant to be visible, so it's okay."

The luxurious wool and cotton cloak looked identical from the outside, but the inside now featured rows upon rows of ofudas, all designed to protect him from slashing damage and blunt forces, while above them hung a stylized storm cloud, which served as a filter and would allow him to use elemental mana to power the enchantments, thereby gaining the benefits of [One with the Storm].

He threw it on and smiled as he felt the magic get to work, using the insights from his wind armor to create a field of increased pressure closer to his skin. This meant that while people could easily move around him, touching him would require a great deal of effort.

It's time to give it a try.

Alluria at night was a completely different scene. While during the day, the shouts of merchants and market-goers filled the air, making it hard to focus on real conversations, at night, people tended to gather in a few specific spots.

Taverns were popular, as shown by the warm lights spilling onto the streets below, but studying the locals wasn't why Nick was here.

Though I have to admit, there are plenty of interesting people around. A lot of weaklings, sure, but some among them could easily match a town Captain, and others are even stronger than that.

The adventurer's guild here was a much larger building than in Floria, made of white marble and featuring numerous statues depicting truly great figures. However, it was also a place where many shady dealings took place, often disguised as legitimate business or coordination between parties.

Nick was very interested in one such deal.

He'd been tracking Anthony, his former guide through the meat district, for a while, and could tell that more than one group was watching the boy.

Perhaps unfairly, Nick immediately zeroed in on him as the weakest link in keeping information about him secret. However, judging by his deliberate approach toward a known information dealer, he might not have been too far off from the truth.