Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

During the day, the forge district's shops echoed with the sounds of hammers and anvils. At night, they hissed as blades were quenched, while masters of their craft carved enchantments into their works.

The water channels carrying away the runoff water were inscribed with gutter-cleansing runes to prevent slag buildup and to cool the flow. Everywhere Nick could see, the area was built for advanced work, the kind only a city like Alluria could support.

Nick drifted above it until he sensed the night watch pass, then let [Sky Step] soften just enough to set him down silently, still somewhat annoyed with the disastrous performance he'd put up in the yard.

He wasn't embarrassed about losing, not really, but Xander had made it look so easy. No matter what they tried, he'd countered it without a hint of mana, and although it cost him a weapon, Nick knew it didn't mean much for a master. That man doesn't need steel to wield a sword.

His growth was still nothing to scoff at. Nick could feel it in the way spells changed smoothly at his direction and in how the environment responded to his will, letting him shape the field however he desired.

But against a Prestige class, he was still miles short.

He moved silently through dark alleys. To get special instructions, he had to earn the support of the right contacts. Doors opened faster for prodigies who caught the interest of Archmages, and to achieve that in time, he needed to make sure his name was whispered in the right circles.

One-Ear was where he'd left him last time, in front of the moss-covered wall. His hat cast a shadow over a face that made it forgettable except for the single ear. He's the rare kind of distinctive face that can slip right out of a memory if you're not careful.

The man tipped his hat as Nick settled onto the cobblestones. Respect colored his signature at the gesture, more than during their last encounter. Apparently, he'd learned something.

"Evenin', Master Crowley," One-Ear said softly.

"Good evening," he greeted back. "Busy day?"

"Indeed, the city's moving again. I was starting to get bored since the end of the last season."

Nick smiled, having a vague idea of what he meant, as he had picked up some intriguing gossip while moving across rooftops. "Yes, I suppose someone like you wouldn't enjoy peace and quiet."

"People with money are spending it again. People without money are trying to borrow. The tower season and the auction have merchants and nobles taking credit, ignoring the leash that banks and less reputable lenders are wrapping around them. What's there not to like?"

"You've got eyes in the bidding hall, then?" Nick asked.

"Me?" The hat tilted, and a quick grin flashed. "I wouldn't dare interfere with the Duke's security, but some guards have looser tongues than others, especially if their vices are seen to."

Nick snorted. That wasn't very subtle advertising, but if he could get some info on the goods sold in advance, he wouldn't mind greasing some palms. "I'll be sure to remember it."

"I'm always open for business." One-Ear chuckled. "Speaking of, are you interested in all gossip, or just the Tower's?"

"I'll take both, if the price is not too high."

"Think of it as a sample, then. I'm proud to say I get repeat customers all the time. One of the higher-ranked parties dismissed their porter last month. Not because he was weak—porters don't need to be strong to do their job well. Because the leader took offense over something minor, like the kid taking too long to dress a carcass. The boy left with a bag and a lot of anger."

"It's a good story so far," Nick said dryly.

"Ah, but wait." One-Ear leaned in, conspiratorial. "Two weeks later, the porter shows up three districts over. Leather trench coat. Tall now, somehow." He shrugged, as if unsure how that was possible in so little time. "He's at least twenty levels higher, too. People can jump when they've been held back or unlucky, sure, but that's a lot. You know what I mean?"

"You think he was sandbagging on purpose."

"Exactly. And," One-Ear's grin flashed gold. "The boy has three pretty things surrounding him now. Two adventurer girls, one merchant's daughter with big tits and a lot of coins. If you believe the rumors, they all love him and are happy to share. No foul play, too."

Nick chuckled despite himself. "So the lesson is 'don't throw away your porter.'"

"One of 'em, sure. The other is 'the world's volatile and you shouldn't assume people stay where you left them if you kicked them.'" He tipped his hat, smiling mysteriously. "And a small third: beauty sticks to power like burrs to wool. If you gain power, you'll have to step carefully not to pick up more burrs than you can carry."

"I'll keep an eye on my coat," Nick acknowledged. With the attention he was purposefully drawing to himself, he'd have to deal with leeches.

"I'd suggest it. But you're already the shiny thing. The burrs are comin'."

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Nick let that pass with a small, irritated smile. He didn't have time for burrs. He had a year to fulfill his bargain with Ogden. After that, he could enjoy what the world had to offer, but not before.

"One-Ear," he said, shifting his angle. "You didn't bring me out here to talk about a porter."

"No," the broker admitted. "But I like to be neighborly before I start makin' money." He rapped his knuckles on the wall. "I have somethin' that's about you specifically."

Nick didn't take the bait right away. He scratched an itch under his jaw with one gloved knuckle, then looked up at the dark sky. "And I imagine, being neighborly, you could be persuaded to share if I make your other neighborly interests a little easier."

"Such a persuasive young man," One-Ear murmured. "All right, let's speak plainly. I hear you're sellin' thunderhoof. Word is, Bloom at the Abattoir likes you because you bring in clean stuff, you don't haggle too much, and you don't steal the men's time. You movin' to another lot soon?"

Nick considered pretending he didn't know what the man meant, then decided it was pointless if the man knew that much already. "I'll go there at dawn tomorrow."

One-Ear's hat bobbed up and down. Respect colored his signature again, this time with a hint of hunger beneath it. "Then this is easy. There's a buyer looking for an Alpha, and he wants one without getting bled by a rival patron in the bidding. He's not my patron, not exactly, but he's a customer who pays promptly. Leave Bloom instructions that if a man with a blue hat shows up, he gets the first chance at an Alpha. No need for discounts either."

Nick filed that in. "And in return?"

"In exchange, I'll share what the Tower has been whispering about you," One-Ear said, finally turning his head so Nick could see his pale eyes beneath the brim. "And I'll tell you the most important name who has heard of you."

"Alright, deal," Nick said, earning a grin.

"Two masters sent feelers. One is from the dueling school that trains the young up-and-comers, and the other is an elemental magic specialist. They asked where you came from. I told 'em the truth, if not the whole story. A frontier prodigy with a strong work ethic and some fine spellwork under his belt. Both were satisfied, so I think you might be getting a letter from 'em when you get in."

Nick waited, as the good stuff was yet to come.

"And then," One-Ear said, lowering his voice for dramatics, "an Archmage's aide came down from the higher floors, asking about you. He was very clumsy about it, but that was probably intentional."

Nick's irritation at losing seeped out of him, and he allowed himself a full smile. "Which Archmage?"

"That's a bigger favor than an Alpha," One-Ear hedged.

Nick lifted a brow.

"But I'm soft," the broker sighed, "and I like to be neighborly with the men who will get me paid twice. Tholm."

Nick rolled the name around once. "Tholm."

"Archmaster of Artificing," One-Ear continued, enjoying the reveal, as all good information brokers did. "He's less political than some, in that men who are friends with everyone seem less political because they don't have to raise their voice for what they want. His hands are in every department because every department uses his tools, and he built half the artifacts that keep the Tower running. He also tends to collect problem students with a lot of potential."

"And I'm a problem," Nick said.

"You're a problem, a solution, and a question mark all at once," One-Ear said cheerfully. "Which means if he's interested, your ticket in is almost guaranteed, as others will take note of his movements and try to get ahead. They will come to see you, and then they will haggle over you. You probably won't be part of much of it, but at least you'll have the satisfaction of knowing they had to fight for you."

This is probably the best result I could have gotten, but I'll have to play it carefully. I don't want to offend someone important. Not yet, at least.

"You said he's less political," Nick said.

"One of the few on the upper floors that can be bought with a good mystery instead of a favor," One-Ear said. "That, and he likes mavericks. Says the best ideas are worth nothing if one doesn't have the balls to put them into practice."

"Any enemies I should be wary of?"

"A few. By meddling in every department, he ended up stepping on many toes, but they don't hate him enough to do anything about it. Not yet. And he's not the one with skin in the next succession spat. He knows how to play the game."

"I see. You are being unexpectedly open with this information," Nick said, even as he considered the implications of working for such a man.

One-Ear shrugged, eyeing him carefully. "You asked me a question big enough that I ought to ask you for another favor. But I won't. I'm nice like that. Just remember little old me when you get in, will ya?"

"I'll keep to my end of the deal," Nick answered dryly.

"One last thing," One-Ear added as Nick gathered [Sky Step] under himself, "because I like to hear myself talk. If Tholm's interested, don't go to him hat in hand. Let him come to you. He doesn't like kids being too political."

Nick slipped into the back of the meat market silently and started laying down thunderhoofs. Regular ones, with a few Alphas mixed in. He was tempted to include a Matriarch, but considering the attention that one sale had received, he figured he could wait another week.

"Morning, Lord Crowley," Bloom said as he wandered in, rubbing his hands excitedly. "You've made me a happy man."

"I'm glad," Nick replied blandly. "Let's get this done; we both have important stuff to do."

Bloom nodded to his cashier, and the sound of a heavy purse hitting the counter followed. "Last batch's pay, and an advance on this lot, as promised. Which will be more generous if you keep bein' so reliable. Bloom's Abattoir likes regularity."

Nick opened the purse, quickly counted the money, then stored it away. "I need to leave you with an instruction." He kept his tone mild. "A buyer with a blue hat will come for an Alpha. Give him first choice on one at last week's rate. Nothing untoward, even if he asks."

Bloom's eyes flicked up then down, but no question came. "One Alpha. Consider it done."

"Thank you." Nick smiled, glad it went smoothly.

"You'll lose money if you hand out too many favors," Bloom observed idly, not in disapproval.

"I won't."

"That's what everyone says," Bloom murmured. "But you're polite and smart enough. You'll do fine either way." He made a little flourish at his scribe. "Make a note."

By the time Nick left the Abattoir, the morning market was in full swing. His ring felt lighter from the cargo he'd shed and heavier from the coins he'd taken in.

He now had enough to do something that had been on his list since he first entered Alluria: he could finally afford to be a customer at a real magic shop.

Not a place that sold magical items to just anyone who walked in. Those shops were common, even in Floria.

No, Nick was looking for a place where a mage would go when they needed a specific reagent for a spell, a grimoire to learn a class-specific ability, or a consultation on how a new ritual might behave near certain minerals.

Such shops were rare even here and nonexistent on the frontier.

It took a little wandering, as the ether in the city was thick and chaotic, but eventually, he found a place. Three streets past the Tower's public entrance, down a side alley, then two doors past a closed tea room.

The door he wanted had no sign, just three small sigils carved subtly into the lintel: an eye, a hand, and a spiral, serving as anchors for an obscuring ward that made the shop impossible to find for anyone with lesser senses.

Nick pushed the door.

From outside, the place had felt quiet. Inside, the mana hit him like stepping into a pool. The density of power wasn't enough to make him stumble, but it pressed around his ears the way being underwater did.

Shelves climbed the walls up to a ceiling netted with thin runes that made dust dissipate before it could gather. Jars were labeled precisely. Little drawers had neat brass pulls with etched sigils indicating contents that were not for apprentices. A long counter held a slate at his elbow height. Behind it, a board with pins mapped relationships between common reagents and how they ruined each other.

The witch looked up from a ledger as a flash of magic alerted her to a new customer. Her robes were deep red, clearly not Tower blue, Nick noted.

Her eyes went straight to him, then scanned up and down, as much assessing as observing. He sensed the faint pull of an information-gathering spell gliding against [Blasphemy] and failing to take hold, and watched her react to the miss.

First came curiosity, then interest, and not a little hunger.

"Well," she said. "You're either very powerful, very careful, or very rich. I like any of those three."