Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Nick stepped back from the makeshift stall, stretching his arms to ease the slight ache from lifting and arranging the books. The last of the crates lay unopened on the ground, while the old woman was already rummaging through it, extracting even more leather-bound tomes.

"Here, boy," she said, her voice sharp and commanding as she waved a hand in his direction. "Get this one sorted, would you? My back isn't what it used to be."

Nick blinked at her, realization dawning like a thunderclap. He straightened, letting the book he was holding thump onto the shelf a little harder than intended.

"Wait," he said slowly, feeling the pieces click into place. "You've had me doing your work for an entire hour. That's more than enough to get a discount."

The old woman paused and looked at him with an expression that balanced between innocent surprise and barely concealed amusement. "Well, you were already here, and you didn't complain," she said with a shrug, though the faint twitch of her lips revealed her delight. "I thought you'd like to be helpful. Idle hands and all that."

Nick frowned, feeling his annoyance increase. "I offered a little help, not to do all the work of setting up the stall for you."

At that, the woman erupted into laughter—full, raucous cackles that echoed through the market and caught the curious glances of a few passersby. She clutched her sides, leaning against the stall for support as her laughter grew louder, tears forming at the corners of her yellow eyes.

Nick folded his arms, deepening his frown. "I don't see what's so funny."

"Oh, child," she wheezed between fits of laughter. "You should see your face. Priceless! Absolutely priceless!"

She wiped her eyes, still chuckling, and straightened with an audible creak of her bones. "Don't get your feathers ruffled. You've got a sharp enough mind to figure this out, haven't you?"

Nick's eyes narrowed as he replayed their encounter in his mind, beginning with the moment she had lured him in with a vague promise of finding something interesting, all the way to the hour he had just spent doing her work. It hadn't been unpleasant, exactly—he didn't mind books, and organizing them felt almost meditative—but the realization that he had been subtly manipulated irked him.

"You used some kind of charm magic," he accused. It wasn't true, he knew. Blasphemy would have dealt with that. But he couldn't simply ignore the most likely option. That would be suspicious.

The woman grinned, unapologetic. "Charm? No, no. Nothing so crude. That would be crossing a line, and I don't like to step on toes, especially with so many eyes on this little town. Besides, if I had, you would have felt it, wouldn't you? You have an ability to peer through such things."

Nick stiffened. How does she know?

"So what was it, then?" he asked, his voice tense. If this was the third Prestige class he encountered in a week, he'd start seriously questioning their rarity. And even if she is one, I doubt she can influence me through Blasphemy. If a god can't, how could she?

"Charisma, darling," she said, spreading her arms as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Some of us are born with a silver tongue, while others spend years sharpening it to a fine edge. I simply… encouraged you. Gave you a little nudge in the direction you were already inclined to go. Helping an old lady isn't that strange, and the promise of a reward makes everyone more pliable."

Nick scowled, but he couldn't fully refute her explanation. He had been curious about her books, and helping set up hadn't seemed like a big deal at the time. Still, knowing he had been played irked him. Not to mention her knowledge of his trait. She might not know what it is, but to say I can't be affected by charms means she has some method of testing people—one that the System doesn't detect.

"Relax, boy," the woman said, softening her grin into something almost kind. "You're not the first to fall under Hel's wiles, and you won't be the last. But I'll tell you what—I'll make it up to you. Choose one item, any item, and I'll give you a discount so good you'll think I've finally gone senile. I am, after all, a trader of grimoires extraordinaire. There must be something you'll want."

Nick hesitated, torn between annoyance and the lure of a good deal. Still, a grimoire trader, as she referred to herself, was likely to have something worth his time.

"Fine," he said, at last, his tone clipped. "But you better not stiff me."

Hel smirked. "Oh, I won't. I've already had my fun and I don't do this for money."

Nick began sifting through the shelves, his irritation gradually fading as he concentrated on the task. Hel's collection was undeniably impressive. There were treatises on weather magic that made his fingers itch to dive in, detailing everything from storm summoning to delicate atmospheric manipulations—something that would undoubtedly help develop his wind magic. Another shelf contained theoretical works by Archmages, exploring the nuances of mana flow and the interplay between passive and active magic—another topic he was interested in.

As he flipped through one of the tomes, his annoyance softened further. Whatever else Hel might be, she wasn't a fraud. The quality of her collection was undeniable, and the knowledge contained in these pages was worth far more than an hour of unpaid labor.

Then he found what he was looking for—a battered book that seemed completely out of place among the polished and pristine volumes surrounding it. Its cover was scuffed and cracked, its spine barely holding together, and the faded lettering on the front was unreadable. He had noticed it earlier, but he had simply set it aside in the Charisma-induced haze.

What caught his attention wasn't its appearance. It was the faint shimmer of magic that clung to it like a second skin, almost identical to the protective enchantments he'd encountered with Roberta's diary.

Nick's fingers had barely wrapped around the battered tome when Hel's hand shot out like a striking snake, seizing his wrist with surprising strength. Her sharp nails dug into his skin as she held him in place.

The joviality vanished from her face. The air of amused eccentricity was replaced by something cold and sharp. Her yellow eyes drilled into him with an intensity that made Nick feel like a bug pinned under glass.

"Hey," Nick said, trying to pull back. Her grip didn't budge. "What gives?"

She didn't answer right away, starting as if she were searching for something deeper. A chill crept down Nick's spine, and he instinctively shifted his mana, preparing to break her hold with a [Wind Burst]. But before he could react, she released him, letting her hand fall to the side as her eyes flicked away, distracted.

"Should've known," she muttered, almost to herself. "Someone like you in a place like this only makes sense." Continue your journey on empire

Nick rubbed his wrist, frowning. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Instead of answering, Hel's gaze swept the market square. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked more resigned than curious when she turned back to him. Before Nick could press her further, he noticed the silence.

The market had gone quiet.

It wasn't just quiet—it was unnatural. There was no distant chatter of merchants haggling, no clink of coins, and no shuffling of feet. It was the kind of silence that made the world feel wrong, as if a void had swallowed every sound.

His passive air sense picked up nothing either. The usual ebb and flow of movement around him, subtle ripples of displaced air, had vanished. He could only feel the immediate space around him, as though an invisible barrier had sealed them off from the rest of the world.

Nick tutted, breaking the quiet with a derisive sound. If she wanted to scare him, she'd have to do more than this—especially after the morning he'd had. "You've got a real flair for the dramatic, huh?"

Hel didn't respond right away, but the corner of her mouth lifted slightly. She shuffled over to the chair he had assembled for her earlier and settled into it with a creak of wood—but not joints, he noted. Then she motioned to the bench beside her.

"Sit," she said.

Nick hesitated. His instincts screamed at him to stay on his feet, to maintain some control over the situation. But something about the way she looked at him—serious, expectant—made him relent. With a sigh, he sat on the bench, the worn tome still clutched in his hands.

Leaning forward, with her elbows resting on her knees, Hel's yellow eyes locked onto his. "I'll make this quick, boy. Since I've already taken advantage of your goodwill, it's only fair I offer you a bit of wisdom in return."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "And I'm supposed to trust you now?"

Her lips twitched into a dry smile. "Trust? No, I don't expect that. But I've been around long enough to recognize when someone's teetering on the brink of something significant, even if they're unaware of it themselves. You have the look of someone who's been reaching for answers without even knowing the right questions."

"Vague and ominous," Nick said, leaning back. "You're really building up the suspense here."

She chuckled. "Always so glib, you young ones. Fine, I'll get to the point." She gestured toward the tome in his hands. "That book you picked up—it wasn't meant for just anyone. In fact, for most people, it doesn't even exist. It's hidden, concealed by a compulsion that blinds the unworthy. And yet, there it was, in your hands."

Nick frowned, glancing down at the book. He could still feel the faint hum of protective magic around it, but nothing that would explain what she was saying. "What do you mean, 'doesn't exist'? I saw it just fine."

Hel nodded, her expression grave. "Exactly. You saw it. That tells me something about you, boy. Either you've got a skill for breaking compulsions—which I already suspected—or you've got something even rarer."

Nick stared, unsure whether to laugh or take her seriously. "What are you, a fortune teller?"

Her gaze hardened. "I've seen plenty in my time. Enough to know that those who rise above the rest, who ascend to heights others can only dream of, all share one thing in common. They're different. Set apart by the System itself. You might not see it yet, but I do."

He opened his mouth to retort, but Hel held up a hand to stop him. "Don't bother denying it. If you were ordinary, you wouldn't have been able to touch that book, let alone see it."

Nick shifted uncomfortably. "You sound awfully certain for someone who just met me."

Hel shrugged. "I've been wrong before, but not often. In my long life, I have met many people like you—those with a spark. The ones who have a chance to do something extraordinary. I can't cross into Prestige myself—I burned my bridges a long time ago—but I like to think I can still point others in the right direction. And you need that. Oh, do you need that, poor boy. Wandering without direction is not something to strive for."

He narrowed his eyes. He did not appreciate being psychoanalyzed by someone who had just met him—even if he knew there was some truth to her words. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Call it penance. Or boredom. Take your pick." she said simply.

Nick studied her, searching for any signs of deception. He didn't trust her. He couldn't trust her, not after what she had done. The small nudges Charisma provided were enough for him to spend an entire hour working without complaint, despite wanting to do so for only a few minutes. He couldn't help but wonder what she would have done to a more unsuspecting child—one without the benefit of a lifetime of dealing with arrogant "mages" at their back.

"Fine," he said at last. "Let's say I believe you. What am I supposed to do with that?"

Hel leaned back in her chair, her expression softening. "That's for you to figure out. But if you're smart, you'll begin by picking up that book. It won't give you any direct answers. In fact, you probably won't learn anything at all from it—for a decade or two, I would wager. But having something to aim for is a reward in itself."