Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

Chapter 60

the prelate reached into the folds of his robes and produced a parchment, unrolling it with a theatrical flourish. inked upon it, golden script shimmered unnaturally. nick suspected it was the same kind used to keep track of kids before the class ceremony—the only problem was that adults shouldn't have needed it. the fact that the temple held such a record of beastmen made it even clearer that they were not trusted."let us begin," marthas intoned calmly. he seemed almost oblivious to the crowd's tension. he glanced at the list, then called out the first name. "grathen."

a heavy silence followed as a bearkin stepped forward, whose broad shoulders were hunched under the weight of hundreds of eyes. he was massive, even among his kind, with fur the color of tarnished copper and a face set in a permanent scowl. yet even he looked unnerved as he approached the prelate, hesitantly leaving the safety of the crowd.

"present yourself," marthas ordered, gesturing for grathen to stop a few feet away.

he straightened up as much as he could, clasping his hands together. "grathen ironhide," he rumbled. it was clearly forced, but nick had to give the man credit for not sounding nervous. he knew him to be an adventurer, which probably explained his steely nerves, but even those were little more than gnats before a prestige class.

marthas nodded approvingly, and a faint, almost fatherly smile curled his lips. "grathen, you will now receive sashara's cleansing flames. do not resist as the fire purifies."

with that, he extended his hand, and flames erupted into existence, swirling around his palm in vibrant shades of orange and gold. they danced unnaturally, moving in intricate patterns as if they were alive. it was mesmerizing, but nick caught the subtle way the fire twisted upon itself, as if eager to devour.

marthas waved his hand, and the flames leaped toward grathen, enveloping him in an instant.

what the fuck?!

the bearkin roared, stumbling back as he clawed at his fur. the flames licked at his body, seeming to burn but leaving no smoke or ash. his cries echoed across the grounds, and the crowd erupted in murmurs of alarm. a group of younger wolfkin surged forward instinctively, only to freeze when marthas raised his free hand. your journey continues with empire

"calm yourselves," the prelate commanded icily. he stepped forward, seizing grathen by the shoulder and hauling him upright with shocking ease. the flames still clung to the bearkin, flickering wildly, but there was no sign of actual damage. "grathen is unharmed, as you can see."

and he was.

the murmurs quieted as all eyes turned back to grathen. slowly, he ceased struggling and patted himself down, brushing his hands through the flames. his breathing was ragged, yet his fur remained untouched, and there were no signs of burns. "i… i'm fine," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

what the fuck?

marthas released him with a nod. "the flames test your purity of heart, nothing more. they do not harm those who are free of sin and corruption. you see, there is no cause for fear."

nick fought to gather himself. he closed his mouth and forced himself to flatten back down lest he be noticed.

his analytical mind was already working to dissect the magic. the fire was clearly extraordinary—it didn't consume matter, yet he could feel the air around it churn as oxygen was burned. the prelate's explanation was polished—likely rehearsed—but the mechanics of the spell intrigued nick. cleansing magic was incredibly rare and difficult to master, as what constituted filth varied depending on the specific culture.

nick knew of at least three budding spell casters on earth who lost their lives because they ended up removing the iron from their blood.

i wonder… is it an enchantment applied to the element? an evocation spell with a moral trigger? or something "divine" in origin? he suppressed a frustrated sigh. this magic is so far removed from earth's systems. if i could just study it more directly… i can think of so many ways this could be useful.

with grathen's safety assured, the people relaxed, if only slightly. the bear-man stepped back, still patting his body in

marthas descended the steps slowly, his eyes glowing with fiery power. the crimson tattoos on his arms flared brighter, and their intricate patterns became almost hypnotic. he stopped a few feet from the trembling mothman, casting a long shadow with his towering frame.

"morrin dusk," he growled, low and dangerous. "you would flee from sashara's light?"

morrin tried to speak, but his words were strangled, his throat working against whatever invisible force held him in place.

this is bad, nick thought grimly. very, very bad.