Low-Fantasy Occultist Isekai

For two consecutive days, Akari dragged Nick and his brother out of bed before dawn, disregarding their protests and complaints with cheerful cruelty. This morning had been no different, and now, as the afternoon session ended, Nick barely managed to stumble to his room and collapse onto his bed.

His muscles ached from the endless drills Akari insisted on hammering into him. For hours at a time, she had him running, lunging, balancing, and dodging while maintaining the proper breathing pattern. She insisted that mastering the basics was non-negotiable before he could advance his Skills.

Sure, it had its benefits—the slight improvement of his physical attributes was nice—but was it worth the complete obliteration of his free time when he had a mysterious book to read, a mysterious friend to talk to, and a mysterious enemy to find? Absolutely not.

He turned onto his back, glaring at the ceiling. She's not teaching me the Stalking Gait. She's keeping me busy. The thought gnawed at him. It wasn't just the brutal training schedule; it was the way she watched him like a hawk, ready to swoop in and redirect him the moment he so much as tried to get some privacy.

Nick sighed, the frustration bubbling over. "Mum must have told her to keep me out of trouble."

Not that she didn't have a point. Trouble seemed to find him with uncanny precision, but still. He had things to do—important things. He had yet to complete testing his new wand. He hadn't even been able to meet with Elia to hear her take on what had happened at the temple. And the grimoire, still tucked away in his satchel, might as well have been gathering dust for all the time he had to study it.

The door creaked open, and Nick tensed, half expecting Akari to barge in and drag him off for another round of sparring. Instead, his mother poked her head in with a warm smile. As if she wasn't the one behind this.

"Akari's been called into town," Elena said, stepping inside with a tray of bread and cheese. Ugh, she makes it hard to be mad. "The caravan leaders need her to sort out some scheduling issues. You've got the rest of the day to yourself."
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Nick's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you."

Elena laughed softly, setting the tray on his bedside table. "Don't spend it napping. You'll miss dinner."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I've got plans, don't worry."

Elena left with a knowing smile, and Nick wasted no time. He sat up, reached beneath his bed for his satchel, and pulled out the grimoire while absentmindedly munching on some cheese. Strange runes lined the margins of each page, shifting when he tried to focus on them, like shadows dancing just out of reach.

Nick stared at the book for a moment, feeling renewed excitement despite his exhaustion. It wasn't often that he got his hands on something so evidently valuable. From what Hel had implied, its contents could be the key to progressing his magic in ways he couldn't even imagine. To be honest, I'm more interested in that than any nebulous purpose it might instill in me.

So far, during the sparing few moments of peace he'd had before he fell asleep, exhausted by Akari's relentless training, he'd managed to scan the book for malicious effects. He hadn't found any, but he didn't begrudge the wasted time.

Blasphemy is an extremely powerful defense, but it has proven rigid. Charisma can bypass it, which means there might be something else that does the same. Spending a few cores and an evening making sure it's safe to handle is pretty smart, actually.

He hurried to finish his snack, gulping it down with some conjured water. Once the tray was out of the way, he made himself comfortable, ready for a long read.

Nick flipped the grimoire open, and the leather cover creaked softly as he smoothed the pages. The title stared up at him in bold, archaic script: The Final Temperance. He tilted his head, uncertain what to make of the name. He hoped he hadn't bought into some sexual abstinence nonsense. That time with the cult in Washington State had been more than enough for him.

"Not ominous at all," he muttered, leaning back against the headboard.

The first page seemed harmless enough—a preface claiming the book chronicled the life and accomplishments of Semreh, a supposed god of knowledge and medicinal practices. Nick frowned. He'd expected arcane formulas or obscure philosophy, not a biography. Still, he knew better than to literally judge a book from its cover.

The narrator, an unknown man who simply identified himself as Cosmus, told the story of Semreh from his humble beginnings in a remote village to his ascension as a mortal-born god. The opening chapter described how Semreh, born into a family of brewers and apothecaries, combined local traditions into a single corpus of medicinal practices.

At first, Nick skimmed over the minutiae of fermentation techniques and herbology, wondering if he'd been fleeced. This went on for more than twenty pages, repetitively describing how the god had learned of something from an esteemed elder and then applied his knowledge to produce a much better version.

"This better not just be a history lesson," he grumbled. He would still count this as a positive, as he could probably sell the recipes to Ogden. Of course, he'd keep the original, but better healing brews would only help Floria, especially if the future was as busy as everyone thought.

But as the story continued, it began to capture his attention. Semreh's approach was genuinely revolutionary. He sought out obscure recipes and rituals from neighboring villages, cross-referencing their methods to create something greater than the sum of their parts. The narrative painted a picture of a man driven by relentless curiosity, blending science, art, and spirituality into a cohesive philosophy.

Nick paused once the book went into a long tangent describing how important the connection to the people was for a mortal-born god, tapping the edge with his fingers. A mortal-born god… It wasn't an unfamiliar concept. Sashara, the goddess of flame, revered in many parts of the kingdom and patron of Floria, was said to have once been mortal. It was one of the most interesting parts of her story and also the one Vicar Alexander spoke about the least.

If it wasn't ridiculous, I'd say they were embarrassed. Is there a hierarchy of gods? The demon seemed to think being mortal-born was something to be ashamed of, but they aren't exactly a trustworthy source of information. More likely, the priests simply prefer speaking of her divine self as it's more impressive.

The book explored Semreh's life more deeply after that. As his reputation grew, so did his influence. Villagers offered him rare ingredients and lore in exchange for his brews and advice, and his fame spread throughout the region. Through these interactions, Semreh developed what Cosmos claimed would later become the foundational principles of modern magic. By codifying various traditions and experimenting with new techniques, he established the groundwork for the practices taught in his day.

Considering the state of this book, I can safely say Cosmos wrote this at least a century ago. Maybe even more. That said, magical principles don't change that much, and it's very rare for those changes to be so radical as to invalidate previous traditions. Anything Semreh made should still be relevant, even just as inspiration.

Nick found himself captivated despite his general skepticism of religion. It wasn't so much the story as Semreh's approach to life. His philosophy was straightforward yet profound: Recognizing the interconnectedness of all things could unlock immense potential. The text was filled with metaphors and symbols, some of which made Nick stop to reflect.

One passage caught his eye: "To brew is to bind. To distill is to refine. To drink is to transform." It was an obvious alchemical principle, but it made sense even when taken out of that context.

"When you change something, you take a part of it into yourself. When you seek the truth, you better yourself. When you accept the truth, you become more." That was the meaning Cosmos attributed to his god's words. Nick wasn't sure about the specific interpretation, but he could acknowledge it was an interesting thought.

The book wasn't entirely reverent, though. Some parts questioned Semreh's methods, hinting at ethical dilemmas within the faith. Did his relentless pursuit of knowledge come at a cost? Were there sacrifices he made that weren't entirely noble? The text danced around these questions, leaving them open to interpretation.

That makes Cosmos more reliable. If this had been the work of a fanatic, I would have dismissed it. It reads more like a scholar going through his own faith with a fine comb.

As Nick flipped through more pages, he noticed it was becoming an increasingly eclectic mix of content. There were recipes for medicinal brews, each accompanied by detailed notes on their preparation and effects—though, unfortunately, all the ingredients were unfamiliar to him. One claimed to cure ailments of the lungs, while another was designed to turn petrified limbs back into flesh. A section on local fauna described creatures Nick had never seen, complete with vivid illustrations and their potential uses in potions.

Then, there were the spells.

Nick's heart raced as he stumbled upon a page marked with an intricate sigil. The title of the spell was unknown, written in a language he did not recognize. He leaned closer, tracing the lines of the sigil with his finger, narrowing his eyes as he attempted to make sense of the accompanying text. But just as he began to understand its structure, the book snapped shut with a sharp clap.

"Ah!" Nick jerked back, his heart pounding. For a moment, he remained frozen, staring at the closed grimoire as if it might spring to life and bite him. There had been nothing in his scans to show that this was a possibility. In fact, beyond the powerful privacy spell that was remarkably similar to Roberta's, if even more powerful, there had been no sign of active magic.

"What the hell?" he muttered. Tentatively, he reached out and tried to pry the book open again, but the cover refused to budge, as if it were fused shut. He frowned, tugging harder, yet the grimoire remained stubbornly closed.

He dropped it onto his lap with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "So that's what she meant about not learning anything, huh? Great."

The experience left him with more questions than answers. Was it a safeguard to prevent him from tampering with advanced magic? Did it require a test to prove his worthiness? Or was the grimoire just being difficult because he wasn't a true believer?

Fine. If you want to play hard to get, I'll figure out how to beat you. I'm not above a bit of ritual sacrifice if that's what it takes to pry you open.

He placed the grimoire back in his satchel. Leaning back against the headboard, he stared at the ceiling, feeling the echoes of Semreh's philosophy swirling in his mind. There was something there—something important. He just needed time to unravel it.

I suppose it's possible Hel gave it to me to dispose of a faulty grimoire, but I doubt that's the case. It's more likely that I need to clear some threshold to read further. I'll try again tomorrow, but if it works as I suspect, it will only open to the chronicles again. I should take the time to copy everything down. The answer is probably hidden in there somewhere.

If anything, the book would make for good practice. Nick had long meant to go over his spell list and improve his old magic with the new concepts he'd learned in this life. He knew it wouldn't be as easy as using a mana core to cast an overpowered [Hellenic Inspection] as he had done to check the book, but that didn't mean he couldn't do it.

I think I'll start with the air sense. Yes, if I can craft a new spell using the principles of both lives, I should be able to breeze through the list. And maybe if I reach a higher mastery, the book will let me read more.