The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 97 - 98 – Arrival

With a roar of unrestrained fury, Karim lifted Ives and slammed him into the ground. A sickening crack echoed in the night—the unmistakable sound of breaking bone. Ives crumpled, his body twisted at an unnatural angle, his spine undoubtedly shattered.

Before he could even gasp in pain, Karim’s fist drove into his chest like a hammer against steel. Crack. Blood sprayed from Ives’ mouth as his ribs buckled under the impact.

Just as Karim prepared to deliver another devastating blow, his movements slowed. A flicker of restraint cut through his rage, and he forced himself to take a breath.

From the sidelines, Hutson watched the scene unfold with a knowing look. "You put a man who isn’t even a knight in charge of guarding a Grand Knight," he said, shaking his head. "A foolish mistake. No matter how broken he is, he’s still a Grand Knight. Ordinary guards were never going to hold him."

Karim’s expression darkened with regret. His grip on Ives tightened before he exhaled sharply. "I miscalculated," he admitted, his voice heavy. "This is on me. From now on, I’ll guard him personally."

Hutson shrugged, his tone indifferent. "Or, you could just kill him now and save yourself the trouble."

"No." Karim’s reply was firm, resolute. "I will see him hang in Stormhold. Before the eyes of its people, justice will be done. The souls of those he slaughtered deserve nothing less."

Hutson sighed, raising his hands in surrender. "Fine. As long as you don’t slow us down, do whatever you want."

Without another word, Karim turned and lifted Lixi’s lifeless body into his arms. Silent and grim, he carried her into the woods. His companions watched but did not follow—this was something he needed to do alone.

Hutson climbed back onto his carriage and resumed his meditation.

Meanwhile, Ives was bound again—this time with brutal efficiency. The ropes dug into his flesh, his already crippled left arm secured behind his back. A new cage was brought in to replace the one Karim had shattered in his rage, and six men were stationed to guard him at all times.

Karim returned hours later, his face shadowed with grief. He did not speak as he took his post beside Ives’ cage, nor did he leave it, even for a moment. He had vowed to guard him personally, and Karim was a man of his word.

From that night on, Ives’ suffering only deepened. His meager ration of water was cut further, and food became even rarer—three or four days would pass before he was given anything. Karim, once fierce and commanding, grew quieter, his sorrow weighing heavily upon him.

Hutson observed him one evening, shaking his head in mild amusement. Regret? What use is regret? If you hesitate to crush a threat early, you only invite disaster. He said nothing, merely watching as Karim carried his burden of guilt.

The next two weeks passed in silence. Ives’ every movement was monitored—his food was inspected, ensuring he would never again find a weapon.

But Hutson, ever perceptive, had offhandedly remarked one night: "No bones in his food, sure. But he’s still got a mouth full of teeth."

The moment the words left his lips, Ives’ eyes widened in horror. He knew what was coming.

The camp echoed with his screams that night.

And so, when the caravan finally reached the border of the Kingdom of Doris, Ives sat in his cage, toothless, broken, and utterly defeated.

Brownstone, a fortress city guarding the eastern frontier of Doris, stood before them. Though home to only five thousand souls, its security was impenetrable. No one entered without proper clearance.

For the mercenaries of Karim’s band, this meant their journey had reached its end. None of them possessed the necessary permits to cross into Doris—they had fulfilled their contract by delivering the caravan safely.

Karim met with Roque, finalizing the necessary paperwork. Once done, he gathered his men and set out on the road back—dragging Ives with them.

Meanwhile, the merchants queued for entry. The border guards worked methodically, checking every document with unwavering scrutiny.

Among the travelers was Hutson, standing apart from the others. The crowd instinctively gave him space, unwilling to risk even the smallest offense.

From afar, Ed watched him with sorrow in his eyes. At last, unable to bear it, he called out softly, "My lord..."

Hutson glanced at him, then, after a brief moment, beckoned him forward.

Ed hurried over. "Do you need something, my lord?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Hutson studied him. "Your slave contract—it’s with Roque, isn’t it?"

"Yes, my lord," Ed answered, confused.

Hutson seemed to consider something. Then, with an absent wave of his hand, he said, "Hold my place in line. I have business to attend to."

Ed blinked but obeyed without question. Not that it matters, he thought. Even if Hutson left and returned later, no one would dare to object.

Everyone here knew what he had done.

Hutson strode away and found Roque, who raised an eyebrow at his approach.

"How much for Ed?" Hutson asked. "I’ll buy him."

Roque was taken aback, then grinned. "If Sir Gelant wants him, consider it a gift. No need for payment."

A short while later, Ed’s slave documents were placed into Hutson’s hands.

Returning to the line, Hutson handed them to Ed without ceremony.

"Now," he said, "tell me—what needs to be done to free you from this status?"

Ed stood frozen, his expression one of pure disbelief. His hands trembled, his breath hitched. "I... I..." He struggled to find his words, overwhelmed by emotion.

"Calm down and just tell me," Hutson said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Ed wiped at the tears that welled in his eyes. "As long as my master agrees and I can register a new identity somewhere, I’ll be free. But..." He hesitated.

"But what?" Hutson’s gaze sharpened.

Ed raised a hand to his face, tracing the mark seared into his skin. "This." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Even if I get my freedom, as long as this slave brand remains, people will still see me as nothing more than a slave."

A slave mark was permanent—stained into flesh by cruel magic or hot iron. The only way to remove it was to carve out the skin itself. But Ed’s brand was on his face, large and impossible to ignore. To cut it away would mean taking half his face with it.

Hutson nodded, taking in the weight of Ed’s words. "I see. For now, you stay with me. I’ll deal with the mark later."

To him, this was a minor issue. Erasing a slave brand was hardly a challenge. With AI chip’s knowledge, he could concoct a dozen different alchemical solutions capable of dissolving the mark without harming the skin beneath.

Hutson was not merely a master of potion-making; he was well-versed in both alchemy and herbal medicine—disciplines that formed the very foundation of magical pharmacology.

And in the vast database of AI chip, countless medical texts were stored. Back in the library of Northen Academy, Hutson had spent endless nights recording every scrap of knowledge he could find.

This was no obstacle. It was simply another problem to be solved.