The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 101 - 102: Deciphering the Ancient Slate

Images flickered through Hutson’s mind in a rapid blur, his blood surging, his pulse hammering in his veins.

He shut his eyes, drawing in a slow breath before sinking once more into meditation, willing his turbulent emotions to settle.

Minutes passed.

After nearly ten, a sense of calm finally returned.

"Compared to most potions, this so-called side effect is barely an inconvenience. At worst, it just means spending a little extra time in meditation."

Overall, Hutson was more than satisfied with the Astral Elixir’s effects. Meditation itself was a powerful tool for maintaining emotional equilibrium—given enough time, any restlessness could be suppressed.

Of course, there were... other ways to deal with such impulses.

But meditation was a necessity for him—an unshakable discipline. He had no intention of wasting two or three hours every day on distractions. It was simply inefficient.

Efficiency won.

Ten minutes of meditation was all it took to return his mind to clarity.

He glanced at the remaining potion—nine milliliters of the Astral Elixir still sat in the vial. Each batch produced ten milliliters, enough for ten days of use.

With the experiment a success, Hutson meticulously cleaned his laboratory, restoring everything to pristine order before securing the room and locking the door behind him.

As he descended the stairs, he spotted Ed and Judy entering the courtyard, laughing softly, their shoulders brushing as they walked.

Upon seeing him, they instantly stiffened—Ed, in particular, paled slightly as he hurriedly stepped away from Judy.

Hutson chuckled. His gaze flickered toward the slave brand still visible on Ed’s face, and a thought surfaced in his mind.

"Ed," he called out. "Come here for a moment."

Judy shot Ed a worried glance, but Ed had no choice but to obey. Though apprehensive, he approached Hutson.

Hutson clapped a firm hand on his shoulder, his tone calm yet direct.

"Don’t overthink it. If you like Judy, then pursue her. So long as you handle your duties well, I have no interest in interfering."

"I—No, my lord, I—" Ed stammered, flustered by the unexpected bluntness.

But the moment he realized Hutson wasn’t angry, his tightly wound nerves eased.

Many masters forbade their servants from forming attachments. If caught, punishments ranged from floggings to outright executions—an accepted cruelty, spoken of in whispers.

But Hutson was different. He had no intention of lingering in this place for long. Ed would, eventually, have a life beyond servitude.

"I called you over for something else," Hutson continued, his gaze lingering on the slave brand marring Ed’s face. "I want to see if I can remove that mark."

Ed froze. His breath hitched.

"Y-You can remove it?"

A surge of emotion flashed across his face—hope, raw and desperate.

When the brand had first been burned into his skin, there had been nights where he’d wished for death rather than bear the shame. Even now, he had simply learned to endure. He no longer flinched when people sneered at him, no longer bowed his head at every whispered remark.

But the truth was, he still cared.

A slave’s brand was permanent.

It was seared deep into flesh with an alchemical solution that fused into the very blood and tissue, making it nearly impossible to erase.

He had once tried—desperation driving him to carve into his own skin with a blade, only to be left with raw wounds that bled, festered, and ultimately changed nothing.

For years, he had abandoned all hope of ever being free from it.

But now—

Now, Hutson was telling him there was a way.

And if it was Hutson, then perhaps... it was possible.

Hutson turned slightly, his voice laced with quiet command.

"AI chip, analyze the composition of the brand and formulate a removal method—one that won’t cause excessive harm."

A moment passed before the response came.

[ Analysis complete. The mark is composed of a solution derived from Cabbagewort. The following formula can be used for removal: ]

[ Ten grams of Rootless Vine. Forty grams of Pig’s Stomach Herb. Eighty grams of Sunstone Powder... ]

Hutson scanned the list. Basic herbs.

Not even a single alchemical ingredient.

He quickly jotted down the materials on a slip of parchment and handed it to Ed.

"Buy these."

Ed took the list, gripping it as though it were a lifeline.

"Yes, my lord!" he blurted, before bolting from the courtyard at full speed.

Less than half an hour later, he returned—breathless, yet triumphant—with the herbs clutched tightly in his arms.

Hutson wasted no time.

Unlike potion-brewing, this required no magic. No precise manipulation of mana.

Alchemy was unforgiving—the slightest mistake could ruin an entire batch, wasting valuable ingredients. At worst, it could be dangerous.

This, however, was simple.

An hour later, Hutson held a large beaker filled with a pale yellow solution.

He motioned for Ed to step forward, then carefully dipped a brush into the liquid before applying it over the brand.

"Apply this once per day. In half a month, the mark will be completely gone."

The liquid would seep into Ed’s skin, breaking down the alchemical components of the brand over time. Slowly, the pigmentation would fade until there was nothing left.

It was a process that demanded patience.

But it would work.

Ed clutched the glass bottle with both hands, his fingers trembling slightly.

He fell to his knees.

"My lord..."

His voice wavered, thick with emotion.

And then—he bowed low, pressing his forehead to the ground

Hutson waved a hand impatiently. "Enough. Go."

He had little patience for a grown man sniveling before him. With an exasperated sigh, he kicked Ed straight out the door.

Yet, far from being upset, Ed simply grinned like a fool, as if even being kicked was a blessing.

Hutson shook his head and turned away, stepping back into his room.

The first thing he did was check every corner—his gaze sweeping across the chamber, sharp and methodical. No signs of intrusion. No disturbances.

Still, he would take no chances.

"AI chip," he commanded, his voice low. "Monitor everything around me. If anything—anyone or anything—comes near, alert me immediately."

["Monitoring activated."]

Only after that did Hutson allow himself a breath.

From the depths of his spatial ring, he withdrew the ancient stone tablet—the one etched with forbidden magic from ages past.

Its presence alone seemed to weigh down the air, radiating an eerie, unspoken power.

Hutson barely let his gaze linger before shifting his eyes away.

The inscriptions hadn’t changed. The arcane script remained as inscrutable as ever.

"AI chip," he asked at last, "can you decipher the contents of this tablet?"

["Affirmative."]

A flicker of anticipation stirred in his chest. "Then tell me—what is recorded on it?"

["Based on available data, the tablet contains the structure of a First-Circle spell."]

Hutson exhaled. As expected.

Still, confirmation was better than assumption.

He pressed on.

"If I dedicate 30% of my mana each day to its decryption, how long will it take to fully decipher the spell?"

["Calculating..."]

Silence.

The minutes ticked by.

Then, finally—after ten whole minutes—AI chip responded.

["Estimated time required: 187 days."]

Hutson let out a slow breath.

Over six months.

A long time—yet, in truth, it meant little to him. Even if the spell were deciphered this very instant, he lacked the mental strength to comprehend it.

The knowledge etched into the stone demanded the mind of at least a Third-Tier Apprentice Sorcerer to withstand its depths.

And Hutson was not there.

Not yet.