The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 116 - 117 – Letters from Afar

The first letter bore the familiar handwriting of Emil.

"Hutson, I have a son! His name is Wayne Salla. And you, my friend, are his godfather. If you ever get the chance, come back and see him.

By then, perhaps Melissa and I will no longer be here, but he will be."

Hutson’s fingers tightened slightly around the parchment.

Emil’s words carried a weight that could not be ignored. A child. A future. And a friend who still thought of him across the vast expanse of the sea.

"Scholar Claude’s health is failing. I don’t know if he’ll make it through the winter."

A shadow crossed Hutson’s gaze.

Claude had been a guiding force—a man whose wisdom shaped their understanding of the world. The thought of his decline felt like watching an old star flicker, on the verge of being swallowed by the abyss.

"The adventurer’s guild I founded is thriving. We’ve made a name for ourselves, and people are seeking us out for work."

"I can feel myself getting closer to breaking through as a Grand Knight. Perhaps it won’t be long now. When that time comes, I’ll have the strength to protect Wayne, Melissa, and all those who followed me—Jimmy included."

A small smile touched Hutson’s lips. Emil’s ambition had never wavered. In a way, their paths had mirrored each other—both striving for power, one through the way of the sword, the other through the arcane.

"You ventured to that distant continent. No doubt it’s fraught with danger. Hutson, you’re still young—never let your guard down. Trust no one too easily.

The world of sorcerers... Claude once told me it is both mysterious and perilous. Be cautious. Don’t rush into things."

Hutson exhaled slowly.

The letter continued, filled with ordinary tales of life back home—trivial, yet priceless in their familiarity.

By the time he reached the end, he realized he had been reading for a long time. And yet... it wasn’t enough.

For a brief moment, it felt as though Emil was sitting across from him, speaking in his usual steady tone. Hutson wanted to keep listening. But the letter had come to its end.

He sighed, carefully folding the parchment and storing it safely within his space ring.

Then, he picked up Lilian’s letter.

"I heard that tensions between Moonlight Woodland and Green Cabin are escalating. War might be inevitable.

If you ever find yourself without a place to go, come to me. No sorcerer would dare lay a hand on you within the walls of Augustus Academy."

Augustus Academy.

Unlike other sorcerer factions, Augustus Academy was unparalleled in its openness. Most factions guarded their secrets jealously, barring outsiders from entering without undergoing rigorous approval.

But Augustus? A simple registration was all it took for foreign sorcerers to visit and study within its halls.

Yet this openness was not born from naivety—but from strength.

Rumors whispered that a force beyond the northern reaches of Karag Continent supported Augustus Academy. A faction so powerful that even the most dominant sorcerer organizations dared not provoke it.

Hutson set the letter aside. Perhaps, once the dust settled, he would pay it a visit.

"I don’t know if this letter will reach you in time, or if you are even still in Moonlight Woodland. If you have a way out, take it—but be careful."

"And if you come across a ruin, do not enter. Most ancient sorcerer ruins are beyond our abilities as apprentices.

Remember their dangers exceed your imagination—never underestimate them."

Hutson chuckled softly.

He had read this letter too late.

He had already entered one such ruin.

Creek Valley Town had been exactly the kind of ancient sorcerer site Lilian warned about—filled with secrets, hidden dangers, and death lurking in every shadow.

Surviving it had been sheer luck.

But fortune favored the bold. The rewards had been immense—especially the slate of Grand Abyssal Darkness, a prize worth any risk.

Hutson tapped his fingers against his space ring. Inside, a necklace—the Heart of the Ocean—lay waiting. A gift he had prepared for Lilian.

When the time was right, he would deliver it in person.

For now, he had more immediate concerns.

Placing the letters aside, Hutson lay back, staring at the ceiling in contemplation.

The war had changed everything.

The once vibrant town he had known was now a ghost of itself. As he made his way through the streets the next morning, he noticed how many people were missing.

Gone.

Some had fled, seeking refuge in safer lands.

But most?

Most had perished in battle.

Hutson glanced at his communication stone, scrolling through the list of names.

Leo had yet to respond. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Leo—the apprentice who spent his days peddling wares in the flea market while mastering spellcraft in the shadows. A man with no powerful connections, no backing, no means to escape.

He had likely perished in the war.

Another name erased. Another soul lost.

Betsy, at least, was still alive—though injured, confined to her home. She had promised to meet Hutson once her wounds had healed.

With these thoughts weighing on him, Hutson finally arrived at his destination.

A familiar tower loomed before him—the residence of Master Lary.

He knocked.

The door creaked open, revealing Gami, the elderly house elf who had served Lary for countless years.

Hutson exhaled softly.

Whatever awaited him inside, he would soon find out.

As Hutson stepped inside, the air carried the faint scent of aged parchment and alchemical reagents.

At the foot of the staircase stood Gami, the ancient house elf.

He looked even frailer than before—his once steady posture now hunched, his movements labored as though every step was a struggle.

"Master is upstairs. Go on your own... Gami can’t make it up the stairs anymore."

His voice was weak, each word carrying the weight of time itself.

Hutson cast him a brief glance but said nothing. Instead, he turned and ascended the stairs.

At the top, he found Lary, removing a pair of thick alchemical gloves, protective goggles still perched on his forehead.

The sorcerer’s sharp eyes gleamed with recognition as he took in Hutson’s presence.

Then, he grinned.

"I knew I wasn’t wrong about you! Third-rank apprentice already? Impressive. Your cultivation speed is approaching that of those with ninety-plus aptitude scores—it’s remarkable."

There was genuine admiration in his tone.

Even Lary hadn’t expected this. Hutson had ventured beyond the Moonlight Woodland, facing untold dangers, and yet, against all odds, he had returned as a third-rank sorcerer’s apprentice—a feat not easily achieved outside the controlled safety of sorcerer institutions.

Hutson merely smiled.

"I suppose I just got lucky."

Without another word, he reached into his space ring, retrieving a small wooden box.

The lid clicked open, revealing the luminous silver leaves of the Moonstone Herb.

Lary stepped forward, taking the box from him. He inspected the herb for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction.

"Excellent. Mission complete."

Hutson hesitated for a beat before speaking.

"Gami looks like he’s barely holding on. Is he... dying?"

Lary glanced toward the lower floor, where the frail house elf rested.

"More or less. He’s ancient. I’d say he has about... fifty years left."

"Fifty years?"

Hutson blinked.

Fifty years? In his mind, Gami was already at death’s door—his withered frame, his shaking hands, his labored breath. And yet, somehow, the elf still had half a century left in him?

Hutson let out a slow breath.

"The longevity of elves... is truly absurd."

Gami looked like he could keel over at any moment, and yet, he would persist longer than most humans’ lifetimes.

Resilient indeed.