The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 117 - 118 – The Sale

A quiet sigh escaped Hutson’s lips.

Even if he risked his life and one day ascended to the rank of a full-fledged sorcerer, his lifespan would extend only to three hundred years—and yet, even that was less than Gami’s.

Elves were born blessed, their lifespans stretching across centuries, far outlasting any mortal man.

Some are born in Rome, others are born as beasts of burden.

Lary removed his goggles, casually rinsed them in a basin of enchanted water, then poured two cups of freshly brewed black coffee.

"Sit."

The two of them took their seats at a small round table, steam curling from their cups.

Lary stirred his drink absentmindedly before speaking.

"Let’s talk about the situation."

"The war between Moonlight Woodland and Green Lodge is over. The two sides are now negotiating the terms of their truce."

He took a slow sip of his coffee, then glanced at Hutson with a knowing look.

"And do you know who ended this war? Someone you know."

Hutson raised an eyebrow.

"Someone I know?"

His mind raced. There were only a handful of people he was acquainted with who had the power to turn the tide of war.

The most obvious name was Malcolm—but Lary shouldn’t have known about his connection to Malcolm.

That meant it had to be someone else.

But who?

Hutson thought hard, but no answer came to him.

"Who was it?"

Lary chuckled softly, then spoke a name.

"Fegar."

The name sent a chill through Hutson’s spine.

His mind instantly conjured up Fegar’s face—that emotionless expression, those cold, indifferent eyes.

"Fegar?"

Hutson’s voice carried a note of disbelief.

"How could it be him?"

The last he remembered, Fegar had been a mere second-rank apprentice, and his sorcerer’s aptitude was a pathetic five. With that level of talent, reaching third-rank should have been nearly impossible, let alone gaining the power to alter the course of war.

Lary took another sip of his coffee before delivering the next shocking revelation.

"He’s a full-fledged sorcerer now."

Hutson nearly dropped his cup.

"A full-fledged sorcerer?!"

He could hardly believe it.

Even with his own seventy-five-point aptitude and the Deep Blue assistance, he was still only a third-rank apprentice, with a long road ahead before reaching the level of a true sorcerer.

And yet, Fegar, with his pitifully low talent, had already surpassed him?

Lary nodded.

"Surprised? Envious, even? Once you hear his story, you won’t be."

As Lary recounted the tale, Hutson slowly began to understand.

When Fegar had first joined Green Lodge, he had quickly caught the attention of Malcolm.

Not for his sorcerer’s talent—but because he made for an ideal test subject.

The moment Fegar set foot in Green Lodge, his life became a living hell.

Malcolm subjected him to one experiment after another, each one more gruesome than the last—trials that should have torn him apart, that should have left him dead.

And yet...

He survived.

Not only did he survive, but with each experiment, he grew stronger.

Malcolm, fascinated by this unnatural resilience, intensified the experiments, pushing Fegar further and further.

Not even the war could halt the tests.

And then, in the chaos of battle, Fegar did something no one expected—

He ascended.

In the midst of the war’s deadlock, Fegar silently achieved the rank of a full-fledged sorcerer.

And the first thing he did...

Was turn against Malcolm.

With unwavering precision, Fegar launched a devastating sneak attack, severely wounding Malcolm before vanishing into the night.

The attack sent shockwaves through Green Lodge.

Two more full-fledged sorcerers defected, emboldened by Fegar’s rebellion.

The tides of war shifted in an instant.

With Malcolm grievously injured, the anti-war faction within Green Lodge quickly seized power, pushing for a truce.

And just like that, the war faded into silence.

Malcolm remained in seclusion, nursing his wounds.

Fegar?

Nowhere to be found.

Though Malcolm had sent countless hunters to track him down, no one had yet to uncover Fegar’s whereabouts.

Hutson exhaled, still grappling with the sheer insanity of it all.

"Even if Fegar became a full-fledged sorcerer, how could he possibly wound Malcolm? Malcolm is one of the strongest in the first tier—how did he do it?"

Lary shook his head.

"That... no one knows."

"Only Malcolm and Fegar were there. And Malcolm isn’t talking."

A long silence hung between them.

There were no answers to be found.

And in the end, Hutson decided not to dwell on it.

Fegar’s fate was not his concern.

Instead, he reached into his space ring, retrieving a small, vibrant plant.

"Master, take a look at this."

Lary’s eyes lit up.

"A Dragonwhisker Herb? And such fine quality!"

He lifted the herb, studying it closely.

Once uprooted, Dragonwhisker Herbs lost their offensive properties, becoming ordinary plants.

However, if replanted, they would regain their vitality within a short period.

"What’s the market price for this?" Hutson asked.

Lary chuckled.

"For one of this quality? One hundred and twenty magic stones per stalk. This is rare—even I have trouble acquiring them."

Hutson smirked.

"I’ve got five more. Interested?"

He laid out the rest, keeping one for himself.

Lary’s eyes gleamed.

"Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse."

Hutson had no immediate use for the Dragonwhisker Herb. Better to sell it off for magic stones—those could buy him far more valuable resources.

Lary glanced at the herbs, then chuckled.

"Looks like you had quite the haul this time."

He nodded approvingly before continuing:

"Alright, I’ll take them all—market price. Just so happens I need them too."

Hutson smirked. He knew Lary had seen through him.

Selling these materials himself would be far too risky—it was safer to let Lary act as the middleman.

But Lary didn’t mind. After all, these materials were hard to come by, and flipping them to Moonlight Woodland for a tidy profit wouldn’t hurt him one bit.

Hutson reached into his space ring again, producing another pile of rare alchemical ingredients.

"Master, take a look at these as well."

Lary’s eyes widened in shock.

"Did you rob someone’s alchemy garden?!"

Hutson rubbed the back of his head, flashing a sheepish grin.

"No, no, I just... picked them up along the way."

Lary snorted.

"Right. And I’m the Pope of the Arcane."

Still, he didn’t ask further. He knew better than to pry into where Hutson had gotten these materials.

"I’ll take the lot. But the price will be slightly lower than market value. You know why."

Lary quickly ran the calculations.

"With the Dragonwhisker Herb included, I’ll give you three thousand seven hundred sixty-five magic stones."

Even Lary couldn’t use this many materials all at once. He’d keep a portion for himself, then resell the rest at a profit. It was a good deal—for both of them.

Hutson didn’t argue over the slightly lower price.

Selling them himself might have earned him more, but it also meant exposing himself to all kinds of unwanted dangers.

With Lary acting as the buyer, there was no risk.

Besides, Lary was his teacher. Letting him take a small cut was a fair price for safety.

Without hesitation, Lary produced the payment—a staggering three thousand seven hundred sixty-five magic stones, counted and handed over on the spot.

Hutson’s space ring, once stuffed to capacity, was now emptied in an instant—

Only to be filled again with an immense pile of magic stones.

For the first time in a long while, he felt wealthy.

Not long ago, he had to slave away harvesting mushrooms just to scrape together a single magic stone.

Now?

Selling just one high-tier alchemical ingredient earned him more than he could have imagined.

And compared to Lary, a true master of alchemy...

His own earnings were a pittance.

Power dictated wealth.

For those at the bottom, like ordinary sorcerer apprentices, life was a constant struggle.

They needed magic stones to obtain resources—yet lacked the strength to earn them efficiently, trapping them in a vicious cycle of poverty.

But now, with his newly gained wealth, Hutson had taken another step out of that abyss.

And he had no intention of ever falling back in.