The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 133 - 134: Footsteps That Never Left

Hutson studied Lady Moran carefully. Though she had not spoken directly, he could sense her implication—she was offering him more than just knowledge.

A chance to purchase necromantic spells.

So, he asked, "Does Lady Moran have any recommendations?"

She did not answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head slightly and murmured, "You’ve encountered wraiths before, haven’t you?"

Hutson’s breath hitched. She could tell?

"Yes," he admitted after a brief pause. "But that was a long time ago. I’m surprised you can still sense it."

It had been more than a year since the incident in Creekvale Town.

Moran chuckled softly. "The taint of a wraith isn’t something you can wash off with a simple bath. To me, that stench is as fresh as if you had just stepped in a pile of dog shit."

Her laughter carried a strange, almost musical quality—beautiful yet unsettling.

Hutson instinctively ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Does this lingering aura pose any danger? Is there a way to remove it?"

Until this moment, he had never noticed any trace of corruption on himself. He felt nothing unusual.

Moran’s tone remained casual. "For ordinary mortals, even the faintest trace of wraith-taint is enough to drive them into madness, to torment them until their minds shatter. But for you? It’s nothing more than a beacon... attracting more wraiths to your presence."

Her lips curled into a smirk beneath the hood.

"If you want it removed, it’s simple—buy a few spells from me, and I’ll take care of it."

Hutson exhaled, expecting as much.

"Then what spells would you recommend?"

Moran’s voice took on a hint of satisfaction. "For someone like you, I’d suggest these three zero-rank necromantic spells:

Necrotic Sense – Allows you to perceive and even see spirits and other intangible entities.Crown of Malevolence – A defensive spell that grants limited resistance against dark energy and malevolent intent.Sword of the Dead – A spectral blade infused with deathly power, capable of directly harming wraiths and spirits. Given your affinity for dark energy, you can enhance the blade with dark energy particles to increase its lethality."

Hutson pondered her words. The spells she recommended were practical, covering perception, defense, and offense—a balanced toolkit against the supernatural.

"How much for all three?"

"Five magic stones each. Fifteen total," she replied smoothly.

Without hesitation, Hutson produced the required stones, finalizing the trade.

In return, he received three aged tomes, each containing intricate spell models.

With these spells, he now had a way to fight back against wraiths. He would no longer be caught defenseless in their presence.

The Whispering Footsteps

Moran’s voice turned almost gentle. "Now, let’s rid you of that lingering stench."

Hutson nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Lady Moran."

For the first time, she lifted her left hand from beneath her robe.

Hutson’s eyes narrowed slightly. Her hand...

It was small, pale, almost childlike—an unnatural contrast to the depth of her voice and the presence she commanded.

She slowly turned her palm upward.

At its center, a thin, almost imperceptible crack appeared.

Then, it widened.

Hutson watched in silent fascination as the crack unfurled into a gaping mouth, its dark tongue flickering like that of a serpent.

Something stirred within.

A moment later, a black beetle crawled out of the abyss in her palm.

Its chitinous body gleamed in the dim candlelight. Its serrated pincers clicked open and shut.

"Go on, little one," Moran cooed. "Feast."

The beetle’s wings buzzed as it took flight, circling Hutson several times before settling above his head.

Then—

Click. Click.

Footsteps.

Faint but familiar.

Hutson’s breath stilled. He knew this sound.

The footsteps from Creekvale Town.

A shiver ran down his spine.

Back then, in that cursed town, the footsteps had followed him, trailing just behind him—never closer, never farther.

Step. Step.

They had haunted him until he entered the ancient stone cavern, where the sound had finally ceased.

And when he left at dawn, the footsteps were gone.

Or so he had thought.

But now—now, they had returned.

His pulse quickened.

It had never truly disappeared. It had been with him all along.

A cold sweat ran down his back.

If not for coming here, he never would have known.

What else had lurked, unseen, beside him all this time?

Moran spoke, almost amused. "You must have met something... remarkable. I’m surprised you’re still standing."

Her voice was casual, but Hutson could sense the weight behind her words.

Whatever had attached itself to him was no ordinary wraith.

The black beetle let out a shrill, chittering cry.

At the same moment, the footsteps quickened, shifting from a slow creep to a desperate sprint.

Hutson barely had time to react before a monstrous shadow erupted from the beetle’s form.

A colossal phantom—the spectral mirage of an enormous beetle—emerged from its tiny host.

Its pincers snapped forward—

Shhk!

With a vicious motion, the phantom clawed at the space behind Hutson.

Something resisted.

A grey mist—formless, whispering, writhing—was ripped from his shadow.

The footsteps...

They came from the mist.

For a fleeting moment, Hutson glimpsed its nature—something old, something lurking just beyond the veil of existence.

The spectral beetle lunged, its great maw devouring the mist whole.

The footsteps...

Faded.

Their sound, once so constant, now snuffed out like a candle’s flame.

Yet, within the beetle’s translucent body, the echo of the footsteps still lingered for a brief moment—before vanishing into silence.

Hutson exhaled, feeling a weight lift from his soul. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"What... was that?" he asked.

His voice was steady, but his heart still pounded.

Moran’s expression darkened. Her voice, usually melodic and teasing, grew uncharacteristically grave.

"This... is no ordinary wraith," she muttered, brow furrowing. "It is a fusion—part malevolent spirit, part ancient curse—and it is exceptionally adept at hiding."

She cast a long look at Hutson, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

"I sensed the stench of a wraith on you, but I never imagined something like this had been lurking beneath it. Even the defensive sorcery arrays of Moonlight Grove failed to detect it."

A chill ran down Hutson’s spine.

What would have happened if he had never come here?

He took a slow breath, steadying his voice. "If... something like this had stayed inside me for too long, what would’ve happened?"

Even as he asked, he dreaded the answer.

He had already known that Creekvale Town was a cursed, nightmarish place, but only now did he truly comprehend its lethal dangers.

Next time—if there was a next time—he would not set foot in such a place so carelessly.

Moran folded her arms, her voice cool and measured. "It marked you as prey. A source of nourishment."

She paused, studying him for a moment.

"It buried itself deep within you, parasitic in nature, feeding off your very existence. Fortunately, you are still weak—it had not yet fully grown. If you were stronger... I can’t say what it would have become."

Her eyes gleamed with something akin to dark amusement.

"There was an incident long ago. A kingdom vanished overnight because of something similar."

Hutson’s grip tightened. Even Moran, a master of the necromantic arts, spoke of this entity with caution.

He did not want to imagine what it could have become if left unchecked.

"Am I... clear of it now?" he asked. His voice was steady, but he could not suppress a lingering unease.

If even the faintest trace remained, it would be an ever-looming threat.

Moran gave a knowing smile before reaching into her robes. When she withdrew her hand, she held a chain—a slender, silver necklace with a rhombus-shaped crystal dangling at its center.

A subtle gloom radiated from it.

"This," she said smoothly, "is called the Soul-Devouring Crystal—a cursed artifact."

Hutson’s gaze narrowed. A cursed artifact?

Moran twirled the crystal lazily between her fingers as she continued.

"I have personally inscribed an enchantment array into it," she explained. "This array has three functions:

It detects the presence of wraiths.It wards off spiritual attacks.It actively repels malevolent spirits, forcing them to flee.

As long as you wear it, any residual traces of that thing will be purged over time."

She smirked. "Keep an eye on the crystal’s color. When it glows red, it means a wraith is nearby. The deeper the red, the stronger the spirit."

She paused, her smirk growing wider.

"And if you ever find that the crystal burns hot in your hands... well—" she gave a mockingly sweet smile, "I’d suggest picking out a nice graveyard for yourself."

Hutson met her gaze evenly. "How much?"

"Five hundred magic stones."

He hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Five hundred was no small price. But artifacts like this were priceless—something that even Moonlight Grove likely did not have in abundance.

What use was wealth if he died with it?

With a slight sigh, he reached into his pouch and counted out the stones, laying them onto the table.

The trade was made.

The moment she handed the crystal over, Moran’s lips curled into a mischievous grin as she gazed at the glittering pile of magic stones.

"A wealthy alchemist, indeed," she mused. "I just threw out a number, and you paid it without bargaining."

Hutson blinked.

"...You just threw out a number?"

Moran covered her mouth and laughed softly.

"Relax, I was joking." Her amusement was evident in her voice. "The price is fair—ask Larry when you return. He’ll tell you the same."

Hutson exhaled, shaking his head.

Moran simply smiled, her eyes glinting in the dim light.