The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 83 - 84: Ancient Magic

"AI chip, analyze the stone tablet."

Hutson sat on the ground, closing his eyes to rest. His head was still throbbing, a lingering dizziness gnawing at his senses.

Within moments, AI chip responded. "Probability of this being an Ancient Magic Tablet: 87.6%."

Hutson’s expression shifted.

Ancient Magic Tablet...

He knew exactly what that meant.

Long ago, in the earliest days of sorcery, there were no books, no parchment, no ink.

Before the advent of written records, magic was etched into bone, branded onto animal hides, or carved into stone—fragments of knowledge, meant to transcend time itself.

And stone tablets were the rarest of all.

Only the most formidable spells were recorded in such a way.

A tablet like this was not merely a relic—it was a vault of power.

Hutson’s gaze hardened.

"This must be a Tier-One Spell..."

Even the most complex zero-tier spells wouldn’t have affected him like this. But just by looking at this stone, his mind had begun to falter.

That kind of mental strain?

Only high-level magic could do that.

"AI chip, scan and record every detail of the tablet."

This wasn’t something he could afford to lose.

The magic carved onto this slab was likely the core inheritance of an ancient civilization—a spell of battle, honed through the desperate struggle of survival.

In primitive times, there was no luxury for theory or philosophy—magic existed for one reason alone:

To fight.

To kill beasts.

To conquer the darkness.

Countless sorcerers had searched for lost Ancient Magic, longing for its raw combat power.

Minutes passed in silence.

Then—"Scan complete."

AI chip had recorded every carved line, every ancient symbol.

Hutson glanced at the holographic projection of the tablet, but a sense of unease lingered.

Something wasn’t right.

If this spell was truly so valuable, then why leave it here, completely unguarded?

Would a powerful sorcerer simply abandon such a priceless artifact?

If even he—just a Rank-Two Sorcerer’s Apprentice—had found it, then surely, others could too.

Hutson circled the monolith, deep in thought.

Then, a bold idea struck him.

"Why don’t I just take the entire tablet with me?"

It was massive—two meters tall, half a meter wide, partially buried in the earth.

But size wasn’t a problem.

Hutson pulled a small spade from his belt—the same one he used for harvesting magical herbs—and began digging.

The soil was loose.

Not deeply buried.

It wouldn’t take much effort to unearth it completely.

Of course, carrying something this large would be impossible—

For anyone without a spatial ring.

Hutson checked his storage space. It was already packed with alchemical ingredients and magical relics—but there was still enough room.

Just barely.

The only question was—

"Does this place belong to someone?"

Hutson hesitated.

If a powerful sorcerer controlled this ruin, then why wasn’t it better protected?

Why were there no wards, no sentries, no defenses?

And yet...

The entire region—the alchemical fields, the monstrous creatures, the ancient laws that even beasts obeyed—

It all hinted at a hidden master.

But who?

Hutson couldn’t answer that.

And frankly, he didn’t care.

If someone was coming back for this tablet... too bad.

He would be long gone by then.

He knelt beside the slab and dug with precision, careful not to damage the etched inscriptions.

After half an hour, the tablet was fully unearthed.

Hutson wiped sweat from his brow.

He placed both hands on the weathered stone—

And vanished it into his spatial ring.

The air felt lighter without its towering presence.

But when he turned to face the gaping hole in the ground, an uneasy chuckle escaped his lips.

"If this place really belongs to a sorcerer... and they find out I stole this? Yeah... I’m dead."

A mage powerful enough to control a site like this was not someone he could afford to provoke.

Hutson exhaled.

Nothing to do about it now.

The only thing that mattered—

Was getting out of here.

He did a quick calculation.

Half an hour until sunrise.

If the blacksmith’s words were true, then at daybreak, he would be free.

But—

Would the spiders leave?

The blacksmith, and the other twisted souls of this cursed land, were ghosts. They dispersed at dawn, fading with the first rays of light.

But the spiders?

They were living creatures.

Would they obey the same rules?

Would they disperse, or would they remain?

Hutson wasn’t sure.

He paced the ancient plaza, searching one last time for anything of value.

But aside from the stone tablet, the rest of the carvings were ordinary engravings—simple decorations from an era long past.

He had taken everything he could.

With a final glance at the forgotten chamber, he turned—

And moved toward the cave’s entrance.

Hutson kept his distance, staying within the shadows of the cave.

He did not step beyond the threshold.

Through AI chip’s projection, he saw the spider horde still waiting outside.

Unmoving.

Silent.

Their emerald eyes gleamed in the fading night, like an ocean of distant lanterns.

The first hints of dawnlight touched the horizon—a faint silver glow creeping across the sky.

The air was still.

Hutson tensed.

Would they retreat?

Or would they come for him the moment he stepped outside?

He didn’t know.

And that terrified him.

Hutson let out a slow breath, tension easing from his shoulders.

"Looks like dawn is finally breaking... At least the sunrise here follows normal rules."

As the first light of morning stretched across the land, the spiders stirred.

At first, it was subtle—a shifting unease rippling through their ranks. The ones at the outer edges of the swarm began turning away, scuttling toward their distant nesting grounds within the pine forest.

Even the spiders blocking the cave entrance began to lose focus. Their unwavering, predatory stare—once locked onto the cavern’s depths—faltered.

They twitched, crawled, hesitated.

No longer a cohesive wall of death, they moved about aimlessly, as if something had disrupted their command.

Ten minutes passed.

Then—the retreat began.

A wave of movement swept through the horde.

One by one, the spiders turned, their eight-legged bodies shifting in synchronized purpose, and they began to withdraw.

Hutson remained still, listening to the endless rustling as thousands of legs scraped across the forest floor.

Last night, that sound had sent ice through his veins.

Now, it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

As the monstrous tide receded into the distant pinewood, a weight lifted from his chest.

For the first time since arriving in this cursed land, he allowed himself to breathe.

But still—he waited.

Even after the last spider vanished into the trees, even after the sky grew bright and clear, he did not immediately step outside.

Instead, he lingered at the cave’s threshold, waiting for the sunlight to fully spill across the ground before cautiously stepping forward.

The forest beyond remained eerily silent.

Hutson’s sharp gaze swept over the landscape. The ground bore deep, clawed indentations—marks where the spider horde had passed. Thick strands of webbing still hung from the trees, clinging like spectral remnants of a nightmare.

Carefully, he moved through the woods, his steps light, his senses razor-sharp.

Then—

His gaze flickered toward the fields beyond the tree line.

And he froze.

There was nothing there.

No cultivated farmland.

No meticulously arranged plots of magical herbs.

The fields where he had harvested Dragon’s Beard Grass, where he had seen rare alchemical flora... were gone.

Instead—

A dense thicket of wild undergrowth sprawled before him, filled with low-lying shrubs and tangled weeds.

Hutson’s brow furrowed.

"This is the right place. I know it is."

His memory was clear.

The fields had been here.

He had walked those rows, had seen the carefully cultivated soil, had gathered the rare herbs with his own hands.

But now—there wasn’t a single sign of farmland.

Hutson’s pulse quickened.

Cautiously, he approached the thicket, his fingers brushing against the wild plants. He crouched low, examining the earth beneath them.

Not a single trace of tilled soil.

No remnants of cultivation.

No indication that anything had ever been planted here.

"What... is this?"

A creeping sense of unease slithered through him.

"AI chip." His voice was steady, but edged with suspicion. "Confirm something for me—was this or was this not the farmland where Dragon’s Beard Grass was grown?"