The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 85 - 86: The Return

"This doll..."

Hutson picked up the ragged toy, brushing off the thick layer of dust that had settled over it.

It was just a normal fabric doll—not a cursed effigy, nor an enchanted artifact.

Simply... a forgotten remnant of a lost past.

He stared at it for a long moment, thinking back over everything he had seen.

The blacksmith’s family, the phantom town, the horrors lurking in the night.

Something terrible had happened here.

Something that left these souls trapped, unable to find peace.

With a quiet sigh, Hutson gently placed the doll back where he had found it.

Now that he looked around in the daylight, the details of the room were more apparent.

This had been a child’s bedroom.

The faded colors of the wallpaper, the small wooden furniture, the torn curtains fluttering in the wind—all signs of the little girl who once lived here.

Hutson examined the wardrobe, pulling open its rotting doors—only for one to fall off its hinges, collapsing onto the floor with a dull thud.

Inside, a few old dresses remained, too decayed to be worn.

They were small, clearly meant for a child.

Hutson shut the wardrobe carefully and stepped out of the room, heading toward the attic.

The upper floor was in far worse shape.

Vines and wild grass had crawled through the broken ceiling, turning the attic into a chaotic ruin of nature reclaiming the house.

Several large holes in the roof let in shafts of sunlight, illuminating the dust-choked air.

Hutson turned toward the window.

There was no head.

The horrific sight from last night—the disembodied head peering through the glass—was gone.

The window was shattered, its rotted frame barely clinging to the wall, ready to collapse at the next strong gust of wind.

Hutson took one last look before leaving the house.

On his way out, he bent down and lifted the fallen doorframe, propping it back into place as best he could.

It was a pointless gesture, but... somehow, he felt it was the right thing to do.

As he stepped away, he couldn’t shake a lingering thought.

The blacksmith’s family had likely been trapped in undeath, unable to rest.

If he could find their remains, perhaps he could bury them—give them the peace they had been denied.

After all, if not for the blacksmith’s warning, he would likely be dead by now.

But after searching the entire house, he found nothing.

No bodies.

No bones.

No trace of the people who had once lived here.

With no other choice, he left and headed toward his next destination.

Hutson made his way to the garden, where he had last seen the sinister, crimson Demon Flowers.

But—

They were gone.

The garden still existed, and it was still full of flowers—but not a single Demon Flower remained.

Even the house beside the garden had collapsed into a heap of rubble, its foundations reduced to ruins.

Hutson searched through other parts of the town, hoping to find some sign of Robert, the man who had disappeared during the night.

But no matter how many buildings he checked, he found nothing.

No bodies.

No skeletons.

Not even graves.

And then, something else occurred to him.

"There are fewer houses now."

Hutson scanned the town’s layout, realizing something that sent a chill through him.

The town had changed.

Last night, the town had seemed larger, almost as if more houses had appeared out of nowhere. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Now, in the daylight, many of those buildings were gone.

It was as if some had never existed at all.

"Two different spaces? Two overlapping realities?"

Hutson’s suspicion was growing stronger.

There was a simple way to confirm his theory—he could return again at night and compare.

But there was no way in hell he was doing that.

Not until he had the strength to destroy that entire spider horde without effort.

For now, all he cared about was leaving this place.

Hutson continued down the path leading out of town.

As he approached the ruined tavern, something made him pause.

The footsteps were gone.

The faint, eerie sound that had been following him throughout his journey—silenced.

"When did they stop?"

He retraced his memories, realizing that the last time he had heard them was before he entered the cave ruins.

Since then—nothing.

Had they disappeared the moment he entered the cave?

Had they ever been real?

A nagging feeling told him this wasn’t over.

Even though the footsteps had never harmed him, he couldn’t shake the unease creeping into his bones.

Something about them felt unfinished.

Finally, Hutson left the town behind, heading toward the mountain pass—the only exit.

He turned one last time, looking back.

The town was silent.

Ruined.

A place that had long been forgotten by time.

The path leading down the mountain was nearly swallowed by wild growth, the dirt trail barely distinguishable.

Given more time, the forest would reclaim everything.

When he reached One Line Sky Gorge, the only way out, he immediately noticed something was wrong.

Hutson remembered this pass clearly.

When he first arrived, the road had been clean, maintained, as if frequently traveled.

Now?

It was unrecognizable.

Dense vegetation had overrun the path, thick shrubs and brambles stretching as far as the eye could see.

What should have been a clear, open passage had transformed into a nearly impenetrable jungle.

"This wasn’t here before."

His grip tightened on his sword as he slashed away at the overgrowth, cutting a path through the wild underbrush.

The further he went, the wetter his clothes became—the leaves and vines dripping with dew, soaking his sleeves as he pushed forward.

Then, suddenly—

He stopped.

A strange feeling washed over him.

Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

"Hm?"

As Hutson stepped forward, his eyes landed on a familiar figure.

Robert.

The man was asleep beneath a tree, his back resting against the trunk, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of deep slumber.

Above him, perched on a low-hanging branch, a small squirrel watched the scene with wide, curious eyes.

Hutson frowned.

The sight was too normal. Too ordinary.

Especially after everything that had transpired.

He approached cautiously.

The squirrel let out a startled chitter, then bolted, vanishing into the dense foliage as if it had seen something it shouldn’t have.

At the sudden noise, Robert stirred.

With a groggy groan, he cracked his eyes open—his gaze met Hutson’s.

For a moment, confusion flickered across his face.

Then—"M’lord...?"

Hutson studied him in silence before speaking.

"Why are you sleeping here?"

Robert frowned, rubbing the back of his head as if trying to clear his thoughts.

"I... don’t know," he admitted. "The last thing I remember is being at the tavern with you and that blacksmith... We had a pint of butterbeer. After that... nothing."

Hutson’s expression darkened.

"Nothing at all? Try to recall—anything else?"

Robert shook his head. "That’s it. One moment, I was drinking at the bar, and the next... I’m waking up here.

He hesitated.

"Could I have gotten drunk off one pint? Or... was there something in the drink?"

Hutson didn’t respond immediately.

His thoughts were already racing.

"Robert’s last memory is the tavern."

"But I remember seeing him afterward."

"The Robert I met in the cursed town. The one who was with me in the nightmare version of reality. The one whose severed arm was lying on that dining table..."

His gaze slowly shifted back to the man in front of him.

A cold thought crept into his mind.

"Or maybe... the real Robert isn’t the one standing here now."

Robert shivered under the weight of Hutson’s stare.

"M’lord...? Why are you looking at me like that?"

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Hutson exhaled, his grip on his thoughts tightening.

"Nothing," he said at last. "Let’s move. It’s time to leave this place."

He cast a glance toward the two horses tied beneath a nearby tree, their tails flicking lazily as they grazed on the overgrown grass.

At least they were exactly where they had left them.

But Robert...

Hutson wasn’t sure where he had been.

Or worse—what he had become.