The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 87 - 88: The Enigma

Milo’s voice was steady, his words flowing with perfect clarity, leaving no room for doubt. There was no hesitation, no sign of deceit—just the unshakable conviction of a man recounting the truth.

Hutson remained silent, deep in thought. He had no reason to believe Milo was lying, especially about something as serious as this.

"Mr. Milo, you must be mistaken," Robert interjected, his voice edged with disbelief. "I’ve been to that town before—multiple times. It was inhabited, just a normal, quiet little town. But two days ago, when we went back, something impossible happened. The mountain path was perfectly fine the first day. Then, by the second, it was completely overgrown with thick, wild vegetation—so dense it should’ve taken years to reach that state."

His agitation was clear, his breath uneven as he struggled to process what he had seen.

Milo straightened in his seat. If Robert, a veteran knight, and Hutson, a man steeped in the arcane, both stood by the same account, then something was terribly wrong. These were not men given to flights of fancy. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

After a long pause, Milo spoke. "Mr. Hutson, do you recall the records on Creek Valley Town that I showed you? Everything I’ve told you is documented. We can review them again."

Hutson gave a slow, deliberate nod. "That was my thought exactly."

Memory was unreliable, susceptible to distortions. But written records—black ink on parchment—should remain immutable.

The three ascended to the archives, where time-worn tomes and brittle scrolls lay in silence. Just as before, Milo retrieved the file on Creek Valley Town and handed it to Hutson.

"See for yourself."

Hutson took the aged document, his sharp eyes scanning its surface for traces of magic, for signs that it had been tampered with. Nothing. He opened it and began to read.

Ten minutes passed in utter silence. Then, slowly, he shut the file, his expression unreadable.

"...AI chip," he murmured, invoking the arcane intelligence that stored their records. "Retrieve the last recorded data on Creek Valley Town."

A soft hum resonated in the air, and in an instant, glowing runes materialized before him, forming the spectral image of the town’s historical records.

Hutson read through it again, his brows furrowing. How is this possible?

The records were clear: Thirty years ago, Creek Valley Town had been slaughtered to the last soul.

A band of marauding raiders had descended upon the settlement, leaving no survivors. They plundered its wealth, burned its homes to ash, and vanished into the night—never caught, their identities lost to time.

Since then, the town had been abandoned, feared and avoided. No one dared to resettle there. Over time, it had faded from memory, reduced to whispers of ghosts and curses.

The parchment was aged, its ink faded—but authentic. This was no hastily forged deception.

"...AI chip," Hutson finally said, his voice cold. "Has Milo shown any signs of deception?"

The response came instantly.

"Probability of falsehood: 0.2%. Milo is telling the truth."

Hutson exhaled slowly. Milo was a knight—an ordinary man, with no traces of magic about him. He had no power to weave illusions or bend reality. And yet... his story stood at stark odds with the irrefutable history in Hutson’s hands.

His mind raced.

Which was wrong—Milo’s memory? Or his own?

"When did this begin?" Hutson muttered, a shadow crossing his face.

He had never stepped foot in Creek Valley Town since arriving in Stormwind. Logically, his recollection of events should be untouched by whatever force had warped reality.

But something had changed.

His gaze darkened. "Either our memories have been altered, or reality itself has shifted. If it’s the latter... then we are dealing with forces that operate on a level beyond mere magic. This is something that bends the very fabric of existence."

The ink on the records had changed. The memories of an entire city had been rewritten.

And yet, Stormwind was over a hundred kilometers from Creek Valley Town.

Deep in thought, Hutson absently passed the document to Robert. "Read it."

Robert took the parchment, skimming through its contents—until his hands began to shake.

His eyes, once filled with certainty, widened in utter disbelief.

"Milo... this isn’t a joke, is it?" His voice was hoarse, as though it pained him to ask. "This document—it’s real?"

"Of course," Milo said firmly. "This archive is not freely accessible, nor would anyone waste effort forging an irrelevant record of a long-forgotten town. This event happened decades ago."

Hutson still wasn’t satisfied. He needed absolute certainty.

"Robert, go outside. Ask around—not within the Adventurer’s Guild. Question the townspeople. See what they remember about Creek Valley Town."

He had to know—was it just them?

Was it only their memories that had been altered?

Robert nodded. He understood the weight of the command. Without another word, he turned and strode out.

An hour passed.

When Robert returned, he was pale as death.

His breaths came ragged and sharp, as though he had run for his life. His eyes darted to the shadows, as if fearing something unseen lurking just behind him.

"My lord..." he whispered, voice unsteady. "I asked. Everyone I spoke to said the same thing as Milo."

A silence stretched between them—heavy, suffocating.

Hutson slowly exhaled.

If all of Stormwind shared Milo’s recollection, then deception was impossible.

That left only one explanation.

Something had happened in Creek Valley Town.

Something powerful.

And whatever force had been disturbed there had reached out across time and space, rewriting history itself.

But the most terrifying question remained:

Why?

Only the Laws Themselves Could Achieve This.

It was a power beyond Hutson’s reach—not just now, but for a long time to come. Forces that operated at the level of rules, of fundamental laws of reality.

He and Robert had somehow remained untouched. That fact alone suggested that whatever force had rewritten history had done so after they had entered Creek Valley Town. They had been inside when the shift occurred.

Robert, though uncertain why he had fallen asleep there, clearly recalled drinking at the tavern. That meant he had been inside the town when it still existed.

It had been real to him.

Now, standing in a world that told him otherwise, he felt as if he and Hutson were the only real people left.

"...My lord," Robert asked hesitantly, his voice carrying the weight of mounting dread. "What do we do now?"

The world around him felt wrong. Unstable. As if everything—the streets, the city, the very air—was a lie.

Hutson clapped a hand on his shoulder and let out a light chuckle.

"No need to worry. Some force has merely left its mark—that’s all. There’s no reason to overthink it. Just eat, drink, and live as you normally would."

Robert swallowed hard. How could he pretend nothing had happened?

"But, my lord..." His voice faltered. This wasn’t normal.

A single person misremembering something was one thing. But an entire city? Official records? Every written account—every memory—changed, as if the truth itself had been rewritten?

That was not possible.

It shattered every understanding he had of reality.

Hutson, sensing his lingering unease, smirked and gave him a reassuring slap on the back.

"Relax. If this was something truly fatal, we wouldn’t be standing here talking about it, would we? If it was going to kill us, it would have done so already."

What he didn’t say—what he chose not to say—was that there were far worse things than death.

Creek Valley Town was beyond his capabilities to understand. He had neither the strength nor the knowledge to unravel whatever had taken place there.

And that left him with only one option.

Run.