The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 89 - 90: The Dragonspine Highlands

Hutson had asked the question out of pure curiosity.

Robert, caught off guard, widened his eyes. "My lord... how did you know it was me that day?"

He remembered keeping his distance, carefully hidden behind cover. There was no way Hutson could have seen his face.

Hutson merely gave him a knowing look. "Don’t worry about it."

Robert hesitated but then sighed. Mystics had their ways. If Hutson knew, then it was probably nothing unusual.

After a brief pause, Robert spoke. "By the rules of my profession, I’m not supposed to reveal this information. Even under torture, we’re expected to uphold certain ethics. But... since it’s you asking, my lord, I’ll answer."

He took a deep breath before revealing the truth.

"The one who hired me to assassinate Josh... was Count Huen."

Hutson raised an eyebrow. Count Huen?

He was surprised, but not entirely.

Robert let out a chuckle. "I’ve never understood how nobles think. What kind of father hires an assassin to kill his own son? But as an adventurer, it’s not my place to ask. As long as the gold is good, the reasons don’t concern me."

Hutson gave a small nod. "I see. That’s all I needed to know. You may leave."

Robert straightened and bowed deeply, showing his respect. "Take care, my lord."

With that, he quietly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Count Huen...

Hutson leaned back, processing the information.

"So, he’s already decided on an heir."

With his extended lifespan, Count Huen likely wouldn’t need to change his choice again.

"No wonder he was so evasive when I asked about the source of that cursed effigy. He was afraid it would lead back to him."

Hutson shook his head. Noble politics weren’t his concern. He had merely stumbled upon the truth as a bystander. Nothing more.

Milo personally arrived with the forged documents Hutson had been waiting for.

His new identity: Gerant Logan.

A fallen noble from the outskirts of Stormwind City, whose family had long since declined into obscurity. Forced into the life of an adventurer, he was now heading to Doris Kingdom in search of new opportunities.

Everything was meticulously prepared—official documents, identification records—every detail flawless. No one would suspect forgery.

This would save Hutson a great deal of trouble.

He could have entered Doris Kingdom through other means, but unnecessary risks were best avoided. If he could use official channels, he would.

As he reviewed the documents, something caught his attention. He looked up at Milo.

"This is... too authentic. Gerant Logan—was he real?"

Milo smirked. "There’s always a fool willing to sell everything for money."

He didn’t elaborate, but Hutson understood the unspoken implication.

Gerant Logan was real.

But he wasn’t alive anymore.

Hutson stared at the documents for a moment before quietly putting them away.

So that’s why everything looked so perfect. Because it wasn’t a lie. It was just... repurposed.

Milo would have ensured that the original Gerant was eliminated. The last thing he needed was for Hutson to present his documents at the border, only for someone to step forward and claim, "No, I’m the real Gerant Logan."

That would have complicated things.

For Milo, pleasing a Mystic like Hutson was far more valuable than the life of some impoverished noble.

To him, getting rid of a minor noble was nothing.

Hutson sighed internally. This is the fate of the weak.

The strong erase them without a second thought.

Destruction comes, and the world moves on.

A massive trade caravan was making its way along the winding roads of Dragonspine Highlands.

The convoy was large—three to four hundred people in total. Merchants, slaves, and an entire army of guards.

Over a hundred armed men escorted the caravan. Fifty of them wore matching full plate armor—a clear sign that they belonged to a powerful mercenary company.

Fully equipped mercenaries were not cheap.

Only elite adventuring groups could afford full plate for their members, as the cost of such armor was staggering.

The remaining guards were a ragtag mix—scrappy adventurers in mismatched gear.

Their weapons were worn but well-maintained. Their armor, if they had any, was a chaotic patchwork of leather, chainmail, and scavenged plate.

They were seasoned fighters, used to walking the razor’s edge between life and death.

These kinds of adventurers were cheaper to hire than professional mercenary groups, and large caravans always needed more bodies rather than fewer.

Merchants, ever pragmatic, only paid as much as necessary.

They knew how to exploit the desperate hunger for coin.

All they had to do was stand in the Adventurer’s Guild and shout, "Looking for caravan guards!"—and dozens would line up, boasting about their strength, their skill, their past triumphs.

They would flex their muscles, brag about their ability to take on beasts and bandits alike.

Because if they didn’t put on a show, someone else would take the job.

Competition was fierce.

And this job was one of the most comfortable contracts available.

The pay, while not the highest, was still better than most ordinary quests.

More importantly?

Large caravans rarely faced true danger.

No bandit gang was stupid enough to attack a convoy this large. It would be suicide.

The sheer size of the force ensured their safety.

And for adventurers, that meant a safe, well-paying job.

Naturally, they fought tooth and nail for a spot.

The caravan’s cargo was vast—a fortune in goods from the Violet Kingdom, destined to be sold in Doris Kingdom.

A single successful trip could yield six-figure profits in gold.

But the journey was long and grueling.

A round trip took half a year.

And while profits were tempting, the road was unpredictable.

Unexpected dangers could change everything.

Losses were inevitable. The only question was how much. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

A total loss only occurred in one scenario—when the caravan was completely wiped out.

No survivors. No return.

A massacre.

Such cases were rare, but when they happened...

They were brutal.

This vast plateau was the only viable route between the Violet Kingdom and Doris Kingdom.

It was an elevated region, but the road was wide and well-traveled.

The caravan could pass through comfortably.

But as they moved deeper into the highlands...

Something felt off.

Something was watching.

And for the first time, the adventurers did not feel safe.

Hutson lay comfortably on a plush bed inside his private carriage. Beneath him, a small built-in stove simmered a pot of coffee, its rich, aromatic scent filling the enclosed space.

This was no ordinary carriage—at least, not on the inside.

The interior was lavishly furnished, every detail carefully selected for comfort and quality. Yet, from the outside, it appeared completely unremarkable—a simple, unassuming wagon that blended in seamlessly with the rest of the convoy.

A deliberate choice.

Milo had arranged everything.

When traveling, discretion was survival. A carriage that stood out could invite trouble; a humble exterior concealed wealth and status from prying eyes.

Hutson’s carriage was positioned in the middle of the caravan, the safest place in the formation. Unlike the others, he rode alone, enjoying the luxury of privacy.

The other travelers knew of him, but not much about him—only that he was a minor noble from the outskirts of Stormwind City, fallen on hard times and now seeking opportunity in Doris Kingdom, hoping to restore his family’s honor.

That was the story, at least.

For the past few days, Hutson had barely left his carriage.

There was little reason to.

The journey through Dragonspine Highlands would take at least a month, and beyond that, there were still two more months of travel before reaching the Doris Kingdom border.

A long, grueling journey.

And the landscape? Endless monotony.

The highlands stretched barren and vast, dotted only by low shrubs and scattered patches of grass. Few trees took root in this rocky terrain, their presence rare against the windswept expanse.

But the route was well-mapped, refined over years of travel.

There were water sources along the way, carefully planned resupply points that allowed caravans to endure the harsh journey.

Most of the wagons were loaded with provisions, stockpiled to sustain them through Dragonspine’s long, desolate stretch.

Once they descended from the highlands, they would be able to resupply again before pressing onward toward their final destination.

The road ahead was long.

And anything could happen.