The Dark Mage Of The Magus World-Chapter 96 - 97: The Bone

Lissie paced restlessly beside the iron cage, her ponytail swaying with each step. A longsword hung at her waist, its hilt worn from use. She had long yearned to learn swordsmanship from Karim, but his mastery lay in wielding a greatsword—far too unwieldy for her.

Though guarding a crippled prisoner was a dull task, she carried it out with unwavering diligence. This was a mission assigned by Karim himself, and she would not allow herself to fail. She refused to leave any impression of incompetence in his eyes.

Above, thick clouds smothered the moonlight, shrouding the night in an oppressive darkness.

Suddenly, a frail voice broke the silence.

"Water..."

Lissie turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as she looked toward the cage.

"What did you say?"

"Water... Just a little... I think I’m dying." Ives’ voice was barely more than a whisper, each breath ragged, his words fractured as though he lacked the strength to utter them. He looked on the verge of death.

Lissie hesitated.

"No. You’re allowed water once a day, and you’ve already had yours."

"Please..." Ives rasped, his head lolling against the bars. "I’m getting weaker... I can feel it. One drink a day... It’s not enough anymore. I know my body— cough—I won’t make it... Please... just a little..."

His breath was unsteady, shallow. He looked as if he might expire at any moment.

Lissie chewed her lip. Karim wants him alive, she reminded herself. He was to be personally delivered to the gallows. If Ives died here, Karim wouldn’t be pleased. It’s just a bit of water...

"Fine," she muttered. "I’ll give you some."

She turned and walked toward a nearby water barrel, scooping a ladleful before returning to the cage.

Kneeling beside it, she tilted the ladle forward. "Open your mouth."

"...Thank you," Ives murmured. Slowly, his lips parted.

Lissie began to pour.

Then—

A blur. A flicker of darkness, swift as death itself.

Lissie’s eyes widened in shock. Her body jerked forward, collapsing limply against the cage.

A thin, bloody hole gaped in her forehead. Another at the back of her skull.

Blood pooled beneath her lifeless form.

Ives barely spared her corpse a glance. His focus was on the set of keys at her waist. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers—twisted and swollen from repeated injuries—straining to hook them.

Between his teeth, he had concealed a sliver of bone.

For weeks, he had endured scraps fit for slaves—spoiled food tossed into the slop bucket. Among the refuse, he had found a tiny fragment of bone.

He had hidden it beneath his tongue, knowing the guards never bothered to check his mouth. For over twenty days, he had nurtured this single chance at freedom, waiting for the perfect moment.

When Lissie had leaned in, lowering her guard, he had unleashed the fragment with all the force his broken body could muster.

A perfect shot. Straight through the skull.

He had long since mastered the art of deception. By deliberately slowing the healing of his left hand—masking its progress just enough—he ensured that no one suspected he was regaining strength.

Even crippled, even on the brink of death—he was still a Great Knight.

A warrior did not need hands to kill. He had his jaw. His lungs. His very bones.

As he strained, fingers brushing the cool metal of the keys, a shadow loomed over him.

And in the next instant—

The keys vanished.

Ives froze. Slowly, he lifted his head.

Hutson stood before him, the corners of his lips curled into an amused smile.

"Give them to me... Please..." Ives whispered. This time, there was no deception—only pure desperation.

Hutson tilted his head. "You wanted out so badly," he mused. "You were so focused, you didn’t even notice me standing right here."

"Please..." Ives’ voice was barely audible, his eyes pleading.

He couldn’t afford to shout. If the others awoke before he was free, his last chance would be lost forever.

Hutson sighed and shrugged. "Sorry, but I’m not here to play hero or villain. I just don’t want our journey delayed because of your escape."

His tone was indifferent, his gaze cold. He didn’t care whether Ives lived or died. The only thing that mattered was that an escape attempt would force Karim to hunt him down, delaying the caravan’s progress.

Hutson preferred efficiency. He wasn’t about to let a fugitive complicate his plans.

And so, with casual ease, he raised his voice.

"Karim, your prisoner tried to escape," he called out, his tone almost lazy. "You’re still sleeping?"

Though his words were not shouted, they carried effortlessly through the still night air.

At once, lanterns flared to life. Doors creaked open. Groggy, half-dressed figures stumbled from their wagons, squinting against the darkness.

Ives slumped against the bars, his body trembling.

His one chance at freedom—shattered.

Karim stormed toward the iron cage, his heart pounding. His eyes locked onto Lissie’s lifeless form, draped over the bars, her blood pooling beneath her. His breath caught in his throat.

"LISSIE!"

He rushed forward, gathering her limp body in his arms. His gaze fell upon the gaping wound in her forehead—then the exit wound at the back of her skull. His blood ran cold. There was no saving her.

She was gone.

A deafening roar of fury tore from his throat.

"WHO DID THIS?!"

Rage and grief twisted his expression. He had always treated Lissie like a younger sister—protecting her, guiding her. To him, she had been innocent, bright, full of life. Now, she lay dead in his arms, her warmth fading by the second.

His hands trembled as he laid her gently on the ground. Then, his gaze snapped toward the iron cage.

Inside, Ives had pressed himself against the farthest corner, avoiding Karim’s eyes.

Karim’s fury ignited like wildfire.

"Was it you?!" he roared.

By now, the entire caravan had woken. Lanterns flickered to life, illuminating the grim scene. Men and women gathered, their expressions shifting from confusion to horror as they beheld Lissie’s corpse. Several women gasped, covering their mouths in shock.

Ives frantically shook his head. "N-No... it wasn’t—"

"It was Ives." Hutson’s calm voice cut through the tension like a knife. "The weapon... a shard of bone, hidden in his mouth."

Karim’s eyes flickered with dark realization. His gaze darted from Lissie’s wounds to the ladle lying on the ground, to the faint splashes of spilled water. In a flash, the entire sequence of events reconstructed itself in his mind.

A bone shard—concealed for gods knew how long. A single shot, precise and deadly.

Ives.

"IVES!"

Karim’s roar shook the night.

He lowered Lissie’s body with a reverence that belied the storm raging within him. Then, without hesitation, he seized the iron bars of the cage—and ripped them apart.

The metal groaned and twisted in his grip, shattering like brittle twigs beneath his fury.

Before Ives could react, Karim’s massive hand clamped around his throat. In one brutal motion, he yanked him from the cage, hoisting him into the air like a child lifting a ragdoll.

Ives choked, his limbs flailing uselessly. He had no strength left to resist.

Karim’s grip tightened. His voice was no longer a roar—it was a promise of vengeance, cold and absolute.

"You... will suffer."