The Banished Incompetent Mage Achieves Revenge with His True Power - The Decoy Cub — The Night Left Behind in the Labyrinth

The rope bit into his wrists. Kyle kept his back against the cold stone wall and stared at his own fingertips. The air in the dim dungeon was damp, and only his breath clouded white. The smell of mold and rusted iron clung to the back of his nose and wouldn't let go. (So it's this again.) The Throat of the Abyss—a natural cave-type dungeon that opened up northeast of the town of Tarva. Five floors in all, and here on the fourth, at the dead end of a blind alley. In a place adventurers called "the drop-off point," Kyle had been tied up and left behind. In this country, every person bore a "talent crest" etched into their skin from birth. The crest marked the capacity of one's mana vessel, and its depth decided everything in a life. The deeply marked went to the nobility or the knightly orders; the faintly marked became servants—or disposable decoys. That was the common sense of the Kingdom of Regnica—and even among the thirty thousand adventurers of the Arcus Alliance, it was taken as a given. From Kyle's neck down to his collarbone ran the faint, fading trace of a crest. In crest-rank terms, Rank One. The lowest of the low—not even fit for servant work. The brand of the "incompetent." " An incompetent is baggage. And baggage is best used as a decoy. That's just rational." At the mouth of the blind alley, Gale laughed. Close-cropped blond hair, blue eyes, a hundred and eighty-five centimeters of hard-trained muscle. The leader of the Dawn Fang flicked the pommel of the sword at his hip with his thumb and looked down at the bound Kyle. " You should be grateful a crestless bastard like you even gets to eat at the same table as us. Three years. Three whole years. Don't you think we've kept you alive long enough?" Kyle didn't answer. His gray eyes lowered, he quietly opened his left palm. An old burn scar sat there, hardened white. Three years ago, on his first expedition, Gale had told him to "keep the campfire." He'd fallen asleep, and as punishment, a burning brand had been pressed into his hand. He still remembered the smell of that night. The smell of his own flesh burning. (Don't get angry. If you get angry, it only gets worse.) Deep in his heart, something settled quietly like sediment. He mustn't put it into words. The moment he did, it felt like all three years of endurance would lose their meaning. " Gale, isn't that enough?" A voice like a rolling bell, yet with steel at its core. It was Seraphina. She tossed her long silver curls and narrowed her long, slender purple eyes. Her tall frame was wrapped in a black mage's robe, and a thin smile always played at her lips. The true brains of the Dawn Fang, and a crest-rank Seven—a noble-class mage. " The faintly marked have just as little worth in living. But that's exactly why they have their uses. They need to be properly useful—right up until they die." Her voice was soft as a lullaby. And that softness cut through Kyle's chest like a blade. (These people genuinely believe that.) That was what hurt the most. "...Kyle." A small voice came from the darkness behind Gale. Loose chestnut braids. Large brown eyes. A small girl, a hundred and fifty-five centimeters tall, wrapped in a thin green healer's robe, stood with one hand against the dungeon's rock wall. Lizette. The Dawn Fang's healer, three years younger than Kyle—seventeen. Her eyes were fixed straight on Kyle. His bound wrists, the burn scar, his eyes still glinting gray in the half-dark. She stared at all of it, motionless. " Lizette, step back. Any further is dangerous." Seraphina spoke without turning around. Lizette took one step forward. " But if we leave him like this, Kyle will... if a monster comes, he'll really die." " That's why he's the decoy. If the decoy doesn't die, who does?" Lizette's lips trembled. Gale let out a laugh. " Seraphina, time to go. We'll finish off whatever monster takes the bait from above. Same as always." " Yes. ...Lizette, you come too. One dead weight is enough." Lizette didn't move. " Hey, healer. Didn't you hear me? You're coming too." Gale's voice dropped. Lizette's shoulders jumped with a start. Even so, she didn't take her eyes off Kyle. "...I'm sorry, Kyle." Her voice was wet with tears. " I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything..." For the first time, Kyle raised his head. His gray eyes caught Lizette in the dark. Her large brown eyes were wavering. She was fighting desperately not to cry. Cursing herself—as a healer, as a comrade—for being unable to do anything. That was the face she wore. (No. You've done nothing wrong.) He wanted to say it. But he couldn't get the words out. If he did, he'd drag her into it too. She might earn Gale's displeasure and be made the next decoy. That, at least, he wanted to avoid. So Kyle slowly shook his head, just once. (Go.) A single tear spilled from Lizette's eye. " We're leaving now." Gale grabbed Lizette's arm. She resisted for just a moment, but under Seraphina's cold stare, she hung her head and went limp. The three sets of footsteps were swallowed by the dungeon's darkness. At the very end, Lizette turned back. Her lips moved. "...Live." It made no sound. But Kyle heard it. (Yeah.) Only in his heart, Kyle answered. ——— The darkness of the fourth floor ate sound. From somewhere far off came the drip of water. His own heartbeat echoed absurdly loud. Each time the rope bit into his wrists, blood seeped out. (The monster still isn't coming.) Kyle strained his ears. Over these three years, he'd grown sensitive to the presence of monsters. Crawling footsteps on the ground, claws scraping rock, the scent of a predator hunting prey. Such things reached him as tremors in the air. Still, nothing came. (If it's not coming, then now's my chance.) He began rubbing the rope at his wrists against the corner of a rock. The hemp was tough; it frayed only a little at a time. Again and again and again. The skin of his wrists peeled away and blood made it slick. It hurt. But he was used to pain. (Three years ago, I cried.) The night he was first left behind. Surrounded by a pack of grand wolves, so terrified he couldn't even scream. Gale had only watched from above and never helped. In the end, the wolves must have been full—they circled him all night and then left. The next morning, Kyle had survived. Gale said, " Lucky. Next time I'll tie you up somewhere deeper." From that day on, Kyle became the "decoy." (Lucky. That really was all it was.) Kyle gently traced his own crest with a finger. The faint trace running from his neck to his collarbone. Crest-rank One. Hold it up to a measuring device and it read "1." Almost no mana. He couldn't use magic. Healing magic was said to be the exception—usable even with a faint crest—but Kyle couldn't even manage that. (I really am incompetent.) That was Kyle's conclusion. In this country, only those with deep crests had worth. The crest-rank system administered by the Royal Court Magical Institute—ranks one through ten, the number itself the price of a human being. Kyle was Rank One. The lowest—not even worth servant work. (Gale's right. An incompetent is baggage. And baggage gets used as a decoy.) If he didn't believe that, he couldn't have kept his sanity. ——— How long had it been? The rope snapped. The skin of his wrists slid away and blood dripped. Kyle ignored the pain and stood. His legs were numb; on the first step he had to brace a hand against the wall. (I have to get back.) To the party. The plan was for Gale and the others to finish off from above whatever monster took Kyle as bait. But the monster still hadn't come. If he went back now, he might be scolded for "failing to do the decoy's job." (Even so, it beats staying here.) Kyle left the blind alley and stepped onto the fourth floor's main path. In that instant, the air changed. (—Here it comes.) Instinct raised every hair on his body. From the depths of the dark, two red lights. Three. Four. Five. Shadowhounds. Black dog-type monsters over two meters long that inhabited the fourth floor. They hunted in packs, cornering their prey and devouring it. Even explorers of recommended crest level five or above rarely came back alive from a single one. And there were five. Kyle's feet stopped. (Don't move. Don't turn your back. ...No—run.) His thoughts churned in confusion. His heart rampaged in his throat. Cold sweat ran down his back. One of the shadowhounds growled low. (Ah. Again.) Kyle thought. (Am I going to die here?) Then, something deep in his head groaned. Deep in his chest—just beneath the crest's trace—something that had been stoppered pulsed, ever so faintly. For a single instant, his vision went white. "...gh." Kyle shook his head. A hallucination. A hallucination born of fear. The shadowhound leaped. ——— " Hey, that Kyle bastard actually came back." Gale, who'd been waiting at the stairway up to the third floor, spat out the words at the sight of the blood-soaked Kyle. Kyle had come back crawling. A deep gash in his left arm. His robe torn from the shoulder, and he was favoring his right leg. And yet, he was alive. " Oh my. Tenacious, aren't you." Seraphina tilted her head as if impressed. " Surrounded by five shadowhounds and you actually made it back alive. Your talent as a decoy is first-rate." Kyle didn't answer. He leaned his back against the rock wall and heaved ragged breaths. Blood seeped black into the stone floor. "Kyle!" Lizette came running. Her face was pale, and her large eyes were brimming with tears about to spill. " Why, why did this happen... Treatment—I have to treat you right now..." Her hand touched Kyle's wound. Small, warm hands. "...Stop." Kyle spoke in a hoarse voice. " Stop. Your mana would be wasted." Lizette's hand stopped dead. " What are you saying? Wasted—how could you say that..." " A healer's crest is expendable. Not a single millimeter of mana should be wasted on an incompetent decoy." Seraphina grabbed Lizette's shoulder from behind. " Come back. This one can't even serve as a decoy anymore." Lizette shook off Seraphina's hand. " No." Her voice echoed through the dungeon. " Kyle has been the decoy for three whole years. He nearly died so many times, and still he endured it for the party. How can you just abandon someone like that?" Lizette's body was trembling. With anger, with sorrow, with feelings she couldn't do anything about. Gale stood in front of Lizette. " What did you just say to me?" A low voice. His blue eyes pierced Lizette. " He endured it for the party? Don't make me laugh. He was kept alive by us. A crestless piece of trash—do you have any idea how much he's worth just being allowed to stay in a mid-tier party?" Lizette didn't back down a single step. " Kyle is not trash." " Shut up, you little brat." Gale raised his hand. Kyle caught it. A blood-soaked hand. Long, bony fingers. "...Leave her alone." Kyle's voice was quiet. " Do whatever you want with me. Don't lay a hand on Lizette." Gale's blue eyes clashed with Kyle's gray. " Oh? A decoy giving me orders?" " Not orders. A request." " Same thing either way. ...Enough. As of today, you're banished from the Dawn Fang." Gale shook off Kyle's hand. " An incompetent is baggage. Baggage gets thrown away. That's just how it is." Kyle rose slowly. His right leg throbbed. Blood still flowed from the gash in his left arm. " Next time we meet, we're enemies. If you're staying in this town, you'd better be ready." Gale spoke to Kyle's back. Kyle didn't turn around. "...Kyle." Lizette's voice. " Wait. Please, wait." Her hand touched Kyle's back. Warm. A pale green light spilled from Lizette's hand. Healing magic. Her crest glowed softly in the dim dungeon. " I'm a healer, and yet... I couldn't protect you even once. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Kyle..." The light closed Kyle's wounds. The bleeding stopped, and the torn flesh slowly knit togeth

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Name: The Banished Incompetent Mage Achieves Revenge with His True Power
Author: Novelia

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