The Banished Incompetent Mage Achieves Revenge with His True Power - The Tower of Sealed Crests — A Sprouting Dead Tree and an Unbelievable Night

The rain would not stop, even by the third day. Kyle walked through the forest. His gray mage's robe, patched in a dozen places, had long since soaked through and clung heavily to his shoulders. His near-black hair, dark as deep navy, stuck to his forehead, and every time rainwater dripped from it into his gray eyes, his vision blurred. (How far do I have to walk?) The feeling in the soles of his feet was already fading. His feet sank into the mud, caught on tree roots, tripped him—and still he kept walking. If he stopped, the cold would win, and he'd never move again. He felt sure of it. Since his banishment, Kyle had not returned to the town of Tarva. He couldn't. Gale's words—"Next time we meet, we're enemies"—echoed over and over in the back of his mind. That man meant it. If he went back to town now, he really would be killed this time. (Because I'm incompetent.) The cold rain traced the faint, faded scar of a crest that ran from the nape of his neck to his collarbone. In the Kingdom of Regnica, everyone was born with a "crest of talent" etched into their skin. It was a pattern that showed the capacity of one's magic vessel, and its density decided everything in life. Density came in ten grades. Nine or ten meant royalty or senior mages of the Magic Academy; seven or eight, nobility or knights; five or six, middle-class citizens; three or four, commoners. And one or two meant a menial laborer. Hold Kyle's crest up to a crest-meter, and it read "one." The lowest number there was. (That's why I was thrown away.) That was all there was to it. Through a gap in the trees, the sky grew faintly brighter. He couldn't tell whether it was nearing evening or nearing dawn. The rain clouds hung thick and low, and the sun's position was completely hidden. Then a dark shape caught Kyle's eye. Deep in the forest stood a tower. Perhaps twenty meters tall. An old stone tower. Ivy crawled up its walls, and every window was sunk in darkness. Had there been a building like this, this deep in the forest? Kyle stopped in his tracks. (Good enough to wait out the rain.) That was what he thought. He had a bad feeling. The air around the tower was different from the rest of the forest. The sound of leaves rustling seemed strangely distant here, and even the rain sounded muffled. But more than that, his body had reached its limit. Kyle started walking toward the tower. —— The tower's entrance had a half-rotted wooden door hanging open. Its hinges were coming loose, and it creaked eerily every time the wind moved it. Kyle went inside. At once, a musty smell of mold and dust stung his nose. It was different from the cold smell of rain outside—the smell of air that had been sealed away for a very long time. The floor was moss-covered stone, with puddles here and there from leaks. And the moment he saw the walls, Kyle stopped breathing. The entire wall was densely carved with patterns. From ceiling to floor, without a gap. Some spiraled, some were crossing straight lines, some drew intricate geometric figures inside circles. They overlapped in layer upon layer, filling every wall. (Sealing crests...) Kyle knew what they were. These were forbidden patterns developed by the royal Magic Academy. Techniques to make another's crest appear faint and to seal away their magic. They had been created to neutralize rebels, and now they were deeply rooted in this country as a tool to uphold the crest hierarchy. (Why, in a place like this?) The tower's interior opened up through three floors. A spiral staircase ran up along the wall. But Kyle's eyes would not leave the wall. The sealing crests were glowing faintly. No—maybe it was his imagination. Maybe his eyes had simply grown used to the dim tower. Slowly, Kyle approached the wall. (Don't touch it.) A voice sounded somewhere in his head. (This is dangerous.) He knew that. Sealing crests were poison to anyone who bore a crest. If he touched it, there was no telling what would happen to his own. And yet. Kyle's right hand reached out on its own. Between exhaustion and hunger, he couldn't control his body. He hadn't eaten properly in three days. The last thing he'd eaten was the hard bread and thin soup served the morning before his banishment. His fingertips touched the wall. —The next instant. Something deep in his chest groaned. "...Ngh—" A voiceless sound escaped him. A sensation he had never felt before. In the very center of his chest, in a place even deeper, something was cracking. No—something that had been cracked was being pushed open from the inside. Kyle clutched at his chest. His fingertips stuck to the wall as if sucked in, and would not come away. The sealing crests began to shine brightly. The entire wall was pulsing. Like a heartbeat—thump, thump. (What is this?) Inside his body, something began to flow backward. Hot. A searing heat rose from the pit of his stomach. It ran counter to the flow of his blood—from his fingertips to his chest, from his chest to his throat, from his throat to his brain. "Gahh—" His vision went white. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. A sharp pain as if every bone in his body were shattering from within. Countless needles pierced through his head. Kyle collapsed onto the floor and arched his back violently. (I'm going to die.) He truly thought so. His consciousness sank to the bottom of dark water. The last thing he saw was the sealing crests across the wall, flickering like living things. —— How much time had passed? Kyle woke on the cold stone floor. His body was heavy as lead. Even moving a single finger took tremendous effort. His mouth was bone-dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. (I'm alive.) That was his first thought. Slowly, he opened his eyes. He saw a dim ceiling. An old stone ceiling. Water stains spread across it like a map. (The tower from before.) Kyle managed to sit up. And then he saw it. At his feet lay a dead tree. It grew up through the tower's floor, its trunk as thick as a grown man's arm—and it had split wide open, lengthwise. No, not just split. From the fissure, fresh shoots were bursting forth. Vivid yellow-green shoots. Tiny leaves spilled out from inside the split trunk, as if overflowing. From a tree that should have withered and died, new life was pouring out. (What the hell is this?) Kyle doubted his own eyes. He looked down further. Countless cracks ran through the moss-covered stone floor. Radiating outward from Kyle's body. As if something had burst out of him and split the stone. (Did I... do this?) He brought his trembling hand before his face. His fingertips were faintly glowing. A pale, bluish-white light. It vanished in an instant. Kyle stared at his own hand, unable to move. Fear. That was all there was. Something was happening inside him. Something he couldn't understand himself. (No. This isn't me.) He shook his head. (I'm incompetent. My crest is faint—I'm just a decoy. I can't have power like this.) His heart pounded with an unpleasant rhythm. —That was when it happened. "Kyle!" A voice echoed from the tower's entrance. Kyle's head snapped up. Standing there was Lizette. Her loose chestnut braid was soaked and stuck to her neck. Her large brown eyes were wide open, and her pale green healer's robe was stained with mud and rain. She was gasping for breath. However far she'd run, her small body looked ready to collapse at any moment. "Thank goodness... thank goodness, you're safe..." Lizette sank down where she stood. "I was so... so worried..." Tears ran down her cheeks. She couldn't tell whether they were rain or tears. Kyle couldn't say anything. Why was she here? How had she found this place? There were a mountain of things he wanted to ask. But more than that. She might have seen what he'd just seen. That fear sealed his mouth shut. "Lizette... why are you—" The voice he finally forced out was terribly hoarse. Lizette wiped her tears and stood up. "After you left in the rain, I... I couldn't just sit still. So I left town and kept searching for you." "You were... looking for me?" "Yes. I followed the footprints you left on the road to see which way you'd gone. Once you entered the forest, I couldn't find even the slightest trace... but then I found this tower, and I thought maybe—" Lizette tried to approach Kyle, then stopped. Her gaze fell to his feet. The dead tree, bursting with shoots. The stone floor, split with cracks. Lizette's expression froze. "...What is this?" Kyle couldn't answer. Lizette slowly looked at Kyle's face. "The dead tree is budding. The stone floor is cracked like this... Kyle, what in the world did you—" "...I didn't do anything." "But this is only around you. The cracks radiate out from you in a circle." Lizette's voice was trembling. Not from fear. No—that wasn't it. What dwelled in her eyes was a different emotion entirely. "...Kyle." Lizette took one step closer. "You're hiding something." Those words pierced Kyle's chest. Hiding something. He was hiding something. (No.) Kyle cried out in his heart. (I'm not hiding anything. I'm incompetent. That's all.) But. The dead tree before him was undeniably budding. The stone floor was undeniably cracked. (If I'm not incompetent...) Something groaned in his mind. (Then what were the last three years?) The days Gale used him as a decoy. The days Seraphina classified him as expendable. The burn on his left hand from being forced to tend the campfire. The night deep in the labyrinth when he was tied down within reach of a monster's tongue. (Everything changes meaning.) I'm incompetent, so it can't be helped. I'm incompetent, so I just have to endure it. That was what he'd told himself, and he'd endured. But if he wasn't incompetent— (Were all those humiliations just senseless cruelty?) (Was I just being beaten down, all that time?) (Three years—for what?) Kyle looked at Lizette. Her large brown eyes were fixed straight on him. There was no suspicion in them, no contempt, no fear. Only a pure light—the wish to know the truth. (This girl believes in me.) That was what he thought. She believed in him. So he tried to speak. (The truth is, I don't understand it either.) (When I touched the wall, I blacked out.) (When I woke up, it was like this.) (It's like there's something inside me.) It rose to his throat. But he couldn't say it. "...I'm not hiding anything." Kyle said it quietly. "I'm just incompetent." Lizette's expression clouded slightly. "But Kyle... this is clearly not normal—" "It's a coincidence. This tree was probably about to bud anyway. And the stone floor just cracked because the rain loosened the ground." "That can't be—" "More importantly, go back to town. It's dangerous to be alone in a forest like this." "No." Lizette's voice grew strong for the first time. "I came all this way looking for you. I was so worried I couldn't stand it. And now you tell me to go home?" Kyle looked at her face. Tears were welling in her eyes again. But these weren't tears of sorrow. These were tears of anger. "I know. I know you're actually a strong person, Kyle." Kyle's heart jumped. "Even in the labyrinth, when the monsters attacked, you protected me. You were covered in wounds yourself, but you always worried about me first. No matter what Gale said to you, you never talked back—but that's not because you're weak. I could tell you were just enduring it." Lizette's voice shook. "So please, don't call yourself incompetent." Kyle bit his lip. (Stop.) (Don't expect anything more from me.) (Don't believe in me.) He repeated it over and over in his mind. "...Lizette." Kyle's voice was hoarse. "You're giving me far too much credit. I'm not the person you think I am." "Then what kind of person are you?" "...Incompetent. A decoy who got banished, who can't even find a place to wait out the rain. Just

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Episode 2

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

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