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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: The Magic Tower Genius Descends into the Labyrinth
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Sylbian gradually slowed his pace and deactivated Hesente.
"Not good..."
As he came to a gentle stop, the breath escaping his lips was hot.
The Stigma's effect was greater than he'd imagined.
Catching his breath for a moment, he soon lifted his head and took in the city walls.
It was Helsen, one of the cities near the Western Magic Tower.
"First, I need to gather information on the labyrinth."
Simply charging toward the labyrinth as his goal wouldn't mean anything.
He needed far more intel upfront.
Sylbian walked a little more slowly toward Helsen, his eyes drifting to the crowds on the main thoroughfare.
Carriages rumbling along the road and throngs of pedestrians—they all seemed headed to Helsen too.
"A mage...?"
"Why's the mage traveling alone?"
Passersby eyed him curiously, and he unconsciously tugged at his collar.
It was an instinctive move to hide the Stigma.
'Can't do this.'
Sylbian frowned at his own reaction for a split second.
He was an Exile now.
That meant adapting to the reality of it. Hiding himself wouldn't get him anywhere.
Rustle.
Sylbian straightened his collar just as he reached the city gates.
"Mage, apologies, but we'll need to do a quick inspection."
"...Inspection?"
Sylbian blinked, momentarily failing to process the guard's words. Mages were never inspected—it was an unwritten rule.
'Because of the Stigma, maybe.'
He quickly realized the guard was staring right at it.
"Fine. Go ahead."
Sylbian let out a hollow chuckle and nodded.
"Thanks for cooperating. Pardon us."
As the brief inspection unfolded, curious glances from nearby pedestrians caught his eye.
He had no desire to stir up needless fuss with them.
Drawing that kind of attention as a fresh Exile would do him no favors.
Finally, the inspection wrapped up, and the guard stepped aside.
"Identity confirmed—no issues. You're clear to enter."
"..."
The guard kept shooting him wary looks the whole way through the gate.
Sylbian halted mid-stride and glanced back.
"One question: do all Exiles get this treatment?"
"...Yes, sir. City policy."
Sylbian eyed the guard a moment longer, then nodded.
"Got it."
No point picking a fight.
This just drove his new reality home.
'Gotta think about stuff I couldn't even dream of before.'
Honestly, it didn't sit well.
But brushing it off as no big deal was the only way forward. So he'd do it.
Rustle!
Stepping into the city, Sylbian flung his robe fully open.
His pristine silver hair spilled free, naturally drawing stares from passersby.
Especially the Stigma etched on his neck.
"Oh my..."
"That mark on the mage's neck..."
The murmurs hit his ears plain as day. Gazes prickled from all sides.
'No hiding the Stigma anyway.'
Sylbian steadied his emotions and thought coolly.
The midday streets teemed with people. He just had to stride among them.
He wasn't a Magic Tower mage anymore.
And compared to the scornful stares he'd endured there...
What was so tough about this?
A faint chuckle escaped him as he picked up the pace.
Even the unease in his eyes had settled completely, meeting the world head-on.
He'd accepted his reality fully now.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Jingle!
The door to the Golden Barrel Inn swung open, bell tinkling.
The waitress glanced at the entrance out of habit.
"Welcome..."
Her cheerful greeting faltered as she spotted the newcomer, eyes going wide.
Rustle.
His stride alone screamed refinement.
Each step carried a lofty aura.
The striking man in fine white robes looked every bit the highborn noble.
The waitress caught on late.
A mage was walking into the Golden Barrel Inn.
First time in years of working there.
Haughty, elite mages stuck to lavish spots.
No reason one should pick a shabby outskirts dive like this.
The shock wasn't hers alone.
""...""
Silence blanketed the inn.
Rowdy adventurers and mercenaries gawked blankly at the young mage.
Undeterred by the stares, Sylbian parted his lips casually.
"One black ale."
Thud!
Brushing past the waitress, he dropped into an empty chair like it was nothing.
He took the flood of eyes in stride.
Gulp!
One adventurer swallowed hard and whispered.
"...Mage with a Stigma."
"Stigma?"
"That means he pulled off something huge..."
Sylbian turned his head slowly amid the murmurs.
He'd heard every word, yet his eyes didn't flicker.
He met the adventurers' stares naturally.
"Ahem...!"
They flinched under his icy gaze and looked away.
The inn roared back to life like the hush never happened.
The waitress set down his ale.
"Food too?"
"Your house specialty. And info on solid adventurers. Got any?"
"Ah, hunting for adventurers? I've heard things..."
Ting!
Sylbian flicked a silver coin from his pouch before she finished. She snatched it midair, eyes bulging.
"I'll spill on Helsen's top reliable pick!"
Her face lit up.
His Stigma glared plain on his neck.
But the easy toss of silver melted her caution like snow.
"Details, please."
"Right! Among locals, Jelen from Red Wolf has the best rep..."
Thrilled by the fat tip, she spilled it all with gusto.
Sylbian sifted the key bits while pondering.
'Max out Northern Labyrinth intel.'
No plans to blunder in and die pointlessly.
Hit the guild at dawn tomorrow...
A massive shadow loomed over the table.
"Well, well. Fancy mage slumming it in a dump like this."
At the sleazy drawl, he looked up slow.
Cropped hair to the bone, hulking frame—long scar slashing his cheek stood out.
Classic mercenary getup.
The guy ogled the Stigma on his neck openly.
"Business with me?"
Calm question, eyes locked.
Malice boiled in the mercenary's glare. Vague mage-hate too.
"Damn right. Got loads for a mage."
Grinning, he straddled a chair backward. Sylbian smirked back, sipping his ale.
Cool brew scorched his throat, sharpening his senses.
'Guess this is my life now.'
Back then, this clown wouldn't have dreamed of approaching.
One Stigma, and here he was pushing his luck.
The inn went dead quiet again.
"Heh... Play cool all you want, halfwit. Can't even sling spells."
The mercenary leered, malice thick.
Innfolk watched hungry for drama.
"Quick question: labyrinth info?"
Blunt, killing the vibe.
"Labyrinth? North one? Hell if I know. Cough up that pouch, magey. Looks stuffed."
Merc snorted sour. A few adventurers snickered along.
His fingers brushed the Stigma idly.
'Worse than expected.'
He knew Exile treatment sucked.
Life'd be hell.
But this punk—or anyone—didn't rate ignoring him.
No, he wouldn't take it lying down regardless.
Clink.
Glass down gentle.
"Merc. Name?"
Caught flat-footed, the guy puffed up snooty.
"Wolf, Iron Fang! Stamped trash like you is done for ri—"
"Wolf."
Sharply cut.
He'd clocked the play ages ago. Bait for rage, drag him low.
Fight maybe, total humiliation.
Tap.
Right hand up high.
Clear shot for Wolf, whole inn too.
"The hell..."
Wolf tensed wary—
Swoosh!
Fist clenched hard.
Whoooosh...!!
Mana surged arm-long in a blink, exploding outward in a howling gale.
-Stigma'd Exiles can't cast.
Common wisdom.
Mana-locked mage? Half-assed, like the merc spat.
But.
'I can.'
Made him an utter freak here.
"Wha—gasp...!"
Wolf gulped, bug-eyed.
"Th-that Exile's casting!?"
"How the...?!"
Shouts rocked the room vivid in his ears.
Feeling it, he reined the mana back slow from his hand.
Gusts died. Silence deeper than tombs fell.
"More to say?"
Smashed the quiet.
No spell needed.
'Lowlife mercs don't sense mana.'
Manifest alone packed punch.
"N-nothin'."
Tone flipped, Wolf bolted back out of sight.
Sylbian watched, drained his ale. Waitress's tip resurfaced.
'Red Wolf's Jelen.'
Hoped tomorrow's meet wasn't another dud like that.