The Sigil Knight

A few months have passed since I left the Bladewells household.

The life of an adventurer… it’s not as bad as I initially thought it would be. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, repeating those words like a quiet mantra in the back of my mind whenever the doubts start creeping in.

Even if my Sigil Mark is considered a low-tier blessing from the gods… Imprint. A useless blessing, some might say. Many would even go as far as calling it a complete waste of potential.

But it doesn’t matter. Not really to me. Or at least, that’s what I try to convince myself every single day.

What matters is the sword in my sheath–the reason I’m still able to work as an adventurer. It’s the skill I’ve carved into my body after years of rigorous training in the Bladewells household, the countless hours of sweat and pain that shaped me into someone who could at least hold a blade properly.

A family known for its swordsmanship. A family I was born into, yet one I have completely cut ties with ever since that fateful ceremony. The memories of those cold stares and disappointed sighs still lingered in my thoughts from time to time.

“Arthur!”

A voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and impatient.

“Stop spacing out, will ya!”

I blinked and looked forward immediately, pulling myself back to the present moment.

The dungeon corridor stretched ahead in complete darkness, growing even darker and more oppressive the deeper we ventured.

The air felt thick and stale, carrying a smell that was becoming worse with every step–putrid and nauseating, like rotting flesh mixed with damp earth and something far more unpleasant.

The party leader clicked his tongue and spoke bluntly, “This is why I hate bringing D-ranks. Always daydreaming and can’t even keep their guard up.”

“…Right. I’m sorry,” I answered slowly, adjusting my grip on the sword in its sheath, feeling the familiar leather wrapping against my palm.

I held back my emotions carefully. After all, this was just a temporary party for this quest. It wasn’t like we would work together again after this. The only reason they accepted me was because they needed an extra blade, nothing more and nothing less.

Just a group of adventurers chasing glory and rewards in a lower-tier dungeon, the kind of place where people like me were barely tolerated.

“This dungeon layout feels off. It’s different in some areas compared to the map,” said the guy holding the map, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

“Different? Lower-tier dungeons don’t change. You’re probably just seeing things wrong. Just keep moving,” the leader replied with a laugh, brushing it off casually as if the matter was beneath him.

Listening quietly was easier for me. I doubted they would listen to my input anyway, and I had learned that lesson the hard way many times before.

I could speak up to some extent, but I chose not to. It wasn’t only because I was D-rank, but also because of my Sigil Mark.

Everyone’s eyes would turn to me sharply and they would start bashing me the moment I gave any advice. After all, they all had better sigils than me, and in this world, that single fact decided everything.

Someone with the Imprint Sigil Mark– a mimic-type ability–was considered useless. I had heard it countless times, even from my own family. The words had been repeated so often that they had almost become a part of me.

Because of that, I had no voice in these matters. Somehow, I had accepted that fate even in this situation, carrying the weight of it with every step I took.

As I started dazing off again, lost in my own swirling thoughts, the leader’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“Arthur, stay vigilant.”

“Got it,” I simply replied, nodding slightly.

Our movement began to slow as we noticed the dungeon floor wasn’t natural. It looked as if something much larger had passed through here before us, leaving behind deep gouges and an unsettling presence that made the hairs on my neck stand up.

Then it happened.

A loud sound echoed from ahead, heading straight in our direction, growing louder and more menacing with every passing second.

The entire party stopped instantly. The leader raised his voice and gave orders.

“Everyone prepare yourselves and get into formation, now!”

We quickly moved into position and drew our weapons. The pressure in the air had become intense and suffocating. We all knew something was coming, and it wasn’t going to be friendly.

A darkened miasma began creeping out as the sounds grew closer, thick and heavy like a living shadow.

The appearance of miasma could only mean one thing–a Sigil Monster. Or what we adventurers called an Apostate Beast.

One of the party members shouted, “It can’t be! How can such a monstrosity appear here? This was supposed to be a lower-tier dungeon… not even mid-tier dungeons have things like this!”

I could feel the fear spreading through the group like a contagious wave. Of course I understood why. Even my own hands were trembling as I held my sword tightly. An Apostate Beast was powerful enough to require multiple A-ranks to defeat.

So here we were — a C-rank party and me. What could we even do against something like that?

The leader, however, stayed silent for a moment before giving me a certain look, one that sent a chill down my spine.

“Arthur,” he said, staring at me. “Stay ready. You’re on the front line… we’ll back you up with our magic.”

“Shouldn’t we just–”

The party leader cut me off sharply.

“Retreat? It’s clearly coming this way, and I doubt we can outrun it. We still have a chance to survive, so do your part! Stand your ground!”

My heart told me to run, but deep down I knew the leader was right. Fighting was the only option left. We had nowhere to run.

The Apostate Beast finally appeared. Its jagged body, massive hammer, and glowing orange eyes terrified us all. It was far bigger than we expected, yet it moved with terrifying speed and purpose.

“Distract it, Arthur, while we cast our spells!” the leader yelled in panic.

It lunged at us almost instantly. Blocking its attack was impossible.

All we could do was dodge. That was when I realized the fight was impossible to win. We were simply delaying our deaths.

“Leader! I can’t distract it any longer. Support magic–”

My words stopped as I saw the truth.

All the other party members were chanting spells, but not support magic for me. They were casting destructive spells aimed at the dungeon walls, trying to collapse the path and slow down the beast while they retreated to safety.

I wasn’t part of their plan.

The distraction they had me doing was just a trick to buy time.

Their spells fired off. The entire dungeon began to shake violently as the walls crumbled down. The rest of the party disappeared behind the collapsing stone.

All that remained was me… and the Apostate Beast staring directly at me.