The story of something precious turning into a chain around your feet

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"Craft. You're fired."

"Eeeeeee?!?"

And just like that, I got kicked out of the party again.

It was a bright day, exactly four years since I started as an adventurer on my sixteenth birthday.

"Seriously, you were useless."

"I'm sorry, but are you even a real mage?"

"Come on, that mage crest carved into your left hand—could it be fake?"

"..."

The warrior leader, Marbolo, spoke first. Then the lone red-haired ranger, Marietta, chimed in.

The others reacted much the same.

Marbolo's a pain in the ass, but he's good. I get why he's mad—my skills aren't exactly top-tier. But still… he went too far.

"Why can't you use anything beyond basic magic, even with your crest? And the power? It's pathetic!"

"Seriously, a mage who can't even knock down a single goblin..."

"Gugugug...!"

They're right.

It's infuriating—this truth I can't argue against.

"Anyway, just give up already."

"...Alright. Thanks for everything."

"Sorry to say it, but Craft, you've got no talent for adventuring."

"A mage with ridiculous amounts of magic power, but can't cast spells at all..."

I walked slowly toward the adventurer guild's front desk, still hearing their insults echoing behind me.

"Again...? You're back, Craft?"

"Yeah. Again."

The receptionist gave me a weary look, already knowing what was coming.

"Truthfully... I don’t think you’re cut out for adventuring."

"I’ve tried my best, though."

"I know. But your magic’s just... way too weak."

"…Yeah."

"What now? Looking for a new party?"

I’ve joined countless parties—too many to count—but none ever lasted.

I gently trace the mark carved into the back of my left hand.

The mark of a mage.

On the day of the Coming-of-Age Ceremony, when I received that mark, I didn’t hesitate. My magic was stronger than most, so there was no question—right away, I was branded as a mage.

The one who performed the ceremony even said I’d become a great mage someday.

But…

But…

For some reason, every single spell I cast was painfully weak—like nothing compared to other mages.

I had confidence in my magic power, so at least I could cast spells in quick succession—back when I was a rookie adventurer, that wasn’t a problem.

But the only spells I could actually remember were the most basic ones.

People who bear the mark should gain new spells and techniques as they grow stronger... yet here I was.

So I kept getting kicked out of parties, useless as ever.

“Craft-san, actually… I’ve been asked to do something by the Production Guild.”

“The Production Guild? What kind of request?”

“It’s not really a request.”

“Huh?”

“Recently, they’re setting up a new settlement in Lord Bairoroad, the Marquis of the Frontier’s territory. The guild’s looking for someone who can stay long-term.”

“Settlement?”

“Yes. And ideally, someone already part of the Production Guild.”

“Wait… is that what you’re saying?”

"Yeah. They’re asking for someone who can fight a little, even if just a bit, to be sent over to the Production Guild."

"So you’re saying I gotta quit the Adventurer’s Guild and join the Production Guild?"

"Exactly."

That means the Adventurer’s Guild sees me as someone they can spare without it hurting...

Alone in the world, if I can’t be an adventurer anymore, I gotta find my next job fast.

"...Got it. I’ll take the offer."

"Wha—?!"

"Tell me the details."

"Wha—! Got it! There’s a referral bonus too!"

She fumbled, flipping through papers in surprise—didn’t expect me to say yes like that.

And so.

After all the paperwork, I quit being an adventurer.

◆

If I’d stayed stuck being an adventurer, I’d’ve just dragged on like that for the rest of my life. This was the turning point. Might as well make the most of it—time to kick back and live easy in the countryside.

“Alright! Fresh start! From now on, I’m a Craft of the Production Guild!”

Late switch, sure, but I’m gonna give it my all!

Thinking that, I arrived at the Production Guild.

First time here. Bigger than I thought. Busy as hell.

“Hey! What’s the status on the supply wagons!?”

“We’re starting with non-perishables!”

“More people might be joining us! Keep some room in the supplies!”

“Is twenty percent enough?”

“Idiot! Think about the unexpected! Thirty percent!”

“What’s the budget look like?”

“Bill the Marquis!”

“Understood!”

I figured a production guild’d be full of grumpy craftsmen loitering around, but nah—definitely not that.

“Huh? You! What’re you doin’ there!?”

“Ah, sorry. Is there someone here to check in?”

“What kind of check-in? Guild registration? Supply orders? What?”

“No, I’m here on a referral from the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Huh? Oh! Wait—could you be from the开拓 village!?”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“Man, that’s a relief! Over here! Hey, you two! I’m stepping out for a sec—don’t you dare slack off!”

Big guy, all bossy, stood behind the counter, waving me over with a seat.

“Good to see ya! I’m the guildmaster of the Production Guild.”

“Craft Walken.”

“Huh? Craft? That’s a lucky name for a production guild! Heh heh!”

“Heh heh…”

What else can I do but laugh? This whole thing’s ridiculous.

Heard most of it from the Adventurer’s Guild already. Can I get the full story, though?

Sure thing. Simple enough. They’re sending two from the Production Guild to the new frontier village. One’s already picked. Can’t decide on the second one, though.

Right. But why pick an ex-adventurer?

Easy. Frontier’s frontier. No telling what kind of danger’s out there. Wanted someone who can fight, that’s all.

Couldn’t just hire an adventurer normally?

We’ll hire one for the journey to the village. But can’t have them hanging around forever.

Yeah, fair enough.

After years of being stuck with guard duty, most would just say no.

We’ve got a village head meeting us on-site, and they’ll provide guards. But… I don’t trust it much.

Yeah. Expected that.

To a lord, a frontier village’s success is fine. If it fails? Just leave it be.

Promises of troop deployment? More like they never existed at all.

So we figured we’d send someone from the Production Guild who can actually fight monsters. Let’s just get the paperwork done already.

"Ah, please..."

Thanks to the letter of introduction from the guild, the paperwork moved along smoothly.

"Hey, you’re a mage, huh?"

Hah… four years in, and all I’ve managed to learn is a few basic spells. Pathetic, huh?

What the hell?

The guildmaster’s thick, bulging muscles twitched slightly, as if suited to a leader of the production guild.

"Did you actually get your heraldic aptitude checked properly?"

"Wait, no—my magic power was just way higher than normal from birth. Didn’t need to check or anything."

Oh right, you can check your aptitude too, huh.

But actually, it's not all that common.

Simple reason. Normally, you inherit your parents’ profession. So in most cases, it’s the same crest they bear, regardless of talent.

And in most cases, that’s actually the most suitable.

Would a noble’s heir, even if he had aptitude for blacksmithing, really try to take the blacksmith’s crest?

Not a chance.

Even if he’s slightly lacking, he just etches the knight’s crest and trains hard. Effort can make up for it, to some degree.

Besides, it seems you can’t even engrave a crest that doesn’t suit you. In that case, you’re supposed to pick another.

“Hmph. Seal Officer’s here right now. Might as well get checked, huh?”

“Won’t that cost a fortune?”

“This time, I’ll cover it.”

“Why go that far?”

“Maybe there’s some talent in production, even if it’s unlikely.”

“Ah. Right.”

Sure, I’d always wanted to be a hero. Never thought much about aptitude beyond magic, given how high my power was.

Right. If I had talent in carpentry or blacksmithing, I’d be useful here in this production guild.

No regrets about ditching the mage’s insignia.

“Got it. Then I’ll take you up on that.”

“Alright, got it. …Seal Officer, please!”

The guildmaster called out, and from the back, an older Seal Officer—wielding a magic insignia, busy with some work—stepped forward.

Incidentally, he was also a herald who memorized noble crests. Honestly, who cares.

“Then, let’s see… ‘Insignia Aptitude Assessment.’”

My left-hand insignia flickered slightly, trembled.

“W-what… what is this!?”

“Um… did you see something?”

I cautiously asked the Seal Officer, who stared in shock.

Huh? What?

“B-bah! What kind of nonsense is this!? Could something like this even happen!?”

The Seal Officer staring hard at my insignia.

I’m seriously freaking out here!

“S-something wrong?”

“N-no… I just can’t believe it… The magic seal most unsuited to you… is a mage.”

“Huh?”

Now I know why the Seal Officer is glaring at my insignia.

“Do you… possess magic?”

“Ah, uh… yeah. Just the basics—elemental magic, you know. The very first steps.”

“I can’t believe it! This kind of mismatch… no, worse than that… You’re actually using a seal so utterly incompatible it could cost you your life!?”

“W-what!? Life-threatening!?”

“Hmm. Not widely known, but in cases of extreme incompatibility… it can happen. Though it’s practically impossible… still… you’re using a seal so completely wrong for you… that it could kill you.”

"Hey, Professor. So, this Craft of yours—has it really been carrying that burden around for four years straight?"

"Indeed. Unbelievable, but it seems to be the case. As a Seal Officer, I’d advise changing the seal immediately."

"I thought seals with such poor compatibility couldn’t even be borne in the first place."

"Generally true. But on rare occasions, they do get inscribed anyway."

No way…

I’ve been carrying this seal around all this time, treating it like treasure.

"Normally, changing a seal requires procedure. But this is a life-or-death emergency. If you wish, I can rewrite it right now, under my authority."

"Appreciate the offer, but then… what about my proper seal?"

"Apologies. I didn’t mention that earlier. It’s a story I can hardly believe myself."

The Seal Officer tightens his grip on his staff, staring straight at me.

An impossible... There’s a sigil hidden within you, one that holds power beyond measure. It’s the most fitting, the perfect mark for you.”

“S-so… what is it?”

I swallow hard, without meaning to.

Whether on purpose or not, the Seal Officer takes his time, drawing out the silence, then speaks slowly.

“Alchemist… a true alchemist. One with power like a god’s.”

Wait, what? That sounds intense.

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