I Refused To Be Reincarnated

Mischief sparkling in Adam’s eyes, he supported his elbow on his crossed leg and cupped his cheek, while Yann’s grip tightened around his dagger and a bizarre sword. It was the first time he ever saw that style of round guard from which extended an arm-sized blade, so thin that he felt he could shatter it between his fingers without effort.

"You’re perceptive, Yann. I’m indeed here to discuss the terms of your recruitment. You might not know this, but many rogue mages have already begun to work for various sects—most lending their alchemical expertise. Others..." He let his voice linger, his lips curling like a knife. "Let’s say influential individuals sometimes disappear mysteriously. And no one ever saw a cultivator within miles of the corpse."

He shook the bottle of wine in his hand. "So, what are you waiting for? Join us. You’ll have an unlimited supply of wonderful wine. And women, the kind who walk with their heads raised high and move with elegance..." A chuckle escaped his lips. "The kind that won’t call your dragon a pork tail."

Yann glared at the wine for a second. Lips quivering, veins throbbing on his forehead, he swung his rapier in front of him, a blast of air sending Adam’s sky-blue hair ruffling as he snorted. "Using what I told you earlier won’t get you anywhere, and what those other bastards do isn’t worth a second of my attention. Leave! I’m not interested in your garbage sect—in any of them."

Adam watched Yann stand by the cave’s entrance, clearly showing him the way out.

He tilted his head, a pensive frown creasing his brow. "What could convince you? Rogue mages are losing ground with each passing year. Those who don’t join us starve, and those who don’t see their roots fade into our customs. Tell me: aren’t you tired of shivering in the shadows when you could bask in the sunlight, grasp a sliver of glory, the recognition of others, and perhaps even love?"

Yann’s eyes narrowed into slits, mana emanating in two dark streams. "Last warning: leave or face the consequences."

"Shouldn’t you be stronger than me if you want to intimidate me?" Adam yawned, his spatial ring flashing. From it, a shamshir condensed. Its blade, of a silver that instantly brightened the cave, snaked in a malevolent curve. Magic symbols pulsed along its edges, a fiery red glow that seemed to drink the campfire’s heat.

He presented the hilt to Yann, the two magical gems casting shadows on his face. "Not quite the same as yours, but it’s narrow, sharp, and enchanted to the seventh tier. It’s yours." He glared through the holes in Yann’s coat, at the shattered mail of the hauberk hidden beneath. "Seems like you could do with a new set of armor, too. A few trinkets aren’t out of the question either."