I Refused To Be Reincarnated

As soon as he was freed from the mud, the long-backed chair pushed against the back of Yann’s knees. He tumbled on its smooth surface, seated before he could will it. His will, however, didn’t matter before the smiling sky-blue-haired youth. He was at the youth’s mercy, his body a puppet that could be broken with a thought. But his mind would never bend, no matter who Adam was or what he wanted.

He leaned against the chair, his head higher than what dignity allowed, making him look contemptuous instead. His curled moustache and the scales covering his face reflected the crackling campfire.

"Grow a few hairs on that baby face of yours if you want to swindle knowledge from me, lad. The spells you want to learn are legacy, no mage would ever share. The archipelago’s secrets are not for you to pry into."

He shuddered, his voice dropping to a mutter. "Not for anyone to pry into. I don’t know if you merely changed your recruitment approach, or if you’re an unholy product shaped in the laboratory of one of these mad bastards. You could even be a wretched son of humans and beasts for all I care. But some secrets are better left unlearned. Their mere knowledge becomes a flavorful poison they’ll track. And once they find you..." He ran his finger on his throat without another word.

Adam rolled his eyes, the insults roiling on his skin. For a moment, he wanted to retort about the human beast union. Like most, he wouldn’t tolerate someone who insulted Alina. But then, he thought about his other mother... the magical cow.

With tendons coming straight from a merman, hands from a dwarf, and bones from a demon, not to mention Misha’s complex DNA that offered him the best from all regular beasts in creation, he felt like he’d better not answer, lest he made a fool of himself later.

With an awkward cough, he massaged his temples. "Look, Yann, I was merely having fun because of your misunderstanding. You’re vulgar and quick-tempered, but you also kept your hands clean despite my offers." He handed him the bottle of wine, a warm smile curving his lips. "Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?"

"Humph." Yann scrunched his nose. "You don’t give me much of a choice, do you? In any case, don’t expect my tongue to run loose for your entertainment. But I’ll take the wine."

Snatching the bottle, he flung the cork open with a thick thumb. Instantly, a sour stench struck his nostrils like a hammer. Mind adrift, he brought the liquid to his quivering lips. The subtle sweetness of magical fruits seared his tongue, then his throat as he gulped with a delighted shiver. Warmth spread through his stomach, but not only that. He felt the liquid tug his soul into an embrace gentler than what any woman had offered him. And he had spent time with way too many to remember— more often than not—money, too.

As he gulped the precious liquid faster, Adam chuckled. "Relax, I’m not taking it back. Anyway, you seem stubborn enough to teach stones, so let me recount to you my visits to the Order of the Poisonous Path and the Witch of the West while you enjoy your drink."

He told him about William, Pablo’s buried grimoire, and how they were worried their magical roots would fade into the cultivators’ culture. His features hardened into a mask of suppressed anger when he mentioned the child-devouring witch and, even worse, the Verdant Peak sect’s child trafficking.

By the end of the story, Yann clenched his fists, the bottle exploding in his trembling grasp. "I’m glad you killed that bitch. She’s not one of us, not a mage—not even a human!" He kicked a stone circling the campfire, huffing. "That disgusting sect is no better. I pray the heavens themselves will drown these dogs in lightning. Maybe then, they will understand how powerless their victims felt."