I Refused To Be Reincarnated-Chapter 716: Adam’s Game

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."

Yann’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he remained silent, his pupils constricted, and his jaw clenched to suppress his disbelief. Eventually, his voice cracked. "You’ve recruited a tier seven enchanter? How far have we fallen..."

A steely glint flashed in his eyes as mana rumbled within his magic circuits. At his command, his muscles swelled. Veins writhed, an unholy green beneath his taut skin. His ears sharpened, fur erupting on his arms, cheeks, and legs as his voice grew guttural, violent, and somewhat disgusting to Adam’s ears.

"You’ve pushed the limits of my patience far too long. Maybe steel and mana will succeed where words failed."

Before his words fully echoed, he lunged forward like a ravenous hound craving blood. But Adam’s frown only deepened. Yann’s magic reminded him of Elena’s morphomancer’s legacy, yet he felt something more—something startlingly darker, yet not entirely so.

"That’s quite interesting," he muttered, his hands shooting at the dagger whistling toward his shoulder and at the needle-like blade aimed at his chest.

With effortless precision, he caught them between his index and middle fingers. He smirked as Yann tried to pull his weapon back. Yet, his grip wasn’t something anyone at his tier could compete against. Indeed, he had felt it the moment his eyes met Yann’s—he was just an arcanist. And yet, his life force had soared to the seventh tier the moment he had transformed.

His analysis, however, shattered the next moment, just as Yann decisively gave up on his weapons to swing his arm at him. Mid movement, the fur vanished into his hardening skin. Green reptilian scales erupted in its place, dense and covered in short, sharp spikes.

Clicking his tongue, he thrust his forearm against Yann’s. The collision reverberated in the cave, dust blasting outward. The fire died instantly, and the walls rumbled, cracks spreading across their surfaces.

Yet, Yann’s eyes couldn’t help but widen. The stump Adam sat on didn’t even tremble, and his relaxed posture... didn’t change. His lips twisted, dread settling in his stomach. He couldn’t win. He had to flee... or die. But he enjoyed life too much to consider it. And to him, a life of servitude wasn’t different from death, especially under a sect’s rule, and even more so when he knew what the other rogue mages did for them.

Just a week ago, a distant acquaintance who dabbled in necromancy told him how well cultivators treated him after he taught them to stitch living limbs to jiangshis to create an abominable species of undead that were in eternal pain due to their innate frostiness and the heat of the living body parts. Yet, that paradox also granted them immunity to both elements and a strength high enough to send nascent soul realm experts flying.

How many test subjects would die, and what unholy creatures would they produce with his knowledge if he ever joined them? He didn’t want to know, or even think about it.

Without wasting a second, he snapped backwards and lunged at the exit. Before he could take five steps, however, the ground beneath his feet liquified and shot around him like an upside-down waterfall of mud. Shocked, he felt as the liquid solidified upon contact, imprisoning his limbs in layers of rock.

He strained his muscles in resistance, but for each layer shattered, two more formed.

It was an incomprehensible nightmare, one that made his fangs chatter and wish his paralysed legs could tremble.

Meanwhile, Adam’s smirk broadened as the section of the ground Yann stood on spun to make the man face him. He licked his lips with mischievous intent. "What should I do with you, dear arcanist Yann?"

Yann spat on the ground, his nose scrunched. "Kill me, cultivator dog, for I’ll never bend the knee to your despicable kind."

"No, no, no. Killing you would be a waste." Adam scratched his head, breaking his cultivator’s persona. "You were supposed to notice right about ten seconds ago."

"Notice what?" Yann’s eyes narrowed before he choked on his breath. Coughing, he replayed all the sensations, locking on the hardened mud that had turned him into a statue. "Wait... Mana? You’re a mage? No, I clearly saw your qi." He clenched his jaw. "What the hell are you?!"

Adam chuckled. "Mage, cultivator. Mostly just curious about your refusal. Oh, and forget about anything I said before. I was just messing with you."

He snapped his fingers, and the earth immobilising Yann shattered like a clay pot. A new fire crackled on the wood as if it had never been put out, and a stone chair rose behind Yann’s sweat-soaked back. "I visit rogue mages to learn about their spells, their stories, and the archipelago. Make yourself comfortable—this is your cave, after all—and tell me what you know."

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