I Refused To Be Reincarnated-Chapter 923: The Ghost Who Saw Back

"Something's off about this ghost." Hemmed in the irregular shades of the forest, the imposter murmured under his breath. Feeling observed once might have been a coincidence. Not twice.

But... how? With the little mana the ghost owned, he might as well insult every novice by calling him one, much less a mage. Yet, in this world of memories, the ghost seemed to notice him as if he were an entity of old—a mystical being on Serevan's level. No, it had to be higher... Did the ghost sense his gaze from now back then? Was that why he had observed him?

Impossible! The ghost would have to tower over the realm as a supreme sorcerer, standing shoulder to shoulder with Haldris, Leviathan, and the four monarchs. Humans, with their bodies and affinities, couldn't reach that level. So, a ghost who owned neither? Even more impossible... And even if someone that powerful raised Adam from the crib, his mythical organs made no sense.

But as impossible as he knew it was, he kept the possibility open in a corner of his mind as a strangled voice made him turn.

"Huff... huff... I-I can't anymore."

The baby, now a child around six years old, struggled on the ground. His nose almost kissed the musty soil, while his fingers trembled over the trenches they had dug. Sweat pearled under the evening sunlight on his muscled back. He panted, arms bent, trying to push him up one last time against their exhaustion.

The ghost hovered beside the child, his ethereal hands clasped behind his back like a combat master's, but without its grace. "You're almost there! You can do one more!"

"ARGH!" The child pursed his lips over his clenched teeth. With a growl as desperate as it was defiant, he pushed himself up one last time. He collapsed on his burning chest, a grin spreading across his face. "F-Finally done."

The ghost suddenly smirked. "You're one short of being done, though."

"Huh? But you just said..."

The ghost interrupted the boy. "That you were almost there, not that you were." He pressed the boy's chest until it was back in a push-up position.

"The nineteen lasts were the last already! I don't trust you anymore, bad big brother!"

The ghost frowned at the child's twisted face. "Give up at two-hundred and ninety-nine push-ups, then, and our plan, too. With that mindset, we'll never leave Theodor's shop to learn magic. Look what I can do now while you complain!"

He pointed a spectral finger toward a tree. Greyish-blue mana swirled into a ball at its tip. With a whoosh, it tore through the air before silently crashing against the gnarled bark.

"Whoa! Incredible, big brother! I'll learn to do it, too. Just wait!" The boy cheered before forcing himself to do his last push-up. But his eyes now sparkled through the strain, and, through pure will, he managed to finish.

The ghost nodded. However, his eyes slipped to the bark as he bit his lip.

While he did, the imposter snorted at the intact tree. A supreme sorcerer? Ah! That weak thing didn't even splinter the wood.

Why was he wasting his time with these memories? The moment he got his mythical organs, battles that left him one foot in the grave, scenes with his beloved Misha, the fears he shackled in the depths of his soul, or the snatching of the blessed land he had seen in Quintella's memories. These were what he should have been seeing. That was how his spell worked...

A deep furrow creasing his brow, he gripped the memory and began to flip it. Yet, his eyes remained glued on the ghost this time. The ghost kept mumbling things about optimising his technique to at least damage the bark and something about using it more than once before running out of mana. Besides the increased heaviness in the next memory, he found nothing strange as the forest began to fade.

Yet, between the moment the damp walls of a cave replaced the trees, the ghost tilted his head. His luminous eyes curved in contempt as they drilled into the imposter's failed imitation of Adam's body.

Even though it faded a heartbeat later, it left the imposter shuddering inside a cave illuminated by the gray magic symbols forming a circle on the rocky ground. Just who was this ghost? How could he scrutinise him like that? It was too odd. He didn't want to, but he would have to put his desire for answers aside, at least until Adam failed his trial. Then, he would take his time to understand everything.

The dark mana coating his palm flickered with his hesitation. Then, it vanished. A last memory. He hoped he would find a trail to the answers he wanted in it.

"Your soul, your body—give them to me. Hahaha!" A vicious laugh sliced through the cave. He turned to the center of the magic circle, where the child, a year older, struggled to shatter his chains.

The ghost was there too. He gripped a bestial dagger, his luminous eyes narrowed on a withered man. Wisps of curses lingered on his feeble limbs, the mark of someone who used a cursed artifact without protecting himself, the mark of a dead man.

Yet, the moment the imposter noticed the man's dark pupils, he froze. Their desynchronised movements... The feeling of peering through everything... He had seen them in another man millennia ago. Then Haldris killed him and stole his eyes. This was their real appearance: raven black like the most sinister moonless night, glinting with lights of calculated deception, and burning with the desire to see the world suffer.

"The devil's eyes!" He blurted out. The first mythical organ Adam likely got. But who was that man?! "Haldris keeps them at his belt, same as the wings of pride and the other mythical organs. He would never lose them. Did someone... rob him? HIM?"

He screamed his question, but the man answered by collapsing in a pile of dust. From his shattered body, a ghost as red as evil can picture it emerged. Young, powerful, still owning the eyes even in this new form.

The two ghosts clashed over the crying child, one trying to devour him, the other overwhelmed but determined to protect him. The battle itself was of no interest. To the imposter, they were amateurs who mattered much less than the questions tearing at his mind.

More than ever, he wanted answers. But he held his wrist to stop himself from flipping to the next memory. "I've seen enough to destroy his psyche. Time to begin Adam's trial. Then, I'll know everything."

With a snarl, he waved his dark hand. The memory shattered. Pieces reflecting the ghost's battle, the crying child, and the magic circle collapsed to the rotten planks of the house he had seen in the first memory.

He glared toward the scaly green wall, against which Adam slept. His sky-blue hair glistened against the rot, waving with each of his slow breaths like threads of sapphire rimming the lid of a treasure chest. One he would soon open.

The imposter smirked. "Shall we begin?"

----

AN: Scenes from before Lucius adopts Julius, and from Gaston's trap.