I Refused To Be Reincarnated

"Didn't we part ways about five minutes ago? Get lost, Yann," Adam snarled, cracks spreading on the teacup he just placed back on the table.

The guild master closed his open mouth, swallowing his question about knowing each other. Clearly, they shared a... complicated relationship. He was old enough to know that letting things unfold on their own would get him more information than asking direct questions. Therefore, he caressed his moustache and fixed his curled, white hair, and anticipated Yann's answer.

Unaware of the master's thoughts, Yann massaged his temples. "We did. Not for the right reasons. But it's not too late to stop." He stretched his palm toward Adam. "Return with me. I'll negotiate for a better price if the previous one wasn't good enough."

"No."

"No?" Yann's pupils constricted.

And Adam waved a dismissive palm. "You've already proven your incompetence. I don't need you." Then, he turned toward the guild master. "Back to business. Will you give me a sales permit and buy my coats or not?"

Before the guild master could answer, Yann gripped Adam's shoulder with a trembling hand. He spoke in a hoarse, guttural voice. "You don't understand what you're asking for! A sales permit granted directly by a branch guild master happens once or twice every decade. All eyes will turn to us—both of us."

Mana flashed in Adam's eyes, mana threads weaving into ropes. They shot at Yann, binding his hands behind his back. Yann tried to speak, but another rope gagged his mouth in a heartbeat. He could only bite on it, his muffled voice unable to talk Adam out of a mistake they would both pay dearly for.

"I hate to repeat myself." Adam focused on the guild leader, making him realise his words were aimed at him, too.

"Of course, young man." A drop of icy sweat dripped down the leader's spine as he clapped his hands. "But as your... friend said, delivering a permit is a rare occasion that needs the right justification. After all, why would our students spend decades learning in college if a few words could get them a permit?"

He paused, letting Adam understand how things worked for a moment. Then, he continued. "Why don't you show me your enchanted coat? If it reaches commercial standard, I'll give the permit. Two birds with one stone. Oh, and tell me how much you want a piece." He grinned through his moustache. "Our branch is not the wealthiest, but Robert never swindled a good supplier."

"Hmm." Adam tucked his fingers around his chin. "Makes sense, but a waste of time, nonetheless." He produced a coat similar to his. The fineries engraved in the leather caught the chandelier's flickering light, while the fur-covered hood sparkled with beastial majesty. "A million Prestige. And that's me being generous."

Adam's declaration echoed through the room like a thunderclap. Both Yann and Robert scrutinised him, stricken by the outrageous price.

"O-One million..." Robert stuttered, fingers twitching as they inched toward the coat, while Yann shook his head. The five hundred Prestige he had offered already bordered the limit of decency—especially when one could buy a sparkling new cuirass of the fourth-tier from a renowned enchanter like the Olivander the minstrel mentioned with a hint of respect.

Robert thought the same, but decided to check the coat first. His fingers slid over the smooth fabric, then the flexible leather, which filled his nose with its freshly curated scent. The fur felt both soft to the touch and resilient. No strand came out even as he pulled on it.

A deep furrow creased his brows once he touched the engraved fineries. They were artistic, with their circles spreading in arabesque around the shoulders and down to the sleeves, but... they weren't enchantments.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat, pursing his lips and glancing aside. "That's just a fancy coat crafted from decent materials."

As soon as his words left his lips, the ambient temperature plummeted. He fixed his eyes on Adam, only to see two thick wisps of mana flaring from his sky-blue eyes.

He shivered like he never had, his voice cracking for help. "Securi—MHH?"

Robert wasn't weak. As a branch guild master of the most renowned equipment supplier, he was a powerful arcanist, just like the tied-up Yann. And just like Yann, before he could even call for help, mana ropes slithered around his mouth, muffling his voice. What kind of monster was this youth?

Adam ignored Robert's trembling eyes and stretched his palm over the coat. His icy voice echoed with barely suppressed anger. "Amateur trying to judge craftsmanship. I thought Yann was incompetent, but you, Robert, hold the record."

Mana erupted in a swirling barrier of roaring wind around the fabric. Then...

BOOM

A cataclysmic explosion vaporised half the table. Smoke filled the wind barrier, obscuring their vision before Adam crushed it to pieces. Stench of burned wood filled the room, the escaped smoke twirling everywhere for a moment.

"Behold if it's not enchanted." Adam declared, sinking back into the sofa—just as a gale blasted the smoke away.

And there, beneath the circular hole charred through the table, lying on the soot-stained velvet carpet, Robert saw the coat. Intact, immaculate. His eyes widened.

Simultaneously, the ropes silencing him faded into threads, letting him stutter his disbelief. "The table is enchanted against fire spells up to the fourth tier. How is it..."

"Possible?" Adam continued for him with a snort. "You dare compare what I make to tier-four items? How quaint."

Robert gulped, but his saliva did nothing to wet his dry throat as he asked the question that burned his and Yann's lips. "W-Which tier did this coat reach?"

"Rare silk from a tier seven Velmyra butterfly, leather from a wyvern of the same tier, and the expertise of the best enchanter." Adam pointed his thumb at himself, crossing a leg over the other. "What else but a tier eight coat? I just hid the enchantments because... why would I let fools copy my work?"

"T-T-Tier eight?!" Robert choked on his saliva.

"MHHHHHHH!" Yann roared through his gag. A magus-level item? This was a disaster! The capital nobles would storm the archipelago to find them—to enslave them to their families. After all, who wouldn't want an artisan capable of creating cutting-edge equipment?

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AN: For yesterday :)