I Refused To Be Reincarnated

While Adam and Quintella watched the auctioneer present his wands one by one to the eager crowd, on the V.I.P. balcony where only marquises were admitted, Robert studied the stage intently. With every artifact sold, Robert's fist clenched tighter—knuckles white until the sharp pain in his palm confirmed it wasn't a dream.

Fourteen million, twelve, fifteen. The gavel thumped against the lectern, each sound turning into a downpour of wealth. He who had spent his entire life as a lowly baron was already guaranteed the prestigious rank of viscount. No, another noble house claimed a wand, bringing him closer to becoming a count—a count!

The surrounding nobles laughed behind their fans, their once unreachable rank feeling closer than ever. Ambition ignited in his eyes like newborn stars; dangerous ideas spreading in his mind like wildfire.

Thirty percent was not enough. Adam crafted the artifacts, but he took all the risks upon himself. For a moment, he nodded, thinking about renegotiating the death contract's terms. Half the revenue was a given. Perhaps he could claim even more?

His fingers found his chin, a pensive frown creasing his brows as he imagined the negotiations. In the first simulation, Adam smirked playfully at his demand, then tied him up with mana ropes for a week. In the second, Adam's smirk took on a new meaning. It was eerie, disgusting, the one worn by someone who wouldn't suppress his rage for much longer. And then, he saw flames engulf him. Scents of charred flesh, shrill whistles of wind blades scattering his body, and phantom pains of imagined death forced him out of his thoughts with the violence of a hammer strike against his temple.

He inhaled sharply, letting go of the breath he had been holding, sweat pearling on his forehead.

"Thirty percent seems... quite good." He shook his head, banishing his foolish ideas. After all, Adam processed his own materials, then increased their value by turning them into artifacts. Asking for more would be greedy beyond logic.

The boisterous voice of the auctioneer echoed again, and he narrowed his eyes. When had he become like this?

All around him, the marquises' images began to distort. From laughing and cheering individuals, they became rapacious-eyed shadows that flickered with the pulses of hearts of steel.

"Something is not right," he murmured, suspicions burgeoning in his heart. "The inhabitants of Brineheart are mad." He twisted his lips, a growing sense of unease prickling at his skin, making him shiver. "Is it more than a countryside joke? And... am I like them, or is something distorting my thoughts?"

Even as the last wand found an owner, the crowd's clap thundered, and the auctioneer bowed; he merely pinched the bridge of his nose with the weariness of a man longing to return home. "Brineheart isn't for me. I help Adam recover his land, and I take the first ship to Vaelora."

The curtains fell on the stage. The chandelier's magic gem dimmed, prompting those who had won artifacts to rush to the withdrawal counter. The others began to walk out of the auction house, their conversations filling the air like a dissonant choir ringing in hollow tones.

He didn't follow the crowd. Instead, he made his way to the appraiser's V.I.P. room, where security waved him through. As he sank into the beige sofa, the auctioneer joined him.

"My dear friend Robert," he said with the smile of a man who finally found a long-lost relative. "I hope the auction was to your liking. I'm personally quite satisfied with the revenue."

Before Robert could answer, he continued. "Oh, you perhaps didn't keep track. Let me tell you: we've sold your twenty artifacts for a grand total of two hundred and fifty million. Of course, we've already deducted our fifteen percent, which leaves you with two hundred and thirteen million. Congratulations, Sir Robert."

Robert seized the auctioneer's outstretched hand before returning the platinum card to him. He had dreamed of this moment, yet now that it had happened, he felt his earlier incertitude bearing down on him like an illusory burden. His fingers felt aflame when the colossal sum of prestige settled as his and for a moment, his gaze turned empty.

"Sir?" the auctioneer called out, forcing him to focus on the present. "I must say you're quite the lucky one. I've conducted a thorough investigation, but even the minstrels dissuaded me from learning more about the creator." His grip tightened around Robert's hand, and his eyes narrowed. "Do you still remember nothing about him?"

"As I said last time." Robert met the auctioneer's gaze without wavering. "He was cloaked from head to toes. Met him in Vaelora. Search for him there." He pulled his hand away, walking toward the exit. "I'll take my leave since there is nothing else. Congratulations to the auction house for its profits."

Without looking back, he strode the brightly lit corridors, emerging under the star-lit sky. However, the scene strayed sharply from the tranquillity he had expected.

"Why did you outbid me, dog from the Locklear house?" A man held his fist in front of another's face, his face distorted.

Another lashed out at a woman, his voice carrying the disgust of someone swindled. "You made me pay two extra million for the coat because of your stupidity!"

Crouching by the stairs with Quintella, Adam watched four nobles surround Eric and Desmond, fury barely contained. "What's gotten into your head, upstart count? Did you learn to bid like a madman with the countryside cows your father raised, or are you playing stupid?"

"What in the realm is happening to them?" Adam tilted his head, unable to comprehend how ten minutes ago, everyone had smiled and discussed like best friends, but were at each other's throats now.

"They're scary, big brother." Quintella hid between his arms, her face buried against his chest, her small body shuddering.

Adam saw Robert, who gestured with his eyes to meet him at the hotel at this moment. Holding Quintella's hand, he left the chaotic scene behind, eager to receive his Prestige.

However, he was far from imagining that the chaos had only begun.

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An: Sorry for yesterday. I don't feel too well. (Coughing and extremely tired.) I'll try to release two chapters soon.