I Refused To Be Reincarnated

"I can."

The mysterious man's words echoed, reaching the dream place's plaza as Ossian's eyes twinkled like stars.

"But I want two things in exchange," the man added, his voice carried by his mana intimidatingly.

His brows furrowing, Ossian crouched to look at Adam's copy in the eyes and asked, "What is your price?"

He knew such unheard services couldn't be paid by merely healing a dying ghost. So, with clenched fists, he resolved himself to deliver whatever the man wished. Nothing was off-limits, not even his soul-reaper production method.

With trembling hands, he watched as the man's mouth opened. "One: give the boy a tier six soul essence."

"What?!" screamed Ossian, his pupils constricting at the outrageous demand. With only ten ghost kings alive, they were rarer than dragon scales, and for good reasons. According to their naming, the eternal sovereigns never died from old age or sickness. Thus, the only way to obtain their essence was to kill them.

"You surely have one. If not, buy it from your brethren." The man replied, lowering a finger. Then he continued, "I want you to swear a soul oath never to attack and protect them if they are in danger before your eyes."

Ossian fell silent in response, his mind racing. The second condition was as good as non-existent, especially if he reached the seventh tier using the mana circuits. At that time, he would be confident to crush two of the three archmages in a duel. The problem was the soul's essence.

He indeed claimed one a thousand years ago after his predecessor and mentor went mad. Faced with the threat of the terrifying tier-six evil ghost and his potent negative energy, he initially fled the city. Yet, luck didn't abandon him.

After weeks of wandering, depressed about losing his home, a travelling aged man suddenly stopped him.

"What is such a powerful ghost doing here alone?" He asked, the sun glinting on his tanned skin as his eyes peered through his soul.

Astonished to be seen by the decaying person, he shook his head in sadness. "Our lord turned evil. I have nowhere to return to," he answered, his eyes dim and head lowered in defeat.

"Oh? You see, I have a keen interest in ghosts. I can help you conquer your home back for a favor," the man responded, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

"Don't bother. With access to negative energy, he became unbeatable under the archmage tier," Replied Ossian, looking dismissively at the man's long, white hair and austere walking cane.

"Trust me, young ghost. I can do the world one last favor before going to the Franca empire," said the man, unafraid of the mention of archmage or evil ghost.

His interest piqued, and wondering if he was courageous or an old fool, Ossian's mood brightened a little. "I can lead you there, but I'll be powerless against him. Are you confident in winning?" He asked, his brow raised and his dim eyes brightening.

"Yes. I'll even leave you his essence. The only thing I want is for you to safeguard and give that grimoire to someone worthy," said the man, extending an old, ethereal book.

Stunned by how small the favor was, Ossian nodded in gratitude as he took the tome. After a brief pause, he said, "Follow me. I'll guide you to the canyon."

As they travelled together for a week, he learned many things about the man, including his name.

"I can already see the city, old Kwame. Are you really sure about your chance?" Ossian asked, furrowing his brows in concern. The beautiful white city was gone, replaced by blood-red constructs filled with madness, showing how deep his mentor had fallen.

"Don't worry about me, young ghost," Kwame responded with a smile before worry flashed in his eyes. "I want you to think hard and deduce what triggered your mentor's transformation to avoid facing the same problem in the future."

"I already know the reason," Ossian said, shaking his head with a bitter smile. Then he continued, "It's lies. He kept lying to himself until he believed his own words and turned evil for power's sake."

"You already understand what to avoid in the future, then," Kwame answered, his eyes glowing as they locked on the evil ghost towering above the palace. Then, he gradually raised his right palm.

Responding to his movement, mana coalesced and weaved itself before Ossian's astonished eyes. Fear gripped his heart as he gazed at a shimmering star radiating terrifying heat a second later.

Before he could understand how powerful the spell was, the star disappeared incomprehensibly.

"Arcane Nova," said Kwame, as a searing wind assaulted and rumbling noise deafened them.

In shock, he swiftly raised his head, only to gaze at a catastrophic dome of raging flames encasing the palace and the shrinking figure of his mentor.

'He is an archmage!' He realised, his eyes trembling. How was it possible? There were only three of them, and none appeared as old. Not to mention, Kwame seemed to originate from the southern continent. Yet, he knew the archmage there was named Zuberi Nyota.

"Who are you?" He asked, his voice engulfed amidst the roaring ambient noises.

However, Kwame heard him and answered with a voice ominous enough to cause his soul to tremble. "An affinity and talentless mage, a mana conjuror... And a man out to get his revenge."

He would never forget the fury and pure mana he saw dancing in his eyes.

As he trembled uncontrollably, like a gazelle cornered by a lion, the cacophony of sounds died down, and he heard Kwame say, "Don't forget your promise. I wish you the best of luck living a lies-free life."

Then, he silently walked away, his kind smile replaced by a vengeful grimace and his eyes burning with resolve.

Gazing at the man's departing back with a mix of terror and gratitude, he planned to uphold his promise. Centuries later, he created a dullahan, tasking him to protect the canyon against living beings. But he also entrusted the grimoire to him.

Finally, sixty years ago, a worthy youth appeared and defeated his vanguards with ease. To reward him, he offered Kwame's grimoire through the dullahan's hands and asked him to leave the canyon with it.