I Refused To Be Reincarnated-Chapter 729: The Blood Registry

With the basilisk dead, the sky became free to travel. Adam reduced his gravity, turning over a ton of flesh and bones as light as a feather. Wind currents swirled into a jetstream at his command.

The canopy of pines below ruffled, needle-like leaves dancing around him as the stream propelled him toward the forest’s edges. In front, Yann flapped his feathered wings. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes each time he looked at the arcanist’s wistful grin and how he clutched the basilisk’s egg tight to his chest. Some might think Yann was the father with his uncommon morphing abilities.

"Now, that would be funny." He chuckled, enjoying the bright sun that replaced the Ashenveil Grove’s soul-corroding mist and stalking magical beasts.

Hundreds of thousands of tiny, hungry eyes had glared at his back, an experience far from pleasant. And somehow, he felt that Yann’s explanation about their patient behaviour had been wrong. They hadn’t struck because of his own natural aura. If not for him, swarms of voracious insects would have devoured Yann before he even crossed a third of the forest.

Yet, the fool tried to snatch the nest’s riches for himself? As if.

Not only could he feel his distinct life force from kilometers away, but he had marked the man with his mana as soon as they entered the archipelago. No matter where Yann went, he would feel it live. Hopefully, this would remain a mere safety measure. If it didn’t... the next time he blinked might be the time of the arcanist’s death.

He gazed down as leaves, pines, and the sound of buzzing insects faded behind. A weathered sign met his eyes first, the letters painted in bold red contrasting sharply with the green of nature.

[Only death looms in the Ashenveil Grove. Step back if you value your life.]

Beyond the sign, the remnants of an ancient road stretched forth—if it could still be called a road at all. Dirt melded with the surrounding wild grass, leaving only two faded tracks that had witnessed the last carriage passage centuries ago.

Everything around the road was green or yellow grass swaying in the salty breeze. Wheat, hop, and potato fields sprawled a few kilometers ahead. Though they took most of the plain, vineyards, vegetable plantations, apple and pear trees painted the scenery purple or red in a few places.

Distant yells reached his ears—men using spells to harvest their yields. Others were busy in magical refineries, where they transformed potatoes into fresh schnapps and hop and malt into ale.

While he could almost taste the ale’s yeasty tang, Yann sniffed the air as if long forgotten sensations rushed back to him. After all, these alcohols weren’t common among cultivators.

But Adam didn’t care about the drunkard’s reaction. Instead, he hastened the jetstream’s speed toward a river that rushed from the north, and bifurcated to throw itself into the sea east.

Because there, he saw linen sails flutter in the sky like clouds. Connected to broad masts, they ended either in small fishermen’s ships or larger cargoes. While the former operated in the sea, the latter went up or down the river—to the coastal city. The sun blazed against the clear ocean each time rays reflected off its surface, painting the concentrically erected houses a flamboyant orange.

Yann caught up with him, caressing his moustache. With a grin, he pointed at the city. "We’ve finally reached Port Vaelora. It’s one of the smallest, but the alcohol is decent, the ladies fierce like the tides, and the enforcers sparse. I’d say it’s a lovely place to spend a few days."

Adam massaged his neck, closing his eyes. Then, he shook his head. "The capital’s still far and the journey long..." The corner of his lips curled. "How long again, by the way?"

"Now that I know where we are and that we’ve reached a port?" Yann struck his chest, his confident voice echoing. "A ship will get us there in no time—less than five days."

"Let’s board a ship, then."

With a snap of Adam’s fingers, his weight was restored, the jet stream dispersed to the winds, and his figure plummeted. Soft winds absorbed his fall, making him land gently behind a berry bush.

Then, he walked to the gates, Yann following.

Moments later, they reached the gates, where three enforcers glared at them

There was no queue at the southern gates. In fact, aside from a few known farmer faces, there was barely anyone entering the city from that side. After all, nothing was south—nothing but the cursed grove. These two men and the sleeping girl... were not among the known farmers.

One of them stepped closer, his hand tightening around the shaft of a spear like Adam had never seen. The end was crowned by a metallic cylinder, from which no blade currently extended, making it look like a bludgeoned staff instead. Yet, Adam could see the slot where the blade would emerge when activated.

The enforcer adjusted his barbute, one fist clenched over his shining cuirass, barely hiding the crown carved around an intricate ship on the metal. His voice echoed with the forcefulness of someone who wouldn’t tolerate any misconduct. "Port Vaelora has little tolerance for troublemakers. If you understand, stretch your right hand and don’t move."

Adam watched the two enforcers behind grip swords and chains, their gazes firm as if they had already marked him a criminal. Confused, he glanced at Yann, who simply complied. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

The enforcer nodded, then drew a dagger from the back of his leather belt. The blade shone against Yann’s palm. Blood dripped down the grass. Then, as Adam frowned, mana brightened the enforcer’s gauntlets.

Two vortexes drank the blood before an ethereal window condensed in front of the enforcer.

Yann’s moustache twitched, and he failed to hide his trembling legs. The blood registry had opened, and the moment of truth had come. Had Leviathan forged their identities well, or would the enforcers blow their covers on the very first day?