The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

"Although Uncle may not understand why you insist on practicing with that peculiar sword, if you constantly telegraph your attacks by glancing at your intended target beforehand, it makes your moves predictable," Gilbert explained as he picked up Clark's fallen katana.

"Hmmm... the structure of this sword is quite unique," Gilbert commented as he examined the katana and tested its swing.

Woosh, woosh.

"Even when wielded with one hand, this sword is not as heavy as a regular one. Moreover," Gilbert continued, holding the sword level with his eyes, "this blade seems to have its own distinct attack pattern."

After thoroughly assessing the details of Clark's sword, Gilbert tossed it back to him. "In the next practice, it's your turn to defend. For now, let's call it a day."

Clark retrieved his sword, but a disappointed expression crossed his face upon hearing Gilbert's words. "Can't Uncle continue teaching me?"

"Hehe, don't rush, little Clark. Absorb what you've learned so far," Gilbert replied as he sheathed his wooden sword and made his way toward Clark's father before departing.

Meanwhile, Yasin, Clark's mother, furrowed her brow as she observed Gilbert leaving, leaving Clark on his own. "Hey, husband, can't your brother become our child's private tutor?"

Albin, who witnessed Gilbert's departure, sighed and looked at his wife. "You know very well, my dear, the attitude of the royal family towards us. Even Gilbert is not exempt from it."

Since Albin was stripped of his noble status, his younger brother Gilbert, who had been spoiled since childhood, made the surprising decision to join the royal army as a soldier.

"In that case, I'll take our son to study business this afternoon," Yasin declared, watching her son continue his training, swinging his sword in the wind and striking several wooden targets.

"Let it be," Albin approached Clark. "Son, what if your father finds you a teacher who can instruct you in both swordsmanship and wizardry?" He offered a forced smile as he ruffled his son's hair.

As soon as his father's hand touched his head, Clark halted his sword swings and turned around. "No, father, I understand how challenging our circumstances are. Let me prove that I am worthy," Clark replied earnestly, his eyes ablaze with a fierce determination.

Clark added, "Besides, Father has graciously enrolled me in the prestigious academy."

Albin fell into a thoughtful silence upon hearing this. His gaze softened as he looked upon his son, filled with warmth and appreciation. "You are a remarkable child, and I am grateful for your presence in our family," Albin spoke tenderly, drawing Clark into a heartfelt embrace.

As they held each other, Albin couldn't help but reflect on the intricate web of the Clark family's finances. Without Clark's enduring friendship with Elizabeth, he pondered how their fate might have mirrored the unfortunate downfall of the Gibson family.

Years had passed since Albin was forced to relinquish his noble status, and the once-admiring glances of their neighbors had morphed into cynical stares. This burden of shame had weighed heavily on their shoulders until the arrival of Elizabeth breathed new life into their world.

Clark, driven by a sense of duty as her knight and protector, assumed the responsibility of shielding her from any lurking dangers.

After a few precious moments in each other's embrace, Albin released his hold on Clark and bestowed upon him a warm smile. The air became slightly tense as both father and son found themselves at a loss for words.

"Um...mm... Is there something you'd like to share?" Clark broke the silence, unable to bear the idle observation of birds passing overhead any longer.

Clark and Albin had never been particularly close; Clark had always felt closer to his mother than his father. Consequently, the embrace from his father left him with an unfamiliar sensation, a stark departure from the comforting warmth he experienced in his mother's arms. It left him uncertain, unsure of how to proceed. Should he offer words of solace to his father?

No, that would only deepen the awkwardness lingering in the air.

"Ah... you can resume your training, hahaha," Albin chuckled awkwardly, his face flushing slightly, as he hastily made his exit.

Watching his father depart, Clark redirected his attention to the wooden target he had crafted, standing resolute before him. "Uncle once told me that with every strike, my gaze should remain fixed upon that point," he recalled. Lifting his katana to shoulder level, he drew back his right hand, parallel to his cheek.

Closing his eyes, Clark allowed his mind to narrow its focus solely on the intended point of attack, allowing it to manifest in his consciousness. With a steady gaze, he reopened his eyes, fixing his vision ahead, but not solely on the target itself.

*Swoosh* *Clak*

The swift movement of his katana sliced through the air, but the tip of the blade landed off target, missing the intended point. Clark's eyes shifted to the point of impact, and he let out a sigh of frustration. "That's impossible for me in my current state..."

Originally aiming for the lower portion of the wooden target, Clark's strike veered off course, landing far from his intended mark.

"Yosh, once more..." Clark took a step back, releasing a deep breath. This time, he positioned the wooden sword around his waist, gripping the handle with his left hand while placing his right hand at the center of the sword's hilt.

If this had been a real blade instead of a wooden one, Clark's improper handling would have resulted in injury.

*Swoosh*

The wooden sword sliced through the air with greater precision, connecting with the wooden target.

*Clak*

"Ouch!" The impact reverberated through Clark's hand, as if he had been struck by a sharp object. He examined his right hand and noticed a sliver of wood embedded in one of his fingers. "Shit." Clark attempted to extract the chip by squeezing it between two fingers.

"Aw... Aw..." Despite the pain, he persisted, applying pressure until the skin around the sliver turned red. "Just a little more." Slowly but surely, the tiny black dot beneath his skin began to emerge.

"Finally!" Clark had become all too familiar with this scenario. Countless incidents had occurred since he had crafted his wooden katana. He glanced up at the sky, realizing that the sun was already directly above him. Instinctively, he shielded his eyes from the bright light with his hands. "Looks like I really should ask Mother for gloves."

Each time Clark encountered such an incident, extracting the wood chip took a considerable amount of time. Despite this, he stubbornly refused to wear gloves, hoping that each instance of the fragment piercing his finger would somehow propel his abilities to the next level.

"How foolish I am to still believe in that." The realization washed over him—time was precious, and his own ego hindered his growth.

"Clark," Yasi's voice called out to her son from a distance. She found it peculiar to see him lamenting over his injured finger. "Get ready; we're meeting Elizabeth at the shop." Paying no further attention to the scene, Yasi turned and made her way back into the house.

"Got it!" Clark exclaimed, his voice filled with determination. He released the spell, causing the wooden katana to transform back into roots and settle into the ground. Making his way inside the house, he discovered his neatly arranged clothes, including his shoes and pants, carefully placed on the guest chair.

*Clatter*

"Hurry and get ready. Once you're done with your business with Elizabeth, assist your father in managing the wine shop," Yasi called out as she dressed herself in the living room.

A wry smile formed on Clark's face at the sight. He still wasn't accustomed to his family's habit of dressing in communal areas, even though it was their home. After all, this was the living room! "Yes, Mother." Reluctantly, Clark followed suit, undressing and changing his clothes alongside his mother.

Meanwhile, deep underground, rays of light seeped through the cracks in the rocky walls, illuminating a room where a child with brown hair meditated at the center of a pentagram.

Upon regaining consciousness, the child revealed himself to be Desmond. A notification from the system instructed him to meditate and absorb the blood he had consumed. "Ugh," Desmond groaned in pain. When observed from the outside, his veins glowed with an eerie black hue.

Every vein on his body pulsated and swelled, as if imbued with a life force of its own.

*Pop*

Blackened blood seeped from Desmond's tightly clenched mouth, trickling out continuously and causing him to cough repeatedly.

After a few minutes, a pool of black blood formed around Desmond, soaking his clothes. He opened his eyes, emitting a ferocious aura that enveloped him. "My consciousness is mine!" Desmond shouted suddenly, causing the blue flames surrounding the pentagram to surge and dance along the outer circle.

*Swoosh*

A gust of wind swept into the room, fueling the growth of the blazing blue flames.

*Roar* *Roar* *Roar* *Roar* *Roar* *Roar* *Roar* *Roar* *Roar* *Roar*

Simultaneously, the resounding roar of a dragon reverberated through the chamber, shaking the very foundations of the underground.

*Crack* *Crack*

The already existing cracks in the underground walls widened further in response to the powerful roar from the previous battle.

Desmond's heart raced with panic as he beheld the scene unfolding before him. "This is bad," he thought, but his current state of affairs demanded his unwavering focus. Fortunately, the ten roars were only heard once before he noticed movement within the pool of blood surrounding him.