The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

Desmond's eyelids fluttered open as he stirred from his slumber, the persistent rhythm of knocking resonating through the air and jolting him awake. He blinked away the remnants of sleep, the sound latching onto his consciousness like an insistent melody.

"Young master, I have come to bring your delectable feast," a voice called from the other side of the door, its tone filled with an air of subservience. The maid, standing patiently outside, awaited her young master's command.

"Enter," Desmond replied, his voice tinged with a lingering yawn. He rubbed his eyes, welcoming the warm embrace of the afternoon sun that streamed through his bedroom window, casting a gentle glow over the room.

With a creak, the door swung open, revealing Laura, the maid, gracefully balancing a platter laden with a tantalizing array of food and a glass of wine. A smile graced her lips as her eyes met Desmond's, the vibrant hues of her fiery red hair catching the sunlight, accentuating her beauty in Desmond's weary gaze.

"Please, young master," she offered, her voice soft and inviting. The scent of freshly cooked delicacies wafted through the room, carried on a delicate breeze, tempting Desmond's senses.

Grateful for the gesture, Desmond's gaze shifted momentarily to the glass of wine that danced precariously atop the platter. "Thank you," he said, his lips curving into a gentle smile as he reached out to accept the wine, his hand wrapping around the glass stem.

With a subtle slurp, Desmond took a sip, relishing the rich flavors that swirled on his tongue. Just as he was about to speak, he noticed Laura lingering beside him. Confusion flashed across his face. "Is something amiss?" he inquired, curious about her sudden hesitation.

"Oh, no, forgive me. I shall take my leave," Laura responded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. The sight of Desmond, a young man imbibing wine at his tender age, stirred a hidden amusement within her. Unbeknownst to her, her gaze unconsciously lingered upon his lips, captivated by their delicate motion as they brushed against the rim of the wine glass.

The door emitted another protesting creak as Laura made her exit, leaving Desmond alone in his chamber once more. As he closed the door, shutting out the world beyond, he found himself captivated by the allure of the wine and the aroma of the sumptuous meal that awaited him.

"Life without wine would be an unbearable endeavor," Desmond mused between bites, his fork gracefully twirling amidst the delectable morsels that graced his plate. Each bite carried a symphony of flavors, merging with the subtle notes of the wine, offering a momentary escape from the constraints of reality.

As he finished his meal, Desmond's eyes were drawn to the darkening sky outside his window. The sun had descended beyond the horizon, surrendering its place to the gentle glow of the moon. A sense of weariness tugged at him, urging him to surrender to the embrace of slumber.

With a muffled thump, Desmond snapped back to wakefulness, his eyes flickering open. A realization struck him, and a hint of vexation touched his features. "I never took a shower," he murmured, the remnants of stickiness clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

Inhaling deeply, Desmond's nostrils detected an unexpected scent. The amalgamation of blood, a lingering residue of various creatures, assaulted his senses, causing his face to contort involuntarily. The noxious odor emanating from his own body threatened to overpower him, a nauseating reminder of the night's events.

Driven by the urgency to rid himself of the offensive stench, Desmond reluctantly rose from his bed, his footsteps carrying him towards the bathroom.

The following day, Desmond lay sprawled upon his bed, a contented smile gracing his features. The previous evening, after cleansing himself beneath the refreshing spray of water, drowsiness had swiftly enveloped him, compelling him to surrender to the beckoning embrace of his bed, unburdened by conscious thought.

This time, the daylight had been effectively muted, the curtains drawn tightly shut, shielding the room from the intruding rays of the sun. Despite the hour inching toward midday, not a single maid ventured into Desmond's room to rouse him or present him with breakfast, leaving him undisturbed in his slumber.

"Mmm..." Desmond emitted a low, discontented groan, the echoes of his slumber still lingering within the room. Perhaps, he speculated, the maids, fully aware of his condition from the previous day, had opted to grant him an extended reprieve, allowing him to slumber undisturbed.

However, his rest was abruptly shattered by the grating sound of scraping against wood. The friction-filled noise was accompanied by the reverberations of approaching footsteps, resonating through the sturdy floorboards. Stirred from his deep sleep, Desmond's brows furrowed in annoyance, his expression marred by displeasure.

A fleeting moment later, an eerie silence descended upon the room, erasing the intrusive sounds as if they had been figments of his imagination. Desmond's features relaxed, his expression returning to one of serenity. Yet, just as he sought to surrender once more to blissful sleep, a jarring and clamorous thud reverberated from his door, persisting until his eyes reluctantly fluttered open.

"Young master, I have two letters for you," a melodic voice called out from beyond the door, accompanied by a gentle rapping sound, the knocks punctuating the air. It was impossible for Desmond, roused from his slumber, to ignore the sounds that penetrated the room. He grudgingly pried open his heavy eyelids, his face etched with a slight discomfort, before parting his lips to speak.

"Come in," he uttered, his voice resonating with a clarity that left no room for ambiguity.

"Excuse me..." Desmond's towering door, twice his height, swung open smoothly, but just as it neared the threshold of the bedroom wall, it halted, arrested by an invisible force, avoiding any collision.

Once the door had fully yielded, a female maid stepped into the room, clasping two letters in her delicate hands. With her golden tresses knotted neatly, her shapely figure concealed by the apron she wore, and her captivating countenance exuding an air of aloofness, this maid possessed a unique allure that enticed all who beheld her.

Fixing her gaze upon her young master, who sat upon the bed with closed eyes, the maid maintained an expression devoid of emotion as she uttered, "Young master, I have two letters for you."

Her words, spoken in repetition, stirred Desmond from his half-slumber, causing his eyes to slowly flutter open as he turned towards her. "Oh, Annie? How fortuitous to have you rouse me from my slumber," he genuinely praised, his words sincere and devoid of contrivance. It was a genuine compliment, a testament to Annie's infrequent involvement in such tasks.

Annie's visage twitched imperceptibly, her gaze unwavering as she regarded Desmond, her features remaining stoic, displaying neither joy nor annoyance. "I appreciate your kind words, young master," she responded, her tone void of mockery or complaint. She seemed akin to an automaton, well-acquainted with such exchanges, unaffected by the ebb and flow of emotions.

Desmond paid little heed to Annie's thoughts or actions. What mattered most to him was that he had expressed his opinion. "So, what's in those letters?" he inquired, while simultaneously utilizing his magic to part the curtains adorning the window.

As if in response to his command, a sudden gust of wind surged into Desmond's room, its invisible fingers orchestrating a dance with the curtains, allowing the warm sunlight to cascade inside.

Annie stood momentarily dumbfounded, her astonishment evident in her widened eyes. She had suspicions, but witnessing the spectacle before her left her at a loss for words. Desmond, observing her reaction, offered an explanation, breaking the silence. "Indeed, I have acquired the ability to cast spells without the need for incantations," he elucidated, his thoughts whispering the truth to himself.

From the very beginning, Desmond had never relied on vocalized incantations to activate his spells. A hidden system within him had facilitated this remarkable talent. The pretense of uttering incantations was merely an act to maintain an appearance of normalcy. Drawing excessive attention would invariably invite unwarranted troubles upon him.

Annie, amazed by the discovery that her young master possessed the gift of incantation-free spellcasting, held an unspoken reverence for him. In her eyes, individuals blessed with such an ability were destined for an extraordinary and boundless future, akin to Sieg, who had shared this unique trait.

"Well, it's not a big deal; just hand me the letters," Desmond requested, extending his hand awkwardly toward Annie, who was still somewhat entranced by the fluttering window curtain. Shaking off her daze, Annie promptly comprehended the situation and handed the two letters to her young master before discreetly exiting the room.

Desmond was left in tranquil solitude, devoid of the need to issue orders for Laura's departure. Annie understood the gravity of the matter and took it upon herself to depart without requiring explicit instructions.

"I don't harbor any particular dislike for her, but neither do I hold any particular fondness," Desmond muttered to himself as he settled into his chair, unfolding the first letter. Instead of the traditional parchment, the letter materialized as a knitting fleece, intricately woven into a paper-like texture.

While it possessed a similar quality to modern paper, it lacked the durability of traditional parchment. Furthermore, only a pen infused with energy could leave its mark upon this peculiar paper; an ordinary pen would only result in perforations.

Another advantage of this unique paper was its resistance to water. Unlike parchment, which would fade upon exposure to moisture, this knitted paper proved impervious to such damage. It could withstand immersion in water for extended periods without succumbing to deterioration.

"Hello, Master Desmond. I would like to invite you to the palace to discuss matters concerning the upcoming academy," Desmond read aloud, his eyes scanning the words penned by Elizabeth, her signature adorning the bottom of the letter.

A surge of relief washed over Desmond as he noticed the absence of a stamped seal, an indication that the kingdom did not harbor any suspicions towards him. He suspected that Elizabeth had ulterior motives for extending the invitation, possibly relating to the sudden appearance of the Grimm or matters entwined with Clark.

"I shall decline," Desmond resolved firmly. Even if Elizabeth were to personally visit his residence to extend the invitation, he would remain steadfast in his refusal. It felt akin to venturing into a lion's den, an endeavor rife with danger.

Setting the first letter aside, Desmond's hand gravitated towards the second missive. As his gaze roved over its contents, his countenance grew serious, his eyes narrowing with intensity.

Crafted from traditional parchment, the letter bore the regal touch of rolled royal ribbons, signifying its official nature. Desmond carefully unfurled the parchment, his eyes fixating on the embossed stamp adorning its upper corner. He withheld his curiosity about the sender's identity, instead focusing his attention on the opening lines.

"Hello, the Desmond family. The letter you sent to your parents has been found. With this letter, we also wish to inform you that Master Witch Leona and Dual-Class Bastian, this time, are considered to have disappeared from duty," Desmond read, his voice laden with a somber gravity. Prime Minister Sanders had affixed his signature at the end of the letter, lending it an air of authority.

The parchment slipped from Desmond's trembling fingers, his visage turning hollow, devoid of emotion. "Father... and... mother..." he murmured, the memories of the harrowing scene at the port, where assassins had intercepted his parents, flooding his mind with vivid clarity.

A veil of seriousness descended upon Desmond's features, his countenance etched with determination. "Officially, the assassins will now set their sights on Alice and me," he declared, his tone tinged with solemnity, the weight of the revelation casting a palpable heaviness upon the room.

While he held little concern for the safety of his parents, knowing their formidable strength, Desmond harbored deep apprehension for Alice's well-being. If the assassins were to glean this information, her life would undoubtedly be in grave peril. It was this sole thought that tormented him, casting a shadow over his every deliberation.