The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

Desmond clapped his hands, a subtle indication for the maid to enter. With his right hand now functioning normally, he no longer needed to rely on snapping his fingers. As the maid entered the room, Desmond noted that she was not Annie. She bowed respectfully and entered without waiting for his permission.

"Bring me parchment, pen, and ink," Desmond instructed, his tone firm but polite.

"Yes, young mas-"

"Also, help me with this." Desmond gestured awkwardly towards his bald head, a remnant of the recent events.

"Please wait, young master." The maid chanted an incantation, her hand hovering over Desmond's head. A magical circle materialized, merging seamlessly with his scalp. Slowly, tiny hairs sprouted from every corner of the circle, gradually covering his entire head with luscious locks.

The maid, visibly fatigued, extended her hand, offering Desmond a faint smile. He observed the pallor on her face, realizing that the spell had drained her energy more than he initially thought.

"Thank you, you may go," Desmond nodded, granting her permission to leave. He gingerly touched his newly grown hair, marveling at how it cascaded down to his hips.

"This is unexpected," he murmured, a hint of disappointment lingering in his voice. Although he had intentionally grown his hair to such a length, the incident in the ritual room had dampened his enthusiasm, making him hesitant to start afresh.

Desmond stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection from different angles. "Indeed, this is quite impressive!" he exclaimed, filled with awe. "So, this is what it feels like to be the young master in the novels I've read." Unconsciously, he experimented with various expressions, ranging from arrogance to disdain, his features contorting in playful mockery.

Just as he was about to perfect his trademark 'looking down' expression, the sound of approaching footsteps broke his concentration. He hurriedly returned to his chair, feigning a serious demeanor as he pretended to read the parchment note before him.

"Cough, cough."

Simultaneously, the sliding of the door resonated through the room, and a maid entered. "Here, young master," she said, her gaze fixed on Desmond engrossed in his reading.

Pretending to be fully absorbed, Desmond barely acknowledged her presence. The maid placed the requested stationery—parchment, ink, and pen—on the edge of the table, offering him a warm smile before departing.

Desmond, who had been tensely playing his part, breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. Glancing around to ensure there were no lingering maids, he muttered to himself, "I thought I would surely be discovered."

Turning his attention back to the parchment and stationery before him, he realized his oversight. "Hmm, I forgot to ask for the knitted letter type to draft a reply to Elizabeth's invitation," he mused, mentally noting to rectify the omission.

Desmond clapped his hands once again, summoning a maid to assist him. He explained the specific material he wanted for his second letter and the maid acknowledged his request, mentioning that she would need some time to procure it. Desmond approved and watched as the maid left the room to fulfill the task.

Turning his attention back to the parchment before him, Desmond pondered on the appropriate response. "How should I approach this? Express gratitude or perhaps mention the contract?" he contemplated, gently resting his cheek on his hand.

"Well, regardless, I should start with a word of thanks," Desmond decided, dipping the tip of a pen made of chicken feathers into a small iron cup filled with squid ink.

Allowing the ink to dry slightly, Desmond began writing on the parchment, an unfamiliar experience for him. Usually, he would delegate such tasks to the maids, but given the sensitive nature of this letter concerning his parents, he couldn't risk anyone else knowing their news.

Desmond's writing could neither be deemed good nor bad since it was his first attempt. He hoped to learn from any mistakes he made along the way.

Initially, his hand trembled, causing the words to take on unintended shapes and meanings. However, with time, his hand grew steadier, and his penmanship improved.

"This is much easier, thanks to the System," Desmond thought to himself. When he first started writing, he simply wanted to familiarize himself with the process of writing on parchment.

Growing bored after a few attempts, Desmond enlisted the System's assistance. A groove appeared on the parchment, guiding his pen to form each word effortlessly.

This feature didn't surprise Desmond, as he had previously utilized a similar function when tracking Alice's whereabouts.

As he continued writing, the melodic chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of the wind formed a natural symphony, fueling his inspiration.

Desmond realized that the serene ambiance had a profound impact on his mood. Unbeknownst to him, time flew by, and he had been engrossed in writing for longer than he had anticipated.

Letting out a sigh, he felt his hands beginning to ache. "It's remarkable how the atmosphere can affect my mood so profoundly," he remarked to himself, acknowledging the unexpected influence of his surroundings.

Desmond held the parchment in his hands, marveling at the content he had written. "It's incredible. It feels as though someone else wrote this letter," he marveled at the eloquent expressions of gratitude he had used for the prime minister.

With a satisfied smile, he continued reading, but was interrupted by a screeching sound on the wooden floor. Setting the parchment aside, he took a seat and gazed out of the window, enjoying the view of the beautiful blue sky.

"Young master, I have brought the requested material for your second letter," the maid's voice echoed from outside the door. It seemed she had personally gone out to procure it. Desmond granted her permission to enter.

The maid entered the room, carrying a serving plate with the requested material—a knitted letter. "Here you go, young master."

Desmond turned his attention to the maid and noticed she had also brought a glass of wine. "Thank you," he responded sincerely, a smile gracing his lips. He hadn't expected the maid to understand the intricacies of his writing task or anticipate his desire for wine.

The maid returned his smile before requesting permission to resume her duties.

Before starting on the second letter, Desmond reviewed the one addressed to the prime minister. "Something seems to be missing," he contemplated. While expressing his gratitude, he sensed that there was an underlying message from the prime minister that he couldn't quite grasp.

Raising the glass of wine to his lips, Desmond took a sip, relishing the taste. He turned his gaze back to the meadow swaying in the breeze and the whimsical shapes of the clouds. In that moment, he fully grasped the gravity of the information conveyed by the prime minister. The implications of this letter getting into the wrong hands raced through his mind, causing his thoughts to whirl.

Quickly, he jotted down his reflections and concerns on the parchment before him. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, threatening to fall onto the parchment. Desmond's heart skipped a beat at the thought of smudging his writing. "Almost. If it had landed, all this writing might be blurred," he murmured to himself.

He also noticed a warmth building up around his neck. "Perhaps it's because of my hair?" he speculated. Casting a spell, he summoned a gentle breeze that gathered behind his hair, causing it to stand on end. "Ah, much better," he sighed with relief, as the cooling sensation brought comfort to his neck.

Desmond, content with his hair tied up neatly, shifted his attention back to the written content on the parchment. "Good. Even if the prime minister had anticipated my move, I've added some additional facts to his speculations to make them true," he thought, satisfied with the outcome. He included a request in the letter, urging the prime minister to keep the news a secret.

Unbeknownst to Desmond, his request coincided with the King's order to the prime minister. The King had already instructed the prime minister to refrain from spreading the news, but his concerns centered on safeguarding the kingdom from external threats, rather than solely focusing on Desmond's safety.

Rolling up the parchment, Desmond secured it with the royal ribbon he had used previously. "Now, for Elizabeth, I'll simply mention that I secured the assistance of a Master Wizard from the Guild," he contemplated as he began writing the letter. He always initiated his letters with expressions of gratitude.

"Done. Whether she believes it or not, at least I have addressed her letter," Desmond remarked, feeling a sense of accomplishment. He summoned a maid and instructed her to deliver the two letters—one to the prime minister and the other to Elizabeth, the King's daughter.

As he carried on with his morning activities, Desmond remembered someone had attempted to heal his hand. He picked up the mirror he used for communication and cast a spell upon it.

"Hello, little Desmond," a seductive and alluring voice of an adult woman resonated from the mirror's reflection.