The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

As the morning sun bathed the world in its gentle golden glow, a symphony of joyous bird songs reverberated through the air, their melodies intertwining with the soft whisper of a gentle breeze. Amongst the feathered ensemble, one audacious bird dared to break away from its flock, embarking on a solo flight towards the vast expanse of the sky.

With graceful wingbeats, it soared higher and higher, piercing through the layers of fluffy clouds that adorned the heavens, as if seeking a celestial connection. And then, with seamless elegance, it glided through an open windowpane, bridging the divide between the ethereal and the earthly.

Inside the dimly lit room on the highest floor, the old man stood like a guardian of secrets, his gaze fixated upon the panoramic scene below. The lines etched on his weathered face told stories of a life well-lived, of wisdom garnered through the ebb and flow of time. His long, flowing white beard cascaded down his chest, echoing the silent whispers of ancient knowledge.

But beneath his gentle countenance, an unexpected dichotomy emerged. Despite the veil of years that draped his form, his physique remained a testament to a bygone era of battles fought and victories won. Muscles, taut and sinewy, danced beneath his skin, silently bearing witness to a life steeped in strength and valor.

With a deliberate stroke of his hand through the labyrinth of his beard, the old man nodded in quiet contentment. The room, though not vast, housed a wealth of stories within its four walls. Bookshelves, sagging under the weight of knowledge, lined the room like sentinels guarding the bound treasures that lay within.

The air was tinged with the comforting aroma of aged paper and the promise of countless adventures awaiting discovery. A crackling fireplace added warmth and a flickering glow, casting dancing shadows upon the shelves that hosted an assortment of crystal decanters, filled with amber nectars and ruby elixirs, enticing the weary to seek solace within their spirits.

Amidst this sanctuary of wisdom and warmth, the old man found solace in his work, a testament to a mind forever curious. Behind the cluttered table, an assortment of documents lay scattered, ink stains like a constellation of forgotten thoughts upon the tablecloth.

Amidst the organized chaos, he found a moment of respite, pausing to indulge in a tobacco pipe, the fragrant smoke swirling and curling like elusive memories. The pipe, a relic of another era, held a certain elegance, its craftsmanship a testament to a bygone time. Its rope, knotted and worn, dangled from a small nearby table, an ever-present reminder of journeys taken and those yet to come.

As his eyes returned to the captivating scene beyond the window, a sight of otherworldly beauty captured his attention—a cloud, seemingly detached from the heavens, hovered effortlessly in perfect harmony with the terrestrial world. But amidst this ethereal tapestry, it was the figure of a young girl that tugged at his heartstrings.

Engrossed in the pages of a book, she appeared to exist in a world of her own creation, oblivious to the mundane affairs of the courtyard. The old man's gaze softened, a flicker of emotion illuminating his eyes like a distant star breaking through the night's embrace.

"Perhaps she is their daughter," he whispered, the words escaping his lips like fragile whispers carried on the wind. His voice carried a hint of longing, a bittersweet recognition of beauty that defied time. The girl possessed an otherworldly allure, her countenance a canvas adorned with ethereal grace.

Long, silver strands of hair cascaded like a silken waterfall, framing a face adorned with delicate features, each delicate line etched with the hand of an artist. Even the mere act of turning a page held a grace that spoke of noble heritage or the enchantment of a privileged upbringing.

But despite her ethereal allure, not a single boy dared to approach her, their gazes veiled with a mixture of fear and admiration. They stood in awe, captivated by her presence, but held back by an invisible barrier of uncertainty.

*Knock* *Knock*

The old man's attention was abruptly diverted as the sound of a knock resonated through the room. Hastily, he turned and swiftly made his way back to his chair, discreetly concealing the pipe that had been his companion moments ago.

With a deft movement, he stretched out his arm and murmured an incantation under his breath, invoking a spell of his own creation, "Basic Spell: Clear Scent." The words slipped from his lips in a low tone, carrying with them a subtle enchantment.

The room underwent a transformation. The lingering smell of cigarette smoke dissipated into thin air, as if vanishing on an ethereal breeze. Even the familiar scent of burning wood from the crackling fireplace vanished, leaving behind only the pristine air of the room.

As the door to the room swung open, a young woman stepped inside, dressed in a short robe that revealed a daring cleavage, drawing attention to her ample curves. Her long brown hair was styled with fashionable bangs, and the robe tastefully exposed her smooth, elongated legs.

Inquisitively, she pressed a finger to her nose and sniffed the air, her gaze narrowing as she fixed her eyes upon the old man.

"Principal, are you smoking again?" she questioned, her voice carrying a mix of concern and exasperation. Slowly, she approached, balancing several parchment documents in her arms.

The principal attempted to maintain an air of composure as he witnessed the woman's approach, but his efforts faltered when he met her piercing gaze. A bead of sweat glistened upon his forehead, betraying his unease. "Just one more time, please, Whis," he pleaded, his voice tinged with both weariness and longing.

Unable to resist his pleading expression, Whisley relented with a sigh. "Alright, alright," she conceded, setting down the documents she held. "Why do you insist on this, Principal? You were once renowned as the wise Grandmaster Weston."

At the mention of that name, something flickered in Weston's eyes, a distant memory echoing through the depths of his being. "It has been a long time," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. Finally, he took his seat and fixed his gaze upon Whisley. "What brings you here?"

With a deliberate motion, Whisley retrieved a letter, carefully tucked away within her cleavage. Placing it on the table, she crossed her arms, adopting a stance of authority. "You've received a letter from an old friend," she announced, her voice carrying a note of intrigue.

Weston found himself momentarily rendered speechless by his subordinate's audacious actions. Fortunately, his age and waning desires shielded him from being swayed by the provocative display before him. "How many times must I remind you that I am the principal here," he said, his voice tinged with helplessness, yet still commanding a sense of authority.

Resolving to focus on the matter at hand, Weston took hold of the letter and began to read its contents. As he delved into the words written upon the page, a realization dawned upon him, casting a shadow across his face. Whisley, who had been engrossed in her book during the wait, abruptly looked up, her eyes meeting Weston's gaze.

"I see," Weston spoke, his voice regaining its former gravitas, eliciting both respect and fear from those who knew him. This included Whisley, who swiftly transitioned from her previously impulsive demeanor to one of politeness and deference.

Meanwhile, in a distant land shrouded in an eerie crimson hue, where the very sky seemed to bleed, a barren landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. Amidst this desolation stood a colossal castle, defying nature's barren grip. Surprisingly, though the land appeared lifeless, sporadic trees stubbornly clung to existence, defying the odds.

The landscape boasted several small ponds, their waters clouded with a sinister shade of red. As one's gaze penetrated the murky depths, the haunting sight of scattered bones from various species could be discerned, hinting at a dark and macabre past.

Within the castle, a throne room stood as a testament to an ancient power, its walls adorned with statues depicting bats in various forms. At the far end of the room, an adult woman lounged casually, stretching her long legs as she leaned against the imposing throne.

"My queen, the preparations we have been awaiting require a little more time to ensure their success," one of the creatures spoke up, positioned obediently before the woman. This creature possessed two elongated ears, its skin a pallid white, contrasting with blood-red eyes that glimmered with an unholy radiance.

Its thin and wiry frame bore large wings upon its shoulders, while a bald head and a height of a mere 150 cm completed its unearthly visage. Currently, it bowed its head respectfully before its queen.

Meanwhile, the queen, to whom the creature addressed its words, surpassed even Leona and Noel in beauty. Her countenance held a mesmerizing allure that would undoubtedly prompt countless proposals if she were to venture beyond the confines of her domain. She donned attire that left little to the imagination, the scant fabric barely veiling her private areas.

Adorning her head was a crown adorned with crimson pearls, nestled amidst a cascade of lustrous locks.

Her complexion boasted an immaculate, porcelain white, a stark contrast to her generously proportioned hips and ample bosom, which heightened her allure and allure to the beholder. Similar to the creature before her, she too possessed wings, but of a more feminine nature, imbued with an aura that exuded death itself.

These wings, distinctively facing downwards, further emphasized her formidable presence.

The queen, adorned with two elegantly curling horns atop her head, fixed a repulsive gaze upon the creature standing before her. The air in the room grew heavy with tension, thick with a palpable sense of unease. Sensing her displeasure, the creature couldn't help but smirk, revealing a twisted blend of desire and wickedness at the sight of the queen's regal form.

"What's the other situation?" the queen inquired, her voice laced with an undercurrent of authority and impatience.

"The minotaurs are itching for war, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to unleash their fury," the creature responded, a sultry undertone betraying its own hidden agenda. "Meanwhile, the other demi-humans have grown restless, threatening to depart if the queen does not issue her command."

Enraged by the creature's audacity and the perceived disrespect, a fiery anger welled up within the queen. Murderous intent emanated from her, directed fiercely at the subordinate who dared to hold such lascivious thoughts in her presence. "How much longer must I endure this waiting game?" she demanded, her voice reverberating through the halls of the castle, causing the very foundations to tremble.

But in an unexpected turn of events, as if the world itself had conspired against her, a wave of pleasure swept over the queen, causing her to let out a moan that escaped her lips involuntarily. The anger that had consumed her just moments ago gave way to a bewildering mixture of ecstasy and confusion.

Startled, she cast her gaze downward, only to discover that the subordinate who had stood defiantly before her was now positioned intimately between her legs, eliciting a response that was both unexpected and undeniable.

The queen let out a breathless sigh, her voice carrying a soft and alluring tone. Sensations rippled through her body as she felt a gentle touch, caressing and exploring the delicate contours of her skin.

The previous actions had stirred a deep sense of satisfaction within her, culminating in a gratifying release. With a slight scoff, she closed her eyes, savoring the pleasurable aftermath. "Very good... go deeper," she whispered, feeling an exquisite pressure building until it reached its limit, evoking a moan of delight.

Moments later, the encounter came to an end, and her subordinate stood before her once again, a contented expression adorning his face. As the queen's gaze fell upon him, she regarded him with a piercing glare, conveying her displeasure and unspoken expectations.

Noticing his queen's reaction, her subordinate couldn't help but smile. His eyes briefly wandered, lingering on her regal presence, before he licked his lips in anticipation. "It will require more than three years, but this duration should be sufficient to quell the desires of these lesser beings," he remarked.

At that very moment, a remarkable transformation occurred. The once diminutive figure suddenly grew in stature, gaining an imposing height of 190 cm. His previously bald head became adorned with long, flowing black hair. Muscles rippled across his body, and his ears vanished, replaced by a pair of formidable horns that towered above him.

"I am Arzar, ready to serve the queen eternally," he declared, his voice resonating with loyalty and strength.

Arzar, a demon once marred by unsightliness, had undergone a profound metamorphosis, becoming an imposing figure of strength and power. He knelt humbly before the queen, his transformation a testament to his unwavering devotion.

Upon witnessing this awe-inspiring change, the queen's smile radiated with a mix of allure and satisfaction. "Come here, Arzar..." she beckoned, extending her arms in a welcoming gesture.