The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

"Yes, Princess," the maid replied, her voice soft as she lowered her head respectfully.

Observing this display of deference, the princess responded with a charming smile that illuminated her face. "Thank you. You may return to your duties," she graciously dismissed the maid. With a subtle gesture, she indicated to the other maids to continue attending to her hair.

"Are you planning to register there as well, Princess?" one of the maids inquired, her fingers deftly combing through the princess's silky locks.

The princess chuckled, her big blue eyes sparkling as she displayed a mixture of amusement and confusion. "Hehehe... Of course," she replied, glancing at her own reflection in the mirror.

Her maids meticulously groomed her long, flowing hair, enhancing her already captivating appearance. With her beautiful face, defined nose, and flawless, fair skin resembling the purity of milk, she embodied the quintessential image of a royal princess. Currently clad only in her undergarments, her dress hung nearby, awaiting her.

"Oh, by the way," she continued, gently touching her cheek as if lost in thought, her long, white, and smooth legs partially revealed. "I made a promise to Clark..."

Before she could delve further into her musings, a series of knocks reverberated through the door, instantly drawing everyone's attention within the room.

"Princess Elizabeth, lunch is ready," a male servant's voice called out from beyond the threshold.

"Please wait a moment. Miss Elizabeth is being dressed," one of the maids replied, retrieving the dress that hung beside the princess.

"We shall await your arrival in the dining room. I will inform the king," the male servant responded, his footsteps gradually fading into the distance.

Meanwhile, in a room situated in the southern part of the city, near the guild building, a scene unfolded.

The room featured a centrally placed dining table adorned with four chairs. A compact kitchenette nestled in the corner, attached to the wooden walls. The rustic ambiance was further enhanced by various cooking utensils adorning the walls.

Seated around the table, a family shared a meal while engaged in lighthearted conversation. A middle-aged man chuckled heartily, cutlery in hand.

"Hahaha, you certainly have a unique idea, my son," the man remarked, casting an affectionate gaze at his young boy, who sat across from him.

The boy, around ten years old, sported slightly longer hair neatly combed backward. Compared to Desmond, he possessed a more pronounced and well-formed physique, his muscles displaying a hint of prominence.

Attired primarily in garments made from cowhide, with accents of sheep's wool on their arms and legs, this family exuded a rustic charm that reflected their lifestyle.

As the woman, who appeared to be the mother of the family, took the plate in front of the middle-aged man, she chuckled softly. Her dark brown hair was neatly tied back, and a delicate necklace adorned her neck. "Good boy," she affectionately shook her head at her son's peculiar idea.

"By the way, have you arranged for bodyguards for your upcoming journey?" another middle-aged man inquired. Positioned in the central seat, he naturally commanded the attention of the room. His long hair was neatly tied together, and he wore glasses that rested on his face as he fixed his gaze upon the boy sitting next to him.

At this question, the middle-aged man opposite the boy displayed a somber expression, releasing a heavy sigh. "Sigh, we haven't been able to find any yet..."

"My father and I have searched and waited all day at the guild, but not a single mercenary was willing to take the job," the boy responded, his dark green eyes betraying a profound sadness.

Hearing this, the bespectacled man's astonishment was palpable. "Eh? This morning, while I was on guard duty, I saw mercenaries escorting a group heading towards the city of Helmfirth."

"EH?!" both the father and son exclaimed, their mouths agape at the bespectacled man's statement.

The father approached the bespectacled man, gripping his shoulder tightly. "Is that true? Don't jest, brother. My son and I have been searching all day, and the result..."

"People have been avoiding us ever since we mentioned our intention to travel to Helmfirth city," he widened his eyes, and even the bespectacled man could detect the pungent scent of his breath.

"Step away from me for a moment, brother," he recoiled, repulsed by his brother's odor.

Only the woman, calmly washing the dishes in the kitchen, seemed to pay no mind to the unfolding situation, whether she comprehended it or not...

"Your information is correct, but those mercenaries..." the bespectacled man hesitated, averting his gaze as he scratched his cheek.

His behavior fueled the anger of both the father and son.

"But those are renowned mercenaries, aren't they?" the woman, who had been washing the dishes, interjected as she positioned herself between her husband and son.

"Yes..." the bespectacled man responded tentatively.

Upon hearing this, the older brother snorted dismissively. "If they were truly famous mercenaries, they would have undoubtedly accepted the job. I suspect their asking price must be exorbitant."

As the boy observed his father's helplessness, his fists clenched tightly, determination shining in his eyes. He locked gazes with his father, conveying his resolute decision. "There is only one way, father."

Witnessing his son's unwavering determination, the father let out a heavy sigh. "Yes, that seems to be our only option, and it's our only hope." Sometimes, there was no better course of action than allowing their children to forge their own paths and earn the positions they deserved.

The father, still unfamiliar with the realities of living among the common folk, harbored no desire to have any involvement with the kingdom. Thus, he found solace in entrusting his son's future to his own capabilities.

Relieved yet somewhat embarrassed by the need to rely on his childhood friend, the boy turned and made his way to the yard. "Let's practice, uncle," he declared.

Even though he had successfully gained admission to the academy, there were still trials awaiting him, tests he needed to pass to become a full-fledged student.

Meanwhile, in another opulent mansion, a scene unfolded.

A boy with short spiky hair in a cream-colored hue sat cross-legged on the floor of a room, his eyes closed in deep concentration. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, indicating his focused state. He wore no shirt, revealing a sword scar on his left chest.

Beside him, a middle-aged man stood, holding an empty bottle, closely observing the boy's expression. He spun the bottle in his hand, a hint of anticipation in his eyes. "How is it?" he inquired.

The boy winced, a tinge of pain crossing his features as he responded. "Ugh... it stings a bit, father." He kept his eyes closed, fully immersed in his practice.