The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

"Halt!" The serene atmosphere surrounding Ray and Veronica was abruptly shattered by a resounding shout that echoed through the air. Ray's brows furrowed, and he swiftly pivoted, his gaze locking onto the royal trooper who had thrust out his arm in a commanding gesture, demanding their attention.

"Tch," Ray muttered under his breath, refocusing his attention forward. Veronica mirrored his actions, though her dissatisfaction was less evident, replaced instead by a sense of unease that gnawed at her. In the distance, their eyes fell upon a peculiar sight—an indistinct figure darting back and forth, concealed within an ephemeral shadow.

However, the significance of this scene diverged for each of them.

Veronica's beautiful countenance paled upon witnessing the sight. She composed herself swiftly, a surge of urgency prompting her to shout at her companions, "Follow me!" She urged her horse onward, urging it forward by repeatedly pressing her heels against its flanks.

"Hya!" The horse surged forward with great speed, mirroring Veronica's urgency. Simultaneously, Ray, his expression darkened and a menacing aura enveloping him, emulated her actions. His grip on the reins tightened, and his eyes narrowed, fixated on the impending danger.

Meanwhile, the mercenaries of the Steel Legion and the Corps of Teleknights, loyal to their leaders, harbored no doubts about their course of action. They faithfully trailed behind, their horses' hooves pounding against the ground.

Several keen-eyed mercenaries managed to discern the true nature of the distant commotion. The vague shapes and dark objects finally sharpened into focus. What now met their gaze was a distressing scene—an onslaught of black wolves attacking another group.

Apprehension and fear gripped their hearts as they beheld the harrowing sight of a mother and child, left defenseless and besieged by the relentless predators. The boy appeared to be around the same age as Desmond, clutching a sword in his trembling hands. However, it was evident that he lacked the experience of a seasoned warrior, as the wolves cunningly closed in on him.

The mercenaries clenched their fists tightly around the reins, praying fervently for a favorable outcome.

Meanwhile, the vice leader of the Corps of Teleknights, his curiosity piqued by the peculiar behavior of the royal soldiers, stole a backward glance. His expression contorted in disbelief. What he witnessed defied reason— the royal troops had simply halted in their tracks, even their horse-drawn carriages grinding to a standstill.

They stood there, motionless and devoid of any inclination to assist, their faces void of emotion. Perplexed, the vice leader also noticed a member of the royal troops rapping on Vesta's carriage door, seemingly relaying the details of the unfolding incident.

This, of course, ignited a blazing fury within him! Refocusing his gaze forward, he bellowed, "Come on, everyone! Quickening our pace is imperative. We cannot allow those helpless souls to perish!"

Initially bewildered, the mercenaries soon beheld the unfolding tragedy before their eyes, their hearts wrenched with anguish.

"Hyaa!" The agonized cries of the horses, emanating from two of the mercenaries, captured the attention of Vesta and Desmond's horse-drawn carriage group.

Upon hearing the commotion, Vesta's countenance grew grave. "Those imbeciles," he muttered, kneading a lump of cookie dough with a darkened expression. The mercenaries had never earned his favor. Despite involving them in his plans, he considered them an army devoid of true leadership.

Unaware of the exact situation, Vesta chose to place his trust in his own troops' decisions. Abruptly ceasing his activities, he heard the distinct sound of knocking.

"Guardian, there's something amiss ahead, and some people are charging ahead without forethought." The soldier's voice contained an undertone of disdain when he mentioned "people," as if mocking their lack of wisdom.

"Stay put, I'll step out," Vesta replied, proceeding to cleanse his hands in a small clay jar. He then approached his slumbering daughter, nestled upon the living room sofa. "Remain here, my princess," he whispered, tenderly stroking her hair and planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. Finally, Vesta emerged from the train carriage.

Outside the carriage, the soldier tensed and assumed a rigid posture upon hearing the approaching footsteps.

* Click *

Vesta emerged, his senses greeted by the scorching heat of the sun above. "You may forgo the formalities," he instructed, his piercing gaze compelling the soldier to lower his head and deliver his report. However, the soldier noticed Vesta's gesture, halting his words in mid-sentence.

"I am aware," Vesta responded, his eyes narrowing. As a 3rd Class Swordsman, the epitome of physical prowess among humans, discerning the situation before him posed no difficulty.

He swiftly ascertained that the group ahead consisted of only three horse-drawn carriages, which had careened into disarray, blocking the road. Consequently, he and his troops needed to clear the carriages before proceeding. Additionally, he espied a distressed mother and daughter duo in the vicinity.

"Advance cautiously, and maintain vigilance of our surroundings," Vesta commanded, his voice resonating with authority. He cast a fleeting glance towards the wooded area adjacent to the incident, confirming it to be devoid of any potential threats.

However, the meadow where Vesta stood provided a clear view of the situation, while venturing into the forest would shroud them in uncertainty. Taking this into account, Vesta amended his instructions, "Additionally, establish a defensive formation with six soldiers acting as the vanguard." He rubbed his chin pensively, considering other pertinent details.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss about this incident. The calculated placement of the mother and son in the center, seemingly designed to lure the wolves, and the conspicuous presence of necklaces on each of the black wolves—it all raised his suspicions.

"Yes, Guardian!" The soldier responded, grappling to comprehend his Guardian's commands. He marveled at Vesta's extraordinary perceptiveness, enabling him to discern details from such a distance.

Having relayed Vesta's orders, the soldier returned to the army, where several of his comrades positioned themselves on the right and left flanks of the horse-drawn carriages. They dismounted their horses, leaving them in the care of their fellow soldiers. With purposeful strides, they moved alongside the carriages, each soldier assuming their designated positions.

Once in position, the soldiers swiftly retrieved the shields that rested upon their backs.

* Thump! *

The shields struck the ground, resonating with a powerful impact that defied their deceptively lightweight appearance.

Observing their efficiency, Vesta nodded in approval before reentering his carriage. However, he didn't forget to maintain a watchful eye through the front window.

In synchronized motion, the soldiers, their shields now in hand, maneuvered sideways like crabs. This formation served to safeguard against sudden flanking attacks, but it came at the cost of reduced speed and maneuverability.