The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

*Clank* *Clank* The resounding clash between Desmond's impenetrable barrier and the rain of arrows reverberated through the air, creating a cacophony that assaulted the eardrums of all who bore witness. The sharp, shattering sound amplified the tension of the moment, sending a shiver down the spines of those nearby.

Desmond, standing tall amidst the chaos, observed the unfolding spectacle with a furrowed brow. His expression spoke volumes of disapproval, disappointed by the demeanor displayed by the royal soldiers. Instead of taking the initiative to safeguard the carriages, they recklessly surged forward, forming an impenetrable turtle wall formation.

Shield after shield rose in unison, creating an impervious shield wall that mimicked the impenetrability of turtles' shells. No gap remained for the arrows to find their mark, frustrating the enemy archers who sought to harm them.

"HUA!" The battle cry of the royal troops reverberated through the air, a testament to their undying spirit and unyielding determination. Despite the cumbersome weight of their shields, they charged forward with an agility that defied logic, as if unburdened by the massive barriers they bore.

Suddenly, a searing heat emanated from the forest ahead, causing a ripple of apprehension to surge through the ranks of the soldiers. Their instincts warned them of imminent danger. As they drew nearer to the treeline, their eyes widened in horror. A colossal ball of fire, wreathed in a halo of flames, materialized before them, hurtling toward their formation with an unstoppable force.

Desmond's eyes widened in disbelief, and his lips twitched with a mix of astonishment and frustration. It was inconceivable that this motley band of bandits possessed a sorcerer within their ranks, capable of conjuring such destructive power.

"The Kingdom grossly underestimates the threat these bandits pose," Desmond muttered under his breath, amused by the kingdom's negligence yet infuriated by their complacency. If not for the presence of the Guardians by his side, he might have been compelled to take matters into his own hands.

Though Desmond himself wielded the formidable strength of a first-class swordsman with dual classes, it would be foolhardy to engage in a direct confrontation. While he could hold his ground and fight back for days, complete annihilation of the bandits was an unattainable feat.

Furthermore, the enemy's advantage lay in the darkness that cloaked their numbers and concealed their intentions, while Desmond found himself at a disadvantage in his current position.

"The bandits hold a significant advantage over me. I must not risk battle unless my life is threatened," Desmond ruminated, weighing the strategic options before him. "Engaging prematurely would serve no purpose. It would be wiser to marshal the remaining troops and chip away at the enemy's strength."

*Whoosh* A swift gust of wind sliced through the air as the fireball hurtled toward the tightly formed ranks of the royal soldiers. "HAAAA!" The moment of impact arrived, and chaos ensued. The fiery projectile shattered the formation with devastating precision, transforming the once impenetrable shield wall into a fractured mess.

Arrows, once harmless, found their mark, piercing flesh and bone with merciless precision. Helmets offered no sanctuary as lethal projectiles impaled the soldiers, penetrating their skulls with gruesome finality.

The force of the explosion sent bodies flying in all directions, some airborne for a fleeting moment before crashing back down to earth, broken and battered. The ground itself bore the scars of the explosive impact, a testament to the ferocity of the blow unleashed upon the royal soldiers.

In addition, the ground beneath the soldiers' feet bore witness to the aftermath of the attack—a grotesque, blackened cavity, its appearance disturbingly macabre, littered with scattered human organs. A collective hiss of breath mingled with shock escaped one soldier who had miraculously survived this harrowing assault, his relief palpable.

Desmond observed in awe as the fallen comrades failed to elicit cries of pain or expressions of grief from the surviving royal warriors. They momentarily grappled with the shock of the terrifying effect unleashed upon them but swiftly regrouped, reforming their ranks with steely determination and slowly retreating. This display left Desmond perplexed.

He hadn't anticipated witnessing such resilience and unity amidst the chaos.

Directing his attention to the front lines, Desmond sought to unravel the mysterious actions of the renowned mercenaries. To his surprise, he discovered that their predicament did not involve bandits but rather a relentless onslaught of ordinary black wolves, attacking them one by one.

This revelation left Desmond further bewildered, as he had been oblivious to the tensions between the mercenaries and the royal army, leaving him questioning the dynamics of their relationship.

*Clank* *Clank* The arrow barrage, once focused on dismantling the royal soldiers' formation, now widened its scope, spreading to encompass a broader range of targets, including Desmond's horse carriage.

*Swoosh* *Crack* In a sudden turn of events, Desmond watched as an arrow pierced through his formidable barrier, its tip mere inches from his eyes, while the tail of the arrow remained ensnared within the protective shield.

"Well, this was to be expected. At least it will serve a few purposeful strikes," Desmond muttered calmly. He reached out and grasped the arrowhead, exerting a gentle pull that created a small opening in the barrier as the tail of the arrow remained caught within.

"Custom Spell: Barrier," Desmond swiftly enacted his spell, causing the breach to be filled by a new, resilient barrier. Examining the arrow he held, he remarked, "No traces of poison or additional magical properties." He lightly brushed his fingertips against the arrowhead.

*Cre-ak* The arrowhead, true to its reputation, proved razor-sharp, causing Desmond's fingertips to suffer a slight tear, releasing a trickle of crimson that flowed across his hands and dripped onto the floor. In an instant, the torn skin began to heal as if by an otherworldly power.

"And as expected, my peculiar regenerative abilities remain intact," Desmond mused, acknowledging the extraordinary nature of his own healing prowess.

*Blast!* As Desmond focused on examining the arrow in his grasp, an unexpected surge of powerful wind barreled into the carriage, causing him to stagger and lose grip, inadvertently dropping the arrow.

*Boom!* Before he could regain his balance, an ear-splitting explosion reverberated through the air, accompanied by a violent gust of wind that shattered Desmond's protective barrier in an instant, leaving his horse-drawn carriage vulnerable.

*Crash!* The force of the impact sent Desmond hurtling backward, colliding forcefully with the wooden wall of the carriage compartment.

*Thump!* A pained exclamation escaped Desmond's lips, mirroring the impact he had just endured. Meanwhile, Laura, who had been slumbering, was also jolted backward by the powerful blast. As she opened her eyes, she found herself confronted by a barrage of flying objects, seemingly aimed at her.

Reacting swiftly, Laura tensed her body, narrowly evading a vase hurtling toward her head.

*Crash!* The flower vase shattered upon impact with the ground, and Laura managed to regain her footing, surveying the chaotic scene before her. Bookshelves lay toppled, their contents strewn across the floor. The living room sofa had been forcefully thrown aside but remained miraculously intact.

Amidst the destruction, almost everything else lay in ruin. Laura's gaze then shifted to her young master, who stood composedly, straightening his disheveled attire.

"Your master—" Laura began to address him, but the cold glare emanating from her young master caused her voice to falter and her body to tremble involuntarily. She swiftly closed her mouth, suppressing any further words.

Desmond, having regained his footing, remained uncertain of the cause of the sudden upheaval, yet the incident left him seething with frustration. The swiftness of the attack had caught him off guard, rendering him unable to react in time. Even the passive skills honed through his mastery as a swordsman had remained ineffective.

His eyebrows knitted together in a stern expression, his fists clenched tightly. Tattered remnants of his clothing bore witness to the shards of shattered vases.

Approaching the shattered window, Desmond peered out, his eyes widening at the sight before him—a vast plain that had once been lush forest, now laid bare and desolate.