The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

There were remnants of crushed logs strewn across the ground, their once solid forms now reduced to splintered debris. The grass that once blanketed the area had been displaced, giving way to a substantial crack that snaked through the plain like a miniature hill, an eerie testament to the force that had torn through.

In the midst of this desolation stood a middle-aged man, his weathered face exposed without the confines of a helmet. Adorned in armor, a robe draped loosely behind him, he gripped a long sword with a hilt fashioned in the shape of a four-leaf clover. His gaze was fixed upon the heavens above, an air of pride emanating from his uplifted countenance.

As Desmond beheld the aftermath, a sense of awe and astonishment enveloped him, settling deep within his heart. His eyes fixated on the man's back, glimmering with a newfound fascination akin to a child discovering a captivating toy.

"Such magnificence! This is the embodiment of the pinnacle swordsmanship," Desmond marveled, his voice tinged with admiration. In his former world, this middle-aged man would have been hailed as a super-soldier, dedicated to serving his country.

Yet, Desmond's admiration was short-lived, his gaze shifting to the man's back with a different expression. "However, it's evident that he struggled to control his strength," he added, a touch of derision lacing his words.

With a contemptuous snort, Desmond turned his attention to assess the damage inflicted upon his cherished clothes and books. Although the carriage wasn't his own, the incident had resulted in a tangible loss. The protective spell barrier had mitigated some of the harm, but the repercussions would have been far more severe without it.

"The audacity to demand compensation over this may seem trivial," Desmond muttered, his anger simmering beneath the surface, knowing he couldn't voice his grievances to the middle-aged man. Not only did the man hold a higher social status than Desmond's parents, but he also boasted close ties to the king.

If Desmond hadn't concealed his true identity as an assassin until now, he might have disregarded the consequences and confronted the man directly. After all, as a former scion of a mafia family, he had never feared death. However, his survival instincts prevailed, dissuading him from jeopardizing his future.

Who would willingly subject themselves to imprisonment within the kingdom's cells for several years? Furthermore, what if the soldiers were to extract the truth from him, revealing that he hailed from a different world? His body would become a mere exhibit, a relic hanging lifelessly in a museum.

Simultaneously, Desmond's gaze shifted forward, and he noticed the unscathed figures of the two mercenary leaders, devoid of any cuts or bruises.

"Darn it, I forgot those mercenaries possess the same level of strength as that middle-aged man," Desmond muttered, realizing that their intervention earlier might have minimized the casualties.

"Guardian!" Vesta called out, his attention drawn to the soldiers who had been thrown and collided with the horse-drawn carriage, some landing on its roof. However, these soldiers were well-acquainted with such situations, quickly recovering and returning to their positions.

"You all..." Vesta's voice carried a mix of concern and disappointment as he approached his remaining soldiers, his eyes gleaming with a hint of sorrow.

"We apologize, Guardian. It was our negligence for failing to anticipate the presence of a wizard or witch among the attackers," spoke the captain of the royal soldiers, stepping forward and bowing his head. Other soldiers followed suit, realizing the magnitude of their mistake. The Guardian sighed, a trace of shame etched on the faces of several soldiers.

As they lowered their heads, a wave of introspection washed over them. Questions flooded their minds: Why had they acted so inadequately? Had they not been serving as the Guardian's loyal troops all this time? Why had they not dispatched scouts to gather intelligence? Their minds seemed clouded with a momentary lapse, fueled only by their pride as the elite royal troops of the Guardian.

A string of queries plagued each soldier's thoughts. And it was in that moment, when the Guardian didn't even acknowledge their apology and retreated into the carriage, that they realized.

Those damn worthless mercenaries.

Hatred burned in the soldiers' eyes as they directed their gaze towards the mercenaries, who remained ahead, some of them clutching their weapons with trembling hands.

"Captain, let me teach those bastards!" one soldier, unable to contain his fury any longer, stepped forward, preparing to launch an attack.

"Vin!" The soldier halted abruptly as he caught a different tone in the captain's voice. He glanced at his superior, only to find the captain looking down at him with disdain, his expression oozing disgust.

"Don't act like a fool or stoop to their level," the captain reprimanded his subordinate with disdain, visibly disappointed. "Yes, captain," the soldier meekly responded, his anger subsiding under the captain's chastisement.

Once his men had regained their composure, the captain redirected his attention to survey the aftermath. "Sigh, the damage is extensive."

Not only had the path they were traversing been ravaged, but both carriages also bore the brunt of the assault, appearing in a pitiful state. Fortunately, the coachmen always carried spare materials, ready to address such dire situations.

The captain was well aware that every appearance of the Guardian indicated their failure to meet his expectations, and as the captain, it was his duty to take responsibility for the remainder of the battle.

"Assess the situation," the captain commanded, directing his attention to the two coachmen. He ordered his men to lend assistance while he approached one of the horse-drawn carriages.

*Knock* *Knock*

"Ah... please wait a moment," a soft, alluring voice emanated from within the carriage. Alongside it, the captain could hear the rustling of equipment and the sound of someone tidying up.

Suddenly, the noises ceased, replaced by tranquility, before a gentle *click* signaled the opening of the carriage door.

"Yes?" A young woman with flowing red hair emerged, her locks dancing in the wind. She wore a form-fitting maid outfit that accentuated her curves. Lowering her head, she greeted the captain, who appeared momentarily lost in a daydream.

"Hello?" she prompted, breaking the captain's reverie.

Caught off guard by the maid's enchanting presence, the captain regained his composure and replied nervously, "Ah... I'm sorry, miss." He scratched his head and averted his gaze, embarrassed by his unintentional stare.

Although he was aware that this horse-drawn carriage housed a servant and a young master at the heart of the mission, he hadn't anticipated the servant to be so stunning. His mind, once clouded and blank, now reawakened. He straightened his posture, attempting to exude a more confident and masculine demeanor, as he conveyed his message.

"I am here on behalf of the Guardian to offer our apologies for the incident. Our Guardian had difficulty controlling his strength, which led to this situation," the captain explained with a helpless smile. "As the captain of the royal troops, I would like to offer assistance in cleaning your quarters, along with my men."

Relieved after successfully conveying his intentions, the captain refocused his gaze forward. However, he couldn't help but notice the servant girl's soft chuckle, her hand delicately covering her mouth with the napkin she held.

Ah, an angel. In an instant, his mind once again went blank, his attention captured entirely by her laughter.