The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

"Ah, my apologies for our impoliteness," Sam muttered, his forehead glistening with beads of sweat as he hastily adjusted his demeanor to exude more politeness. "Please, this way," he added, gesturing towards the path ahead.

Stepping aside, Sam cleared the way for the carriages to make their entrance. As he did so, he signaled to the villagers who had armed themselves, silently urging them to lower their weapons and bow in deference. The sound of rustling leaves and the hushed whispers of the villagers filled the air, mingling with the scent of damp earth and the distant fragrance of blooming flowers.

Observing this unexpected display, the captain felt a flicker of confusion before regaining his composure. A mischievous grin crept across his face as he swung himself back onto his horse, his gaze lifted in an air of superiority. With measured steps, he led his entourage into the heart of the village.

Before the carriages reached their destination, the mercenaries, who had initially been at the forefront, swiftly swapped positions with the royal troops. This brazen act of command, as if the captain were guiding his own troops, provoked resentful glances and disdainful snorts from some of the mercenaries. After all, they were not mere soldiers; they carried the pride of mercenaries within them.

However, they found themselves trapped in this predicament, caught between their own principles and the demands of their mission alongside the royal troops.

...

Following the captain's lead, the carriages resumed their slow progress. Sam, the village head, kept his gaze lowered, patiently awaiting any indication that he could lift his head. It was only when he heard a voice that he dared to steal a glance upward.

"Amusing," Desmond remarked, leaning casually against the carriage window, a hint of mockery in his tone.

Desmond found himself oddly entertained by the reactions of these villagers. He had not expected them to stoop so low at the mere mention of the captain's identity. While Desmond was well aware of the significance of a Guardian's special forces, witnessing the villagers' subservient behavior shattered his expectations.

Had it not been for Edward's abolition of the aristocratic system in his kingdom, Desmond wondered if even the village chief would have been brought to his knees. As he spoke those words, the carriage passed by the chief, and Desmond caught a glimpse of the fury etched across the chief's face, his fists clenched in suppressed anger.

"Heh, perhaps they aren't entirely worthless," Desmond chuckled softly to himself. Not only the chief, but Desmond also noticed two other villagers who had lowered their heads in shame. Their remorseful expressions intrigued him.

Meanwhile, the carriages continued their journey, entering the village and revealing a sight of dilapidated buildings constructed from weathered blackened wood. The roofs varied, with some patched with clay and straw while others remained unfinished, exposing gaps and holes.

The state of these houses, unfit for habitation, stood in stark contrast to the orderly and tidy streets that wound through the village.

Desmond's keen eyes scanned the crowd, noting the unfriendly glares and piercing gazes that greeted his group. The air seemed thick with tension, and even the young children of the village could be seen clutching small stones, poised to launch them.

"Hmm," Desmond pondered, rubbing his forehead in contemplation. The situation seemed peculiar to him. Perhaps it was because this was the first village he had visited since arriving in this new world, so he didn't pay much heed to their primitive behavior earlier. However, from his perspective, the villagers should be overjoyed, shouldn't they?

After all, they were receiving reinforcements, bolstering their ability to protect their beloved village. It appeared that the army captain remained oblivious to this fact, proudly displaying the emblem on his shirt, much like the rest of the troops.

Desmond shifted his gaze and glanced out of the back window, observing the mercenaries who were warily surveying their surroundings. Frowning slightly, he redirected his attention and settled back into the comfort of the sofa. "Laura, prepare yourself," he called out.

"Eh?" Desmond's mouth twitched as he looked at Laura, who was casually reading a book on her bed and responded nonchalantly.

"There's something amiss," Desmond replied, no longer looking at Laura as he activated a spell. "And also-"

*Swoosh!*

In an instant, a powerful gust of wind whistled through the air as a wooden sword materialized and embedded itself into the carriage wall.

"Eh?" Laura felt a breeze brush against her hair and stared wide-eyed, taken aback by the sudden occurrence.

"Your manners," Desmond's voice turned cold, his expression devoid of emotion, yet a mixture of disappointment and anger emanated from his eyes.

Caught in his intense gaze, Laura froze, her body stiffening as she recalled the instructions given by her senior maids. "Do not overstep the young master's boundaries," they had cautioned.

"Yes, young master," Laura responded quickly, her complexion paling as she hastily replied. She hurried to the door, extending her arm outward.

Muttering incantations, Laura cast a barrier spell, gradually enveloping the portion of the door. Her eyes closed, and she appeared more focused than before.

Good, Desmond thought, satisfied with Laura's compliant behavior. Turning his attention back to the scene outside, he peered through the glass window.

Outside the window, Desmond's horse-drawn carriage came to a halt in the midst of the village square. Simultaneously, the sound of a door opening resonated in the air.

Dressed in his regal attire, Vesta emerged, a sword hanging at his waist. He scanned his surroundings before finally making his way toward the village chief, who stood at the center of the plaza.

Contrasting with his noble garments, Vesta approached with a warm smile. "Greetings, village head. I offer my sincerest apologies for my earlier rudeness in failing to greet you upon our arrival," he began in a friendly tone.

"I am the current Guardian of the North Kingdom, as my subordinate mentioned earlier. Kindly grant us permission to assess the situation surrounding this village."

As the friendly Guardian stood before him, smiling, Sam couldn't help but sense an overwhelming force emanating from his very being. The intensity of it caused beads of cold sweat to trickle down Sam's forehead. He couldn't shake the feeling that this Guardian, despite his current amiable demeanor, possessed an arrogance that had initially prevented him from offering a greeting.

Now, with trepidation gripping him, Sam swallowed hard before finally finding his voice. "No... problem, Sir Guardian," he stammered, his words laced with unease.

"Thank you." Vesta's smile faded as he cast a critical gaze upon the village's surroundings. A deep frown etched across his face. "Soldiers, spread out and thoroughly survey the area in five-man formations."

"Yes, sir!" The captain swiftly responded, reiterating Vesta's orders to the soldiers with utmost seriousness.

*Rumble* *Rumble*

As royal troops, their unwavering obedience propelled them into immediate action, causing a cloud of dust to billow up in the village square for a fleeting moment.

Meanwhile, Vesta made his way toward one of the residents' houses, his robes fluttering in the strong winds, lending him an air of coolness. However, the people who found themselves approached by the Guardian couldn't help but instinctively recoil in fear.

"Sir..." The villager's voice quivered as he clutched his wife and child, his body trembling. The sudden presence of the Guardian sent shivers down his spine.

"Tell me the truth," Vesta demanded, his stature lowering as he locked eyes with the middle-aged man standing before him. An intuition gnawed at him, suggesting that something was amiss with the village's atmosphere and the reactions of its inhabitants, despite its apparent safety.