The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

On the other side of the battlefield, nestled within the dense forest, a shadowy figure perched upon an outer tree branch. The man, with a weathered face that bore the weight of age, observed the chaotic scene unfolding before him. From his vantage point, he witnessed the ebb and flow of the battle, his eyes scanning the clash of forces.

"Heh, in the end, they still have hearts," the middle-aged man murmured under his breath, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He marveled at the resilience displayed by the fighters below.

With the arrival of the mercenaries, the Steel Legion and the Corps of Teleknights, the odds seemed to tip in favor of the royal troops. The combined effort led to an increase in the success rate of eradicating the Dire Wolves, puppets under the control of the cunning goblins. It was a hard-fought victory, albeit with the sacrifice of several soldiers who bore the brunt of severe injuries.

The captain of the royal troops could find solace in this achievement.

However, as the middle-aged man's gaze swept over the goblins and their captive beasts, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "This is weird," he muttered, a faint furrow forming on his brow. He observed the Dire Wolves and the goblins alike, noting a haunting similarity in their eyes.

Instead of the usual glint of greed and hunger, a profound sense of fear emanated from within, giving them a desperate and hollow look.

"All of these beasts share the same gaze, including the goblins," the middle-aged man pondered aloud, his voice laced with curiosity and concern. It seemed that the goblins were merely puppets, forced into a role of feigned control over the Dire Wolves, designed to instill terror in the hearts of humans.

His keen senses alerted him to the absence of any lurking reinforcements or hidden creatures waiting to strike. The man's gaze scanned the surroundings, taking in the aftermath of the battle. A thought crossed his mind, "Maybe this information could be of use to Sanders."

The man, known as Vesta, had promptly arrived at the battlefield after bidding farewell to his subordinates. He deliberately chose not to rely on them entirely, seeking to foster their independence and self-reliance.

His earlier decision to sit idly in the carriage during the initial clash was a calculated move, intended to encourage his subordinates to develop their skills without relying on his guidance.

As the final remnants of the beasts were extinguished, Vesta released a relieved sigh, his attention shifting toward the safety of the village. "The village is safe," he acknowledged with a sense of satisfaction. But then, his focus shifted once more to a different concern. "Now, what about that boy?"

He turned his head, fixing his gaze upon Desmond's location, not too far from his own. The young man and his faithful servant were within sight. Vesta couldn't deny that he had noticed Veronica's fondness for Desmond, evident in her expressions. With a snort, he mused to himself, "Hmp! If he dies here, it means he's not strong enough or worthy of becoming my son-in-law."

With a mix of paternal protectiveness and an unyielding expectation for strength, Vesta's thoughts echoed through his mind as he assessed the aftermath of the battle, pondering the fate of the boy he had come to reluctantly acknowledge.

Despite his earlier proclamation, Vesta's heart refused to calm down, its rhythm unsettled as he continued to cast glances over his shoulder. The weight of concern lingered within him, refusing to dissipate.

Meanwhile, deep within the forest, a woman clad in armor, clutching a sword tightly in her hand, sprinted with an extraordinary swiftness. Beads of sweat streamed down her forehead, her face glistening with exertion, while her gaze held an unfocused intensity. Thorny bushes tore at her feet, yet she pressed on, seemingly impervious to the pain, swinging her sword to clear a path.

Veronica, the determined woman in question, muttered under her breath, her voice filled with urgency, "Hold on, Selena, Desmond..." Her breaths came in ragged bursts as she continued her relentless charge.

She soon caught sight of a break in the dense forest, where shattered trees offered a glimpse of hope. "That's them!" Veronica exclaimed, spotting a clearing amidst the greenery. Her heart pounded in her chest, but as the scene unfolded before her eyes, her steps involuntarily slowed.

"No...no," Veronica's trembling lips whispered, a shudder coursing through her body. Through tear-filled eyes, she beheld a grim tableau, the vibrant green grass stained with an abundance of crimson.

Drawing closer, her advance grew tentative as her gaze swept the area, searching desperately for any signs of life. Then, a voice, weak and pleading, reached her ears, causing her to halt. Veronica stood frozen, her gaze fixated on a patch of vivid blue hair, the rest of the faceless figure obscured by blood-soaked earth.

"Veronica..." the voice called once more, its feeble plea piercing through the haze that enveloped her senses. With a quiver and a surge of fear, she turned, directing her attention toward the source of the voice.

"Master Desmond..." Veronica whispered, her words laden with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. Pushing aside her own anguish, she ran towards Desmond, heedless of the pain that lanced through her heart.

Desmond, leaning against the lifeless body of a Dire Wolf, struggled with a severe injury to his right hand. The creature's jaws clamped down upon him, but he managed to drive his sword into its eye socket, a testament to his strength and determination.

Veronica's surprise wasn't directed at her companion's peril, but rather at the remarkable display of Desmond's fortitude. She resheathed her sword and gently assisted him to his feet, carefully dislodging the Dire Wolf's decapitated head from his grasp.

*Squish*

Blood gushed forth, exposing the extent of Desmond's injuries. Bite marks marred his hand, the outer skin torn and tattered. Yet, his thoughts remained fixed on another. "Don't worry about me, please...help my maid," Desmond pleaded, his face drained of color, resembling a specter. With trembling hands, he pointed towards another direction, his voice weak and fragile.

Veronica turned slowly, following the direction indicated by Desmond's wavering hand. Laura, the maid, lay in a dire state. A jagged, menacing wooden branch impaled her abdomen, piercing through her flesh until it met the carcass of a Dire Wolf that clung to her shoulder, its teeth sunk deep into the flesh.

Despite her dire condition, Laura displayed remarkable strength, mustering the will to rise, albeit with her head bowed. It was evident, however, that her endurance would not last long, as blood continued to flow from her stomach.

A sudden, violent cough shook Laura's weakened form, her eyes fluttering open briefly before coughing up more blood. Veronica's eyes widened in alarm, her heart pounding in her chest. She hurried to Laura's side, her voice filled with urgency. "Please hold on, miss."

Unsheathing her sword, Veronica raised it high, the blade gleaming in the sunlight. With a forceful swing, she arched it downward, shattering the wooden branch and crushing the Dire Wolf that had latched onto Laura's shoulder.

*Thump*

Veronica deftly caught Laura's collapsing body, her hands and clothes now stained with the crimson reminder of their perilous situation. Carefully, she laid Laura's limp form on the ground, her gaze fixated on the large, gaping hole in her stomach. Biting her lower lip, Veronica turned her attention to helping Desmond.

"Thank you," Desmond whispered, his voice laced with gratitude, punctuated by a cough tinged with blood. In a display of reliance, he leaned on Veronica's shoulder, allowing her to support his weight as they made their way towards Laura.

"Laura..." Desmond muttered, anguish etching deep lines on his face. His eyes then shifted to Veronica, filled with a desperate hope.

"She's still alive. I will carry both of you back to the village with all haste," Veronica assured, her focus consumed by the critical condition of her companions. In this dire moment, she failed to notice the subtle shift in Desmond's demeanor, his usual cold and aloof facade softened by the gravity of their predicament.