The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

* Bang! *

"Sir!" A soldier, clad in armor but without a helmet, burst into the room, slamming the door so forcefully that the entire house quivered beneath its impact.

The soldier's eyes darted around the room in a frenzy, his gaze finally settling on the figure he sought. Vesta, seated with his arms crossed, frowned at the sudden intrusion, casting a cold stare in the soldier's direction. "Speak," he commanded, his voice resounding with an icy authority that sent shivers down the soldier's spine.

Vesta's voice echoed in the soldier's ears, each word piercing through his nerves. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease in the presence of his stern and composed superior. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, the soldier hastily delivered his message, still trying to catch his breath from the hurried entrance.

"Master Desmond was seen alighting from his carriage briefly, but inexplicably, he reentered and has yet to emerge," the soldier reported, his words tumbling out in a single breath.

The soldier himself was baffled by this unusual behavior. Not only did the young master's actions seem peculiar, akin to a timid princess hiding away, but even the Guardian had taken an interest, assigning soldiers to monitor his every move.

"Very well. You may leave," Vesta replied dismissively. His initial excitement upon hearing news regarding Desmond quickly dwindled as he absorbed the details.

However, before the soldier could depart, Vesta noticed that he had lingered, prompting an exasperated sigh from the Guardian. Fixing his gaze casually upon the soldier, Vesta's voice softened slightly, no longer as frigid as before. "Speak," he urged, allowing a trace of impatience to color his tone.

Relieved by the subtle change in Vesta's demeanor, the soldier swiftly conveyed his next concern. "Sir... we have encountered a minor issue," he began, not forgetting to relay the captain's information regarding the mercenaries seeking spoils after the battle.

"Tsk, tsk," Vesta clicked his tongue, massaging his temples as a headache began to gnaw at him. "Mercenaries, forever driven by profit, just like the merchants. They may possess formidable combat skills, but negotiation is not their forte—a quality that sets them apart from true merchants."

Vesta's mind wandered for a brief moment, lost in his own musings before refocusing on his subordinates. "Divide the spoils of this battle in half and grant permission to the mercenaries to commence with desecrating the beast's carcass. Time is of the essence, and besides..." Vesta paused, inhaling deeply before resuming, "They possess greater expertise in this particular domain."

"Ye...Yes, sir!" The soldier acknowledged with a nod, promptly departing to carry out Vesta's orders without waiting for further instruction or consent.

Vesta, having spent years fighting alongside his soldiers, didn't hold strict formalities in high regard, except when in the throne room. In the midst of war, there was no need for unnecessary rigidity.

As the soldier departed, Vesta rose from his chair, the click of the door accompanying his exit. Stepping outside, he was greeted by the bustling villagers who were wholeheartedly receiving and serving his soldiers and the mercenaries as heroes. The sight was a stark contrast to the cold treatment they had received before, even after saving the village from a beast attack.

It was this cold reception that had eventually led to the mercenaries seeking rewards.

Observing this scene, Vesta comprehended the root of the issue. "Well, at least the misunderstanding has been resolved," he thought to himself. He glanced at the sky, noting the twilight hues and the distant sound of birds gradually fading away. The setting sun's radiance momentarily dazzled his vision before yielding to the encroaching night's chill.

Making his way toward his horse carriage, Vesta's attire garnered attention from the onlookers. He simply smiled in acknowledgment at those saluting him along the way. Upon reaching the carriage's front door, Vesta cast a sidelong glance at Desmond's carriage in the distance, his emotions mixed.

"Sigh, I hope Mr. Sanders is wrong this time," he mused with a sigh, pushing open the carriage door.

"Father!" Diana, who had been eagerly awaiting her father's return and had spotted him from the window, immediately rushed toward him.

"Hop, hahaha, you're as light as ever, my princess," Vesta chuckled, his previously cold demeanor and oppressive aura melting away in an instant, replaced by the joyful countenance of a father embracing his daughter.

"Hehe," Diana giggled in response, nestling her cheek against her father's shirt. After a moment, she pulled away slightly, her eyes discerning a subtle difference in her father's smile. "Is something the matter, Father?" Diana, perceptive as ever, noticed the deviation from his usual expression.

"Um... nothing," Vesta replied, averting his gaze while gently ruffling his daughter's hair. Anticipating her desire to pursue the matter further, he swiftly changed the subject. "So, what's been happening?"

Vesta cast a fond smile at his daughter, aware that her current behavior was unusual. He remembered how she had stopped acting like a child around six years ago. Drawing on his years of experience as a father, he recognized that her demeanor signaled pride and the desire to show something off.

"Hehe," Diana chuckled in response, offering no verbal reply. Without wasting much time, she turned around and began to chant a spell.

"Holy Fire."

As she recited the incantation, energy in the surroundings converged onto her outstretched hand, gradually taking the form of fiery flames. These flames, apart from emanating heat, appeared to have no effect on her delicate and graceful hands.

Vesta's initial reaction was one of panic, but as he witnessed his daughter effortlessly controlling the fire, he realized that she had mastered the skill. "Good job," he applauded, gazing at her in sheer astonishment.

The fire conjured by Diana was no ordinary flame. It took the shape of a handball, its unique hue resembling a white blaze with an almost holy aura.

"Hehehe, with this, my chances of defeating that brat have increased," Diana laughed. Unlike her previous laughter, which possessed a pure and ladylike quality, this time her laughter carried a sense of excessive pride and unwavering self-confidence.

Not only could she manipulate the fire's shape according to her imagination, but Diana could also expand its size at will.

Vesta muttered in disbelief. Though he was a skilled swordsman, he possessed basic knowledge about Wizards and Witches. What Diana had just displayed was equivalent to the abilities of a 1st-class Wizard or Witch. They could effortlessly manipulate the elements they controlled without draining excessive energy. However, he soon sensed something amiss.

"Princess, be cautious not to overexert yourself, or you'll develop dark circles beneath your eyes," Vesta advised, smiling knowingly. For a moment, he had almost been fooled by his daughter's trickery. It was impossible for someone who hadn't reached the 1st-class level to wield such control over the elements without depleting a significant amount of energy.

Narrowing his eyes, he spotted an empty potion bottle on the table behind her.