The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

"Hmph," Diana scoffed, her expression revealing a hint of defiance. Even so, her ears remained attentive to her father's words, causing her to halt her movements. Meanwhile, her nimble fingers surreptitiously curled around the cool glass bottle containing the potent potion, concealing it within her grasp.

Observing Diana's subtle actions, Vesta shook his head disapprovingly, his gaze shifting toward his sturdy wooden desk. With deliberate steps, he made his way toward it, his weathered hands retrieving a piece of aged leather parchment adorned with a regal ribbon, denoting its importance.

Mixed emotions flickered across Vesta's weathered visage as he fixated his gaze upon the scroll. A brief glance toward his daughter, still clandestinely experimenting with her newfound spell, prompted a weary sigh to escape his lips.

Resolute, Vesta tucked the parchment carefully within the confines of a drawer on his cluttered work table, his movements accompanied by the soft rustle of other parchments and the gentle clinking of an ink pot and a quill fashioned from the iridescent feathers of a majestic bird.

Fingertips lightly brushing against the delicate plume, Vesta muttered under his breath, the words a whisper that danced with both affirmation and a tinge of uncertainty. "One of his predictions has now been proven true..."

Vesta's mind wandered, memories resurfacing of Sanders' ominous forecast—a dire wolves' impending assault on the unsuspecting hamlets. Many had scoffed at the notion, blinded by the false sense of security that lingered after the Sky-Hunter incident, where swift retribution had befallen any roaming beasts.

Yet, fate had revealed an unwelcome twist, with evidence irrefutably displaying the beasts' savage incursions upon this very village not once, but twice. "No wonder he dispatched me to investigate, even as doubts regarding his abilities echoed throughout the populace."

Whispers regarding Sanders' credibility had spread far and wide, marring his reputation. It had proved an arduous task to uncover the truth behind the enigmatic Tavern incident from years past.

And now, in a sudden turn of events, he dispatched a Guardian to scrutinize the remote corners of the kingdom—a decision that ruffled feathers among the upper echelons, eventually reaching the attentive ears of the monarch.

Vesta's eyes flickered with a hint of irony as he mused, his voice laced with quiet contemplation. "The irony lies in the fact that nobody truly knows the extent of the truth." Despite the malicious rumors that swirled around Sanders, Vesta held steadfast belief in his judgment as a Guardian.

His unwavering faith had blossomed from the sight of those piercing eyes and the resplendent aura that emanated from Sanders. The man's dedication to the kingdom was undeniable.

"Father!" Diana's urgent voice reverberated through Vesta's consciousness, snapping him back to the present moment. He blinked, a dazed expression lingering upon his face as he beheld his daughter standing before him, an air of concern enveloping her.

"Yes, princess?" Vesta replied, his voice carrying a touch of confusion as he cast an inquisitive glance in Diana's direction.

"Your ink!" Diana exclaimed, panic etching across her features. Preoccupied with her previous experiment, her energy levels had yet to fully replenish, rendering her oblivious to the precarious proximity of her father's inkwell.

Caught in a fleeting moment of daze, Vesta's hand, still clutching the quill, accidentally nudged the inkwell perched precariously on the edge of the table. The result was an unfortunate spillage, as ink cascaded onto the polished surface, splattering and leaving dark rivulets upon the floor below.

"Ah..." Vesta's eyes widened in surprise, his breath catching for a brief moment before he sprang into action, retrieving a handkerchief with nimble fingers, poised to salvage what he could from the untimely mishap.

Fortunately, the parchment adorned with the royal ribbon had been safely stowed away in the drawer, shielding it from the ink mishap. Only Vesta's garments and the empty parchments suffered the ink's indiscriminate stain. Not one to stand idly by, Diana swiftly sprang into action, retrieving a white cloth from the nearby cupboard, joining her father in the effort to rectify the mess.

"Duh, what are you doing, father?!" Diana grumbled, her voice tinged with exasperation as she diligently assisted in wiping down her father's desk.

Vesta offered a wry smile as he cleaned the ink-stained floor, appreciating the understanding presence of his daughter. Only in her company could he allow his occasional bouts of carelessness to be revealed. Once their joint efforts concluded, Vesta and Diana found themselves with ink-spattered clothing.

"Thank you, my princess," Vesta expressed his gratitude, returning the empty parchment to its designated drawer and replacing it with a fresh one, while also refilling the inkwell.

"Hmph," Diana huffed, her arms crossed in frustration as she surveyed the ink stains on her dress. "Also, why didn't mother give us permission to bring a servant along!" she exclaimed, her discontent palpable.

Vesta chose not to respond, feigning deafness as he redirected his focus toward writing the report. Witnessing her father's demeanor, Diana understood it was time to desist from her complaints. Although curious about the contents of the parchment, she found her vision abruptly darkening. "Father!"

Accompanying the darkness, a sudden pang of pain radiated from her forehead. "Ouch!" Diana instinctively pushed away her father's hand and took a step back, cradling her flushed forehead.

"Peeping is not behavior befitting a proper lady," Vesta scolded sternly, his gaze fixed upon his daughter with unwavering intensity.

"Yes, father," Diana replied meekly, turning away and guiltily settling onto the sofa with a book in her hands.

Observing his daughter's contrite behavior, Vesta regained his composure and resumed writing. "She is still young, just like her mother," he thought, a tender expression softening his features as his gaze briefly lingered upon Diana. Despite her mischievous nature, she remained obedient and simply required guidance and education.

Returning his attention to the task at hand, Vesta diligently penned the report. His hands moved neither too swiftly nor too slowly, each word meticulously chosen to convey detailed information and his astute insights, employing the artistry of wordplay and riddles.

Meanwhile, near the entrance gate of the village, soldiers and mercenaries gathered amidst a mound of slain beasts, forming a grotesque hill of carcasses. The royal soldiers stood at a distance, observing as the mercenaries performed the arduous task of dismembering and disposing of the defeated creatures.

"This one," the captain declared, deftly sorting through the beasts, selecting those to be distributed among the mercenaries. The assembled mercenaries represented the elite Corps of Teleknights, each member possessing invaluable experience in this very field, led by a seasoned leader.

Among the mercenaries belonging to the Steel Legion, Raina stood alongside a female Witch, both positioned as mere onlookers, refraining from active involvement in the task at hand. As the scene unfolded, the limited understanding held by the royal soldiers expanded, revealing the stark contrast in proficiency between Ray's mercenaries and other groups.

It was a revelation to them that not all mercenary factions possessed the same adeptness in dissecting and mutilating the slain beasts.

Many other mercenary groups simply handed over the intact corpses to the guild and received their payment in the form of coins. In missions that required specific parts of the beasts, they would enlist the aid of additional individuals to perform the necessary tasks. This piece of information was willingly shared by Raina, as it was not a secretive aspect of the guild's operations.

She had no qualms about imparting some knowledge to the soldiers.

Moreover, those living in close proximity to the guild building had likely witnessed one or more mercenaries transporting whole beast carcasses inside. It was a common sight, albeit surprising for some, to see Ray—a figure exuding cleanliness and an air of nobility—seated on the ground, deftly disassembling each part of the beasts without a hint of disgust or aversion.

"Captain, please assign that one to me," one of Ray's members requested eagerly, their eyes sparkling as they pointed to a particularly massive Dire Wolf.

They had been tirelessly engaged in this task since the afternoon, the daylight gradually fading into a dimly lit evening sky, suffused with a warm glow from the setting sun. The mercenaries had already mutilated around ten or so Dire Wolves, yet their expressions remained infused with excitement and tireless enthusiasm.

The captain furrowed his brow, pausing momentarily before responding, "No." His refusal echoed with a hint of disapproval or concern.