The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

Vesta's tired body sank into the soft cushions of the sofa, his muscles finally relaxing as a sigh of relief escaped his lips. The departure of Desmond and his soldiers from the room brought a wave of tranquility, leaving only Vesta and his daughter amidst the fading tension.

Yet, just as Vesta began to savor the fleeting calmness, he turned around and beheld his daughter, her gaze lost in a distant reverie. The sight pierced through Vesta's heart, instantly unraveling the situation. He sighed, a deep understanding washing over him. "Come here, my princess," Vesta spoke tenderly, his eyes conveying a mixture of affection and concern.

Instead of offering a verbal response, Vesta watched as his daughter silently took a seat across from him. Weariness etched on his face, he stretched his neck wearily before continuing, "I know, I'm sorry about that... please forgive me, okay?" His plea was accompanied by a faint smile, an attempt to bridge the growing chasm between them.

How could he not fathom his daughter's actions? Having heard their stories and absorbed every painstaking detail, she must have been overwhelmed, perhaps even in a state of shock. And yet, Vesta's protective instincts propelled him forward, sacrificing his own peace for the sake of her safety. After all, what father would willingly allow his daughter to suffer?

Upon hearing his words, Diana opened her mouth hesitantly, her expression betraying her inner conflict. "Okay," she responded with a mix of doubt and concern, as if she comprehended his apology but yearned for further elucidation.

The unwavering determination and underlying confidence that emanated from Diana's countenance reminded Vesta of his own past self. She truly resembled him, he couldn't help but think, as a chuckle escaped his lips. His smile widened, but upon closer inspection, a gravity lingered in his eyes. "You're still young and vulnerable; the time isn't right yet.

That brat is merely fortunate to have survived death, thanks to the sacrifice of a valiant mercenary," Vesta stated, fully aware of his daughter's vulnerability.

Observing Diana's discomfort, her face twitching and disappointment seeping into her eyes, Vesta couldn't help but notice how her thoughts intertwined with his own, looking down upon Desmond's power and silently mocking him. It was as if her desires melded with his words.

"No, Father. He is strong. I felt it the moment he left, a tremor in my senses, a clear indication of his strength," Diana whispered inwardly, cautiously refraining from voicing her thoughts, mindful of her father's acute hearing. However, this was mere intuition, as she couldn't judge Desmond's power without firsthand experience. "Then... between him and me...

who is stronger?" she asked, her voice betraying a tremor of uncertainty, despite already knowing the answer.

A glimmer of expectation flickered in Diana's eyes, her gaze fixed upon her father. Deep within her heart, she yearned for her judgment to be proven wrong, even as her pride hung by a thread. But her father's next words shattered her illusions completely.

Though Vesta doted on his daughter with boundless affection, when it came to matters of strength, he couldn't afford to sugarcoat reality. "Isn't that obvious? The boy is stronger than you," he declared, witnessing the welling tears in Diana's eyes. Yet, in an attempt to restore her fading hope, he added, "Nevertheless, it's not beyond your reach to surpass him."

Diana's desolate expression began to regain a glimmer of hope as she caught a ray of possibility in her father's words. To her, his words held absolute authority, for Vesta stood as a testament to their truth, occupying the pinnacle of humanity with his revered position as a Guardian. This unwavering trust in her father's wisdom anchored her spirit.

Yet, as Diana pondered further, the question of how to become stronger nagged at her. She believed she had reached a plateau in her skills, convinced that there was no room left for improvement.

Increasing her energy capacity seemed like the only method she knew to enhance her strength, but such a feat appeared nearly impossible, especially considering she hadn't even heard of individuals successfully becoming first-class wizards or witches at the age of fifteen without possessing a trait.

Shame cast its shadow upon her, but now, she met her father's gaze with confusion and sought answers. "Father, how do I become stronger? I mean, I feel confident in my abilities now and believe I can defeat that rounded ball effortlessly. But when compared to that boy..." Her voice trailed off, a mixture of frustration and bewilderment tingeing her words.

Vesta blinked, taken aback by his daughter's sudden self-doubt. "Isn't it obvious? That's precisely why you came to the academy," he replied, witnessing the disappointment etch itself onto Diana's face. He offered a gentle reprimand, "Do not underestimate the power of knowledge. For a Witch, spells are the key to strength."

As much as Vesta admired his daughter's indomitable spirit to grow stronger, the harsh reality of her future loomed in his mind. Someday, Diana would marry and become someone's wife. The mere thought caused a pang of heartache to grip his chest. In an instant, the image of that boy resurfaced, and Vesta's fist clenched tightly.

Setting aside the investigation related to him, there remained a personal grudge against the one who had won his daughter's heart.

"That brat... If he dares to lay a hand on my daughter, I will ensure he faces severe consequences!" Vesta grumbled inwardly, a fierce determination burning within him.

Just as Diana realized that the solution was far simpler than she had initially thought, a snort escaped her lips, and she averted her gaze. "Hmph," she huffed, her face tinted red with embarrassment. She then uttered, "Father, you're so stupid!" while pouting, and swiftly exited the room.

"Ah," Vesta gasped, momentarily taken aback. Witnessing his daughter's departure, his heart swelled with affection. A wide grin painted his face, and he relished in the sweetness of her gestures.

While Desmond embarked on a grand journey, engaging in formidable battles, another clash brewed in the southern region of the Saint World, far removed from the fertile lands of the north.

There, a desolate landscape stretched out before the eyes, where dry, barren land extended with cracks that seemed as though they would crumble at the slightest touch. Water, which should have flowed from the nearby sea, now served as a haven for treacherous beasts. The trees in this area withered, their trunks standing as mere remnants devoid of decorative leaves.

In the western reaches of this desolate expanse, a scene far more ominous unfolded, casting a menacing aura that dwarfed the barren lands. The terrain turned black, its barrenness accentuated, with molten lava coursing through every crevice, while a shroud of dark clouds enveloped the area, akin to hell manifesting itself on the surface.

At the border where the realm of hell intersected with the barren land, a harrowing sight unfolded. Several human combatants clashed with humanoid figures, their features marked by paler, almost grayish skin. Two imposing horns protruded from their foreheads, while sinuous tails swayed behind their bodies.

"Watch out! Serpent Lions! Serpent Lion!" one of the human soldiers bellowed, his voice resonating with urgency. However, before he could finish his warning, his world was upturned. His vision jolted, granting him an aerial view of the battle as if he were a soaring bird.

Caught off guard, he glimpsed a familiar body lying motionless on the ground, brutally torn asunder. Shock engulfed his features, his expression a portrait of disbelief, before he succumbed to the clutches of unconsciousness.

"Noo!!" A soldier, positioned a short distance away, screamed in anguish as he helplessly witnessed the death of his comrade. Anger consumed him, turning his eyes a blood-red hue, brimming with an overwhelming thirst for revenge. Veins bulged and his legs swelled with an unnatural prominence, as though they might burst at any moment.

With a swift motion, he lunged towards his fallen comrade's lifeless form, hurling pebbles at the humanoid adversaries, sending them scattering in disarray. His agile body weaved effortlessly through their onslaught, narrowly evading the weapons aimed in his direction.