The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

The next day, as the golden rays of sunshine bathed the small village, a lively scene unfolded. A cluster of horse-drawn carriages encircled the entrance gate, drawing the attention of several villagers who had gathered there. The village head, Sam, stepped forward, gratitude emanating from his every gesture.

He respectfully bowed his head to the middle-aged man standing before him, and the villagers joined in, nodding their appreciation.

"Thank you for your invaluable assistance, sir," Sam expressed with sincerity, his words carrying the weight of the entire village.

"The honor is mine," replied the middle-aged man named Vesta. He crossed his hand over his chest, a gesture of respect, and a warm smile graced his face. With a quick glance at his soldiers standing behind the village head, he added, "However, I must emphasize the utmost caution. I cannot bear the burden of any further loss. We must not allow any more casualties."

The soldiers, feeling the weight of their superior's sharp gaze, shivered slightly. "Yes, sir!" they responded in unison, their voices loud and determined. They bowed deeply, pledging to protect the village to the best of their abilities.

Observing the display of politeness and determination from their comrades, the other soldiers standing behind Vesta nodded approvingly, their eyes filled with warmth and camaraderie.

"Very well," Vesta declared, casting one last glance at the village before turning on his heel. "March!" he commanded, leading the way towards his awaiting carriage.

Meanwhile, the mercenaries, having overheard the conversation, responded with derision, their snorts conveying their cynicism. They mounted their horses but hesitated for a moment, memories of Selena's tragic demise holding them back.

"We made the right choice," Vaurz, a member of the Corps of Teleknights, remarked to his companion, keeping a firm grip on the reins.

Ray, the leader of the mercenaries, wore a somber expression, his brows furrowed as he glanced at Vaurz. "It wasn't a matter of choice," he replied, his voice tinged with melancholy. "If not us, the guardian would have chosen someone else. Although the guild has not received any orders from the kingdom and has no direct ties, we are still citizens of this kingdom, duty-bound to assist in its plans."

"Unless we face an imminent threat, the kingdom cannot compel us, and we can continue to lead ordinary lives. However," Ray continued, his gaze shifting to Veronica's darkened expression and the simmering anger among the rest of the Steel Legion mercenaries, "the situation has changed. Because of that boy, it has become imperative."

Vaurz remained silent, observing the Steel Legion mercenaries, even as they received their rewards. There was no trace of happiness or delight, nor a single blissful smile. Instead, their expressions remained resolute, permeated by an air of sorrow. The once vibrant and cheerful Steel Legion had transformed into a realm of tranquility, enveloped in an eerie silence.

"Perhaps this mission should be classified as SS rank," Vaurz remarked with a dry laugh and a bitter smile, his tone tinged with irony. Ray stayed silent, his gaze filled with compassion as he pitifully regarded the remaining Steel Legion mercenaries.

"You may be right. We did make the right choice."

Mercenaries were often regarded as self-centered individuals, motivated solely by financial gain. Even when faced with rampaging beasts within their territory, they would not act unless lured by a hefty payment. However, there was one exception to this rule—when a comrade was involved.

For mercenaries, comrades were their lifelines, drinking buddies, and brothers in arms. The loss of a comrade was akin to losing a member of their own family. The pain ran deep, piercing their hearts like a jagged blade.

This bond grew stronger as mercenaries traversed their perilous paths, which was why only the lowliest mercenaries would abandon their groups in search of new companions, unlike the influential figures of the trade.

While the mercenaries engaged in their discussion, Desmond, as was his habit, leaned against the small window. His long, dark brown hair danced in the gentle breeze, and his vibrant purple eyes scanned the passing scenery, a contented smile gracing his lips.

"Young Master, your tea," a captivating, melodious voice reached Desmond's ears. He turned around and beheld a vision of beauty—a young woman with two braided red tresses cascading down her shoulders, dressed in a pristine white maid's attire. She held a tray adorned with a glass of tea, her eyes wavering slightly as she caught sight of her young master's smile.

Laura, the maid, managed to control her excitement, her body quivering only slightly.

"Thank you," Desmond graciously replied as he accepted the cup from the tray and made his way to the plush sofa.

*Slurp*

As Desmond took a sip of the tea, the flavors of fresh tea leaves intertwined with a subtle sweetness from a block of sugar suspended in the middle of the cup. It was a perfect blend, pleasing his discerning palate. "The flavor is just right, as always. You have a keen eye for suiting my taste," he complimented, his gaze shifting to the flushed cheeks of Laura.

However, with a shift in his tone, Desmond inquired, "What's the situation?"

The seriousness in his voice, coupled with his calm gaze, caused Laura to momentarily stiffen. "We're not too far from Helmfirth City. At this pace, I estimate we'll arrive in about half to one month," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of excitement.

"Hmm... not bad," Desmond mused, his eyes wandering to the transparent screen in the corner of his view. Laura's prediction aligned with his map, which indicated that they only needed to traverse the sight of the arid forest and the canyon before reaching the road to Helmfirth City.

However, his eyes narrowed as he noticed a gray obstruction in the dry forest, accompanied by faint red dots not far from it.

"It must be a fallen tree or bandits again," Desmond surmised. He reassured himself, knowing that with the mercenaries guarding his back and Vesta's soldiers acting as a shield, he should be safe.

"This presents a perfect opportunity," Desmond contemplated, his mouth twitching slightly as he calmly analyzed the situation. Engaging in combat would allow him to gain valuable experience and hone his swordsmanship skills. However, there was a predicament—he knew that no one in the group believed he was strong enough to handle a single beast.

"Hmm, I could force them to stay, but then I'd expose my true power," Desmond pondered, a crease forming on his forehead as his brows furrowed. The calm expression he once wore transformed into a frown, reflecting the complexity of his thoughts.

While other children were freely exploring the realms of magic and pursuing their future aspirations, Desmond, not yet fifteen, was forced to conceal his powers and evade the destruction that threatened his family. The deep-seated animosity between his family and the King of the Imperial Empire only grew with each passing year.

The countless assassins dispatched by his parents had stirred waves of anger within the imperial empire.

But what would happen if Desmond were to display his true talents, surpassing even his parents in strength? In the worst-case scenario, it could trigger a declaration of war from the Imperial Empire against the North-Kingdom, plunging the realm into further chaos.

As doubts loomed over Desmond's mind regarding whether the North-Kingdom would truly protect his family based solely on the promise of the former Grandmaster, he couldn't deny the immense potential loss they would face. The weight of the past events resurfaced, and he couldn't help but massage his forehead, attempting to ease the tension.

"Ah! And the aftermath of me revealing my powers four years ago..." Desmond muttered, a mixture of frustration and regret tainting his voice.

Suddenly, his frustration boiled over, and he couldn't contain it any longer. "Ahhhh! Why should I even care?!" he exclaimed, letting his emotions erupt in a cathartic release. However, a calming sensation washed over him, quelling his anger and bringing him back to a state of composure.

"Ha! The conclusion remains the same. I must focus on gaining more power in secret," Desmond affirmed, his voice laced with determination. He let out a long sigh, resigning himself to the path he had chosen.

Meanwhile, Laura observed her young master attentively, calmly taking in the sight of him engaging in a soliloquy. Although it seemed a bit unusual to witness him talking to himself, she had grown accustomed to such moments over time.