The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

Meanwhile, nestled alongside the carriages, the Corps of Teleknights' camp buzzed with an energy that surpassed even the lively atmosphere of the Steel Legion's encampment. The members of the Teleknights, their bodies weary from the recent battle with the fearsome beasts, gathered around a crackling campfire.

Each warrior held a cup fashioned from smooth wood, their fingers gripping it tightly, as if finding solace in the simple touch of the vessel.

"Cheers!" bellowed Vaurz, his voice resonating with robust mirth. He hoisted his cup high in his right hand, its clinking meeting the rim of another member's cup with a resounding clash.

"For the glory!" exclaimed one comrade, their words infused with an exultant fervor.

"For the women!" chimed in another, their laughter erupting like a joyful chorus.

Laughter rippled through the gathering, infectious and unrestrained. They toasted boisterously, their cups raised in unison, each sip a defiance against the hardships they had endured. The fire's gentle flicker added warmth to the already jubilant atmosphere, as if the flames themselves reveled in their company, radiating heat without singeing their skin.

They swayed in rhythm, forming a circle, their shoulders interlocked in camaraderie.

The night stretched before them, its tendrils of darkness seeming to respect the celebratory spirit that enveloped the Teleknights. The wind, a gentle companion, caressed their faces without disturbing the fire's dance, eliciting a collective shiver that only enhanced their sense of unity.

Yet, amidst the revelry, Ray sat apart from the mirthful scene. His silver eyes quietly observed his comrades, their jubilation mirrored in his gaze. His sword and armor lay beside him, a testament to the battles fought and the sacrifices made. Cross-legged, he exhaled softly, his lips curling into a wistful smile.

"Enjoy life to its fullest, my friends," he murmured, his voice a faint thread weaving through the night. His gaze drifted upward, tracing the celestial tapestry above, while his body reclined against the ground.

"We live but once," Ray added, his smile gradually fading as his eyelids drooped, his arm stretching languidly at his side. With the assurance that those they had sworn to protect were safe, tranquility settled upon his mind, granting him a serene slumber. The withered brown grass beneath him offered a surprising comfort, yielding beneath his weight and cradling him against the earth.

Moonlight cast a gentle glow upon his form, illuminating his features as if the celestial orb itself sought to highlight his presence. The sight did not escape the attention of his comrades.

"Tch, our leader, always like this," remarked one member, shaking his head in equal parts exasperation and admiration.

"Indeed. If it were me, I'd have retired ages ago," lamented another, their eyes filled with a mix of regret and despair as they regarded their slumbering leader.

"He is young, with boundless potential. His willpower surpasses our own, and now he provides for us, ensuring our bellies are fed," Vaurz spoke, his voice tinged with a profound respect. The group had ceased their revelry, settling on the ground and fixing their gaze upon their sleeping leader.

Vaurz had always been closest to Ray, a bond forged in the crucible of their shared childhood. They had embarked on countless adventures, but now they remained, the last remnants of a once-bustling company. It pained him to dwell upon their shared past, but Ray had made it clear - the past had no place in their present.

They lived in the moment, and in that moment, they would strive and, if need be, perish.

Though burdened by sorrow, Vaurz couldn't help but marvel at the resilience of his childhood friend. Ray had emerged from the crucible, his spirit unyielding, transforming into one of the mightiest warriors of their time. And Vaurz? He remained a steadfast adjutant, dutifully assisting his friend, accompanying him through the unforgiving trials of their harsh world.

Vaurz's thoughts quietly echoed within his mind as he stole a glance at Ray, his gaze burdened with a mix of emotions. Time passed, and midnight descended upon Desmond's carriage. Despite the darkness enveloping the night, a solitary candle illuminated the room, casting a gentle glow that reached beyond its confines.

A slender beam of soft white light seeped through the small window, painting a delicate trail across the air.

Desmond sat cross-legged on his bed, his eyes closed in a state of serene concentration. A tranquil aura enveloped him, his body poised with unwavering composure. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers delicately touching his thumbs, forming a small circle reminiscent of meditation.

A swirling mass of natural energy danced around his being, spiraling and converging, drawn into his body one ethereal thread at a time. The flow of energy repeated itself in a mesmerizing cycle, countless repetitions before Desmond's form emitted a radiant glow, causing the remaining natural energy to disperse into nothingness.

Drawing a deep breath, Desmond opened his eyes, their irises shimmering with newfound vitality. "Finally, it appears I've made significant progress in enhancing my abilities," he remarked. The meditation had extended for well over an hour, leaving his legs tingling with numbness, and even his body stiffened with the prolonged stillness.

"Ouch," Desmond groaned as he attempted to shift his position, only to be met with a searing pain that surged through his organs, muscles, and veins. It felt as if a thousand needles pricked at every inch of his being.

Perplexed, he hesitated to move again, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "Hey, Lau—" Desmond began, but before he could continue, his teeth inadvertently bit down on his tongue, and his jaw seized, making it difficult to articulate any further words.

What the fuck? Desmond cursed inwardly, his frustration simmering within as he realized he was rendered speechless. His gaze darted around the room and landed upon Laura, who peacefully slept on the sofa, an empty glass cup still clutched in her hand.

Laura.

Laura.

Laura.

Desmond attempted to send a telepathic message through his magical communication abilities, but after repeated attempts, frustration gripped him once more. There was no response, leaving him inwardly grumbling at the incompetence of his maid.

Helplessly, he attempted to recline onto the bed, but his legs remained stubbornly stiff, forcing him to sleep in a cross-legged position. He tried to surrender himself to slumber, but the posture only brought discomfort.

Forget it, I should check my stats now, Desmond resolved in his mind.

He focused his attention on accessing his status, his thoughts mingling with the mystical energies that surrounded him.

[Scanning Host Body...]

[Scan Complete!]

[-Status-

Name: Desmond

Gender: Male

Age: 10 years

Race: Half-Human (50%)

Class: 1st Swordsman/0th Dragon Slayer

Occupation: None

Unique Energy: 43.82 -> 52.78 ⇈

Strength: 28.77 -> 28.96 ⇈

Agility: 21.02 -> 21.51 ⇈

Stamina: 8.43 -> 10.43 ⇈

Dragon Essence: 0]

Not bad at all, Desmond mused. If not for these perplexing restrictions, I could have achieved so much more. With his heightened stats and expanded energy capacity, he stood on par with seasoned grandmasters. However, it did little to change the fact that he had yet to ascend to the first realm of Wizardry.

The world of Wizards and Witches seemed to gauge one's prowess solely on the capacity of their energy, allowing anyone to lay claim to the title of Grandmaster based on sheer quantity alone.

According to the books recorded by the system, the disparity between those who had already advanced to the realm of Wizards or Witches and those who had not, despite possessing equal amounts of energy, was staggering. Advancement brought forth a multitude of benefits: increased spell damage, reduced energy consumption, and the elimination of restrictions on basic spells.

The advantage wielded by advanced practitioners left the uninitiated feeling utterly inadequate. It was nothing short of a miracle for someone without such mastery to emerge victorious in a confrontation. This discrepancy was one of the primary reasons the swordsman class had been created.

"At least I won't have to worry about energy consumption in the future," Desmond contemplated. The knowledge he had gained upon his reincarnation into this world had taught him the value of gratitude over envy. Reflecting upon his own circumstances, he possessed everything one could desire—maids, a life of luxury, power, and influential backers—assets he believed Clark lacked.

If not for the meddling of the Imperial Empire, Desmond's journey in this world would have been smooth sailing.

Nevertheless, even without the assistance of the system, Desmond was confident in his ability to attain his current level of power. It would merely require more time and dedication. He was determined to ascend to the very pinnacle of this world. After all, it resembled an upgraded version of the playground he had once inhabited.

As a young master of a mafia family, Desmond had learned that killing was not always the best solution, but often the swiftest. And as for the emotions that arose when he took a life? They were present, but akin to the laws of the jungle. If a person posed no immediate harm, only two possibilities remained.

Either they would bring calamity upon him in the future, or they would inflict harm upon his loved ones, subjecting him to a slow and agonizing demise in the depths of despair.

The world was not as peaceful as it appeared. Kind-hearted individuals were scarce, outnumbered by the relentless hyenas that roamed society. Even parents stooped to the vile act of human trafficking, exploiting their own children as commodities in their wretched trade.