The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

Desmond's body stiffened, a surge of astonishment coursing through him as his eyes widened in disbelief. "Huh? Did I perceive it incorrectly?" he pondered, his eyes fixated on the mid-air status screen that hovered before him. The swordsman skill had promised to amplify his body's cells to their limits, granting him an immense power that would effectively double his stats.

However, something seemed amiss now.

Could this discrepancy be attributed to the body enhancement he had utilized? Desmond entertained doubtful thoughts, unable to conceive any other plausible explanation. Despite recently employing the Power Boost, the resulting disparity in his stats was inexplicable. The realization burdened his mind, causing a throbbing headache to take hold.

It appeared that he would need to exercise caution in harnessing his power, lest it wreak havoc on his fragile form. As these thoughts raced through his mind, Desmond's gaze remained transfixed on the floating status screen, contemplating the implications of his active skills.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Desmond, a group of indistinct shadows crept closer behind the blurred screen. Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, none seemed to notice their stealthy advance, easily eluding the awareness of both soldiers and mercenaries.

Whereas Ray and Veronica might have noticed such developments in the past, their current focus was firmly fixed on combating the dragon-like creature, leaving no room to spare for observing their surroundings.

"Well, this should be sufficient to deal with those vermin," Desmond muttered, narrowing his eyes. Unconsciously, his pupils, which once resembled those of a typical human, elongated and transformed into a slit-like shape akin to that of an animal.

A wicked smile graced his lips, and his aura gradually morphed into a more sinister manifestation, bearing faint traces of darkness reminiscent of the black dragon.

Unbeknownst to him, his consciousness began descending into an abyss of shadows. A disembodied voice emerged, penetrating the depths of his mind, manipulating his thoughts. "KILL, KILL, KILL!" it commanded. "ELIMINATE THOSE ANTS! DEVOUR THEIR FLESH AND DRINK THEIR BLOOD."

In response, the natural energy surrounding Desmond coalesced into an infinite vortex, spiraling around his form. The ethereal energy slowly infiltrated the necklace adorning his neck, causing it to quiver as it absorbed the ambient energy. A faint white glow emitted from the necklace, its luminescence subdued.

Upon closer inspection, a minuscule dark spot materialized in its center, gradually expanding, threatening to consume the necklace's entire color.

[WARNING! The strange energy is affecting the host's mind...]

[Initiating process to suppress the anomalous energy... 0%]

[Suppression of the strange energy unsuccessful!]

[Activating Defense Mode... in 5 seconds...]

Suddenly, Desmond's consciousness snapped back into focus, aided by notifications from the system. Blinking rapidly, he shook his head, gradually diminishing the influence of the voice that had invaded his thoughts. "No, I must suppress this strange energy at all costs!" he commanded with unwavering determination.

[Attempting to utilize the energy within the host's body for suppression...]

[Method unsuccessful! Searching for alternative solutions... 0%]

Upon witnessing this, Desmond redirected his attention ahead, realizing the encroaching threat of approaching assassins. Judging by the distance separating him from them, approximately 50 meters, they would likely reach him within the next five minutes, assuming nothing disrupted their trajectory.

"The time is running out," Desmond uttered through gritted teeth as he battled against the encroaching influence of the voice, his body reluctantly succumbing to its insidious commands. Desperately scanning his surroundings, his eyes darted about in search of a suitable hiding spot while he anxiously awaited the system's revelation of a method to suppress his spiraling emotions.

*Swoosh.*

With a fluid motion, Desmond swiftly retreated towards a nearby area, his agility and strength surpassing even the pinnacle of swordsmanship. Effortlessly traversing the chaotic battlefield, he sought out a location that would offer both concealment and a chance to await the system's resolution.

Near the towering walls of High Rock, obscured by a dense forest, a peculiar group of stones formed a small dome, surrounded by miniature peaks resembling a gladiatorial arena from the outside. The vicinity, save for the petite mountains, was cloaked in towering trees, their branches intertwining to obstruct the majority of sunlight.

Upon catching sight of this secluded area, Desmond found himself momentarily awestruck, his heart instinctively praising this captivating natural phenomenon. Shaking off his reverie, he glanced over his shoulder, confirming that the group of assassins persisted in their pursuit despite the mayhem of the ongoing battle.

A smirk etched across Desmond's face as he resolved to enter the enigmatic dome. He intentionally left behind a colossal footprint on the ground, knowing full well that, as 2nd Class Swordsmen, they possessed the ability to track him.

However, given his prodigious strength, the footprint was no longer a mere indentation in soft soil, easily eradicated by the wind or a new step; instead, it had transformed into a substantial cavity resembling a colossal footstep.

...

Meanwhile, the assassins who trailed behind Desmond abruptly halted their advance, their gazes fixated upon the enigmatic structure before them.

"Should we follow him?" one of the assassins queried his comrades, though his eyes primarily scrutinized the short-haired woman among them.

"I think not; we must reconsider our plan. That brat's power exceeds our initial estimation," another assassin replied, his voice tinged with hesitant uncertainty.

Initially, they had believed the mission to be a walk in the park, given that their target had shifted from hunting a Master Witch to her young son. Even when they heard rumors of the boy's peerless prowess among his peers, what threat could a child of merely ten years pose to a group of 2nd Class Swordsmen?

At best, he would mount a feeble counter-attack, his confidence crumbling once he recognized the insurmountable power gap, inevitably succumbing to despair and weeping like a helpless infant, realizing escape from death was futile.

Such were their thoughts, until their eyes bulged in sheer disbelief, witnessing firsthand the blistering speed at which the brat outpaced them—no, it could be said that he effortlessly surpassed them. Even the short-haired woman found herself overwhelmed by astonishment, her very resolve shaken to its core. The mightier her opponents, the more exhilarated she became.

"No, press on! We cannot afford to fail this mission!" she urged, her voice filled with conviction. Yet, deep down, her priority remained steadfastly aligned with the mission bestowed upon them by Krox. Despite this being a joint operation, the assassins merely grunted in acknowledgment, silently acknowledging her decision.

They were all too aware that their king possessed little mercy for those who failed him. The thought sent an icy shiver crawling up their spines, evoking a chilling sense of dread.