The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

In a sudden shift of attention, Desmond's instincts blared a warning, prompting his body to instinctively move to the side. The air was sliced with a resounding *swoosh*, and the subsequent ringing buzz echoed repeatedly in his ears. As Desmond took in the scene, his expression darkened, his features etched with concern. A deep sword wound marred his arm, exposing raw flesh and causing a heavy gash.

However, what struck him most was the startling sight of the assassins. Their bodies bulged unnaturally beneath their black garments, unable to conceal the ripped fabric that exposed pulsating muscles and bulging veins. A solemn expression settled upon Desmond's face as he observed their condition, realizing that they were utilizing the Power boost skill to augment their abilities.

"Don't get too cocky after you've killed one of our friends," one of the assassins interjected, not bothering to await Desmond's response. With a sudden blur of movement, he vanished into thin air only to reappear behind Desmond, suspended in mid-air. His sword sliced horizontally toward Desmond's neck, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he anticipated victory.

Meanwhile, the other assassins wasted no time and closed in on Desmond's defenseless body, their blades now aimed at his vulnerable heart. Desmond's reactions were belated, caught off guard by their heightened stats, even though he had anticipated their use of the power boost skill.

Yet, even in this dire situation, Desmond's composure remained unshaken. He calmly observed the unfolding scene as time seemed to slow down once again, capturing the intricate paths of the oncoming blades inching closer to his heart. The assassins' expressions gradually shifted from solemnity to sheer delight.

Within this moment, Desmond's keen eyes detected the short-haired woman, who had abstained from joining the attack. She stood at a distance, watching with a pitying gaze. "From the beginning, it was only you who refrained from attacking me," Desmond muttered inwardly.

His hands swiftly darted toward one of the swords, gripping it until the edge broke, all while he bent his body and thrust his other hand into the chest of another assailant.

Upon witnessing Desmond dispatch one of their own, the short-haired woman's expression underwent a slow transformation. Her grip on her weapon tightened, and her feet shifted slightly as if preparing to move.

*Crack!* The return to normal speed was accompanied by the sound of a shattering sword, sending shards flying in all directions. The nimble assassins deftly evaded the fragments, but one among them convulsed, spewing a mouthful of blood, his lifeless eyes rolling back as his body toppled backward.

*Clank!* The clash of the remaining assassins' swords reverberated, while the blade of the assailant positioned behind Desmond sliced through empty air, missing its intended target.

Their faces registered shock, their eyes darting around to assess the situation. In that moment, they found Desmond, his body hunched and his head lowered.

"Disperse!" the short-haired woman suddenly shouted, causing the three assassins with their backs to her to jolt in confusion. Two managed to hastily retreat a step, sensing imminent danger.

"Argh!" However, the last assassin, standing directly in front of Desmond, felt an immense force impaling his abdomen. A cry of agony escaped his lips as his body involuntarily hurtled toward Desmond.

As Desmond attempted to dodge the impending attack, his body collided with the stone chair, hindering his movements. Another figure abruptly crashed into him, blocking his line of sight. Their faces met in that moment of contact, Desmond's gaze cold and unwavering, while the assassin's expression drained of color, a pallor settling upon their features.

"Ugh," Desmond grimaced, spitting out a mouthful of blood as he felt multiple swords pierce his abdomen simultaneously. The searing pain coursed through him, but he mustered the strength to push the assassin who had collided with him. With the slight movement, a long steel rod emerged from the assailant's body, having impaled them and continued through to Desmond's own abdomen.

Lowering his head, Desmond discovered that the short-haired woman's weapon, resembling a broomstick, had numerous sword edges embedded into its tip. The sight drew his attention, and without hesitation, he shouted within his mind, "Body enhancement... Body enhancement..." A surge of newfound power engulfed his cells, flooding his arms and legs with an empowering sensation.

Yet, accompanying this surge of power came a sudden and excruciating agony. It felt as if his flesh were being seared and peeled repeatedly, his bones emitting a series of cracking sounds while his blood seemed to boil within his veins. Nonetheless, Desmond channeled his newfound strength, pushing the assassin aside and wrenching the weapon from his own abdomen.

However, his arms and legs bore visible cracks, as if unable to contain the immense power coursing through them.

*Thumb!* Simultaneously, his passive skill activated, initiating a healing effect. The blood surrounding the wound gradually extended, weaving together in a root-like pattern that enveloped the hole in his abdomen. It formed a protective cocoon, generating new skin and closing the wound.

Desmond's movements were swift, catching the assassins off guard, who had only just regained their senses. In an instant, he vanished into thin air, reappearing with a firm grip on one of the assassin's heads. His fingers penetrated the assassin's eyes while his right foot locked down one of their legs, preventing any escape.

As Desmond's arm neared the breaking point, a shadow cast by the broomstick loomed above him, descending swiftly, aimed at his body and that of the trapped assassin.

*Boom!* Desmond managed to evade the attack, but the consequence was a splitting blow that tore the assassin's head apart, exposing the gruesome sight of brain matter as it toppled forward. However, he was not entirely unscathed; several of his fingers were severed or lacerated in the process.

With a cold gaze fixed upon her, Desmond remained not far from the lifeless assassin, his attention also drawn to the other assassins who now regarded the short-haired woman with rage in their eyes.

"What are you doing?!" the other assassins thundered in anger, directing their swords towards her, furious that she had assaulted their comrade.

In response, the short-haired woman, previously fearful like a cornered cat, adopted an indifferent expression and a contemptuous glare at the assassins. She merely snorted at them before swiftly darting towards Desmond.

Unexpectedly, the short-haired woman's expression shifted again. She altered her stance, shifting her weapon from a forward position to holding it at a 45-degree angle near her chest.

*Clank!* Two swords materialized seemingly out of thin air, slashing towards her heart, revealing the presence of other black-clad assassins assaulting her. "You bitch! How dare you ignore us and kill our friend, the imperial assassins!" the assailants roared in unison.

Meanwhile, Desmond abstained from joining the chaotic fray, his eyes diligently scanning for weaknesses and waiting for an opportune moment to strike. "It's quite amusing," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. "When did assassins start caring about their teammates?"