The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

On the opposite side of the battlefield, where chaos ensued due to the presence of a dragon-like creature wreaking havoc, a young boy with vibrant purple hair stood resolutely on the rear of Vesta's carriage. Clasped within his sturdy grasp were the delicate arms of a woman, his mother. A frail, soft voice reached his ears, filled with concern for his well-being.

"Son," his mother whispered, her voice laced with worry, drawing his attention.

Gregory, the purple-haired boy, diverted his gaze from the raging battle between humans and the fearsome dragon-like creature. His eyes, unknowingly shimmering like distant stars, betrayed the weight he carried, while his breath grew ragged. Turning his gaze towards his mother, he softened, holding her hands tenderly. "Don't worry, mother.

I shall protect you and remain by your side," Gregory assured her, offering a faint smile that flickered with determination.

His mother reciprocated his smile, but her eyes held an undercurrent of anxiety as she retreated to the deepest recesses of the storage space, nestling her weary body on a small cushion. Still, her gaze lingered on her son, fearing that he might vanish as her husband had done.

Gregory, sensing her worried glances, reassured her with a thumbs-up gesture before redirecting his attention towards the ongoing battle. However, his keen ears suddenly caught the rustling of foliage nearby. His body tensed, and his gaze darted around, swiftly locating the source of the commotion.

As his hand stealthily reached for the sword sheathed behind his back, his mother's peaceful slumber offered him solace, and he focused his gaze on the rustling bushes.

The day remained young, the distant bushes swaying in sync with the intermittent sound of approaching footsteps. Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, Gregory stood alone, vigilant in safeguarding his mother against any unknown danger, while soldiers and mercenaries clashed in fierce combat.

After a few fleeting moments, the bushes ceased their movement, revealing a shadowy figure bearing the weight of a long-haired young man on its back. Wrapped in a cloak that enveloped their entire body, crafted from supple animal leather, the figure's hood revealed a pair of piercing orange eyes fixed upon Gregory.

Sensing the stranger's presence, Gregory's eyes narrowed warily, his grip on the sword hilt trembling. He was no trained swordsman; merely an innocent young lad of means, possessed of physical strength but lacking in battle-honed technique or experience.

Driven by an unwavering determination to protect his remaining family—his mother—Gregory's resolve surged forth. His sword, positioned at a height equal to his midriff, stood as a testament to his newfound determination, his muscles taut with tension. Despite his trepidation, he dared to lock his gaze with the mysterious individual, unwavering in his scrutiny.

The mysterious figure merely glanced at him momentarily, before resuming their stride, advancing towards another carriage. Ignoring Gregory's intense scrutiny, the figure extended a pale, delicate hand and rapped gently on the carriage door.

Witnessing this, a sigh of relief escaped Gregory's lips, though curiosity soon gripped him. The intentions of this enigmatic person remained shrouded in uncertainty. After all, it seemed peculiar for an ordinary commoner to approach the carriages in such dire circumstances. If this mysterious figure possessed hidden expertise, why did they not join the battle alongside the others?

Prior to this, Gregory had been vigilant, closely observing the mysterious figure's every move. However, his focus shifted abruptly when he caught sight of the long-haired boy perched on the person's back. Recognition sparked within Gregory; it was the same boy who had callously rejected him and his mother from his carriage. Now, the boy lay bloody and motionless, his eyes shut tight.

A mixture of surprise and resentment welled up within Gregory as he cast his eyes upon the pitiable state of his former acquaintance. A secret sneer curled his lips, mingling with his jubilation. His grip on the sword remained firm, its pointed tip directed towards them.

"Ha! That's what you deserve! Hahaha!" Gregory jeered, his laughter laced with scorn. He cared little about the true identity of the mysterious figure. In his eyes, anyone who came to the aid of the long-haired boy was an enemy.

...

Meanwhile, within Desmond's carriage, Laura reclined upon the bed, her eyes closed, focusing on expediting her recovery process. Despite her young master's attempts to heal her most vital wounds, lingering pain persisted. A gaping hole remained in her abdomen, a sight that would make any onlooker wince in agony.

As her injuries gradually mended, Laura's mind grew increasingly restless, anxiety taking hold. She couldn't shake off the feeling of impending loss, as if something precious was about to slip through her fingers. Lost in her thoughts, she recollected that her young master's whereabouts remained unknown.

Standing up with a sense of urgency, Laura prepared herself to search for her young master. However, just as she was about to approach the door, a distinct knocking sound reached her ears, triggering an instinctive wariness.

Laura refrained from immediately opening the door or inquiring about the visitor's identity. Given her recent recovery, she possessed only a limited reserve of energy. Whispers of an incantation escaped her lips as she covertly cast a protective barrier spell, shielding her most vulnerable areas.

Once Laura felt a sense of security, she finally opened her lips to speak. "Who is it?" she called out, her voice devoid of formality yet tinged with awareness of the ongoing battle. She could still discern the cacophony of clashing sounds emanating from outside.

"It's me. Hurry up," came the voice on the other side of the door—a cold voice that struck a familiar chord within Laura. Momentarily dumbfounded, she swiftly recalled her young master's instructions.

Without a moment's hesitation, Laura pulled the door open, revealing a scent she was all too familiar with, accompanied by a cloak adorned with a peculiar insignia on the chest. A sense of relief washed over her, smoothing the lines on her previously tense countenance.

She yearned to inquire about the stranger's well-being, but before she could utter a word, the person swiftly rushed past her, paying her no heed.

Laura pouted, ready to voice her complaint, but when her gaze fell upon the person's back, a knot in her heart unraveled, tears welling in her eyes. "Young master," she whispered, her voice quivering with emotion. Without delay, Laura closed the door, dismissing the distant barking of dogs outside. She hurriedly carried Desmond to his bed, preparing a bowl of freshwater in anticipation.

"What are you doing? Quickly, use your spell to heal the young master!" Annie's voice carried a sense of urgency as she observed Laura's actions. The confusion etched across her face, Annie untied her garments, revealing herself to be a young lady with flowing blonde hair, dressed in maid attire.

Annie was none other than Desmond's trusted maid, and witnessing Laura's hesitation, she snapped at her, prompting the latter to halt her steps. Laura's reddened eyes met Annie's glare, her flushed face and swollen eyelids indicating recent tears.

"I don't have much energy at the moment," Laura responded, her voice tinged with exhaustion. Without waiting for a further reply, she immediately grasped the bowl of fresh water and began gently wiping away the blood from her young master's body.