The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

After several minutes had elapsed, a profound silence descended upon the battlefield, shrouding it in an eerie stillness. The once thunderous clash of battle cries and the relentless clash of steel against steel had vanished without a trace. It was as if an invisible hand had muffled the soldiers' voices, rendering them silent as the grave.

Desmond, having recently regained his senses, furrowed his brows as he surveyed the room. His gaze fell upon the slumbering figure of Laura, her peaceful repose undisturbed by the strange phenomena that had gripped their surroundings. Annie, too, had keenly observed the inexplicable quietude, her eyes filled with a somber understanding.

"Stay here," Desmond commanded Annie, his voice resolute yet tinged with concern. "If anyone inquires, inform them that I have ventured out for a stroll." Annie met his solemn gaze and nodded in silent agreement.

As Desmond grasped the cold metal handle and pulled open the door, he was immediately confronted by a surreal sight. A shadowy figure plunged his sword deep into the maw of a draconic creature, its green blood spilling forth like a macabre fountain. The viscous liquid rose, transforming the ground into a verdant deluge.

The creature's attempts to open its mouth were thwarted by a chain that constricted its movements, tightly ensnaring its neck. The muted clinking of the chain mingled with the hushed sounds that failed to escape its now-imprisoned maw.

The dragon-like creature appeared pitiful, its wings riddled with holes and bearing the scars of countless blades, resembling tattered garments. It had also lost several scales, exposing the vulnerability of its wounded body.

On the battlefield, the soldiers gazed upon this awe-inspiring spectacle, their eyes wide with disbelief and their mouths agape. Their gazes grew moist as they remained transfixed, captivated by the harrowing scene that unfolded before them. Some had even relinquished their weapons in sheer astonishment.

The once orderly battlefield had now become a chaotic scene, with cracks spiderwebbing across the ground and broken bricks littering the main path leading to the city. Destruction had left its indelible mark upon this once pristine landscape.

Desmond blinked in astonishment, his vision momentarily obstructed by the blinding sunlight. Even so, he could discern the figure responsible for the sword's piercing strike—Vesta. Recalling that Vesta had been trapped amidst the boulders in the valley, Desmond's surprise grew. His gaze shifted towards the now-collapsed rock formation, revealing a glimpse of the majestic city beyond.

Furthermore, with Desmond's newly attained status as a first-class Swordsman, it was not arduous for him to spot a few assassins lying prostrate on the ground, subdued by the watchful eyes of Ray and Veronica. These half-lifeless figures writhed sporadically, akin to earthworms wriggling in the dirt.

Desmond's wariness intensified as he narrowed his eyes, fixating on the incapacitated assassins. The assassin who had been relentlessly pursuing him was now deceased, leaving him perplexed as to how these individuals could possess such knowledge—unless they had sent a magical communication before meeting their demise. After all, the distance between them had not been insurmountable.

Had it not been for the vigilant presence of Ray and Veronica, Desmond might have fallen prey to an untimely accident at the hands of these remaining assailants. Contemplating the eradication of their existence through the cunning illusion of a rockslide, he hesitated, aware that the Steel Legion's witches could detect the residual traces of his magical energy.

However, upon a brief recollection, Desmond realized the folly of his concerns. The assassins that lay before him were devoid of any magical aptitude or affiliation with the arcane arts. Perhaps it was his recent recovery that had clouded his judgment, leading him to overanalyze the situation.

Desmond released a sigh of relief, his tense muscles relaxing as he comprehended the situation. His magenta eyes remained fixed on Vesta, witnessing his final, decisive strike to vanquish the dragon-like creature.

*Crack!*

The unmistakable sound of a rigid surface breaking reverberated through the air. With the pinnacle of a 3rd class Swordsman's power at his disposal, Vesta effortlessly impaled the creature's heart, cleaving it apart with the keen edge of his sword.

The dragon-like creature, in its last gasp of defiance, shattered the restraining chain that had held it captive for so long. Its tattered wings flapped desperately, a futile attempt to reach the city's safety.

A collective stillness fell over the scene, gripping Vesta, the leaders of the mercenary band, and even the soldiers on the ground. Breathless, they observed as their Guardian's sword pierced the dragon-like creature's chest, each drop of blood staining the earth below.

Gradually, the chain and the hovering magic circle began to fade, leaving behind a fading trail of faint light before dissipating into the ether.

Meanwhile, the witches who stood amidst the soldiers fell to their knees, their eyes fixed on the lifeless body of the dragon-like creature as it descended, accompanied by the cascading green flow of its blood.

"Sister," the women trembled, their fear palpable as they clutched the hem of their elder sister's garments, their eyes never leaving the creature's form.

"Fear not, it is no longer a threat," reassured Raina, their elder sister, offering a gentle smile as she tenderly stroked their heads.

*Boom!*

The massive body of the dragon-like creature crashed onto the ground near the forest, accompanied by the crumbling of bricks. Confusion flickered across the onlookers' faces, save for Desmond, whose lips curled into a satisfied grin as he surveyed the impact site.

"What a fortuitous turn of events," Desmond murmured softly, his words barely audible. The fallen creature's body had coincidentally landed where he had dispatched the assassins, reducing their remains to a mere pulp of flesh.

As the dragon-like creature breathed its final breath, its colossal form underwent a peculiar transformation. Shriveling in size, it revealed a creature of a strange nature. Its body possessed a bluish hue, its bald head resembling that of a human, and its limbs resembling those of a man.

"Shapeshifter," Desmond discerned from a distance, his gaze unwavering. Vesta, Ray, Veronica, and all those who had achieved the esteemed rank of a 1st class Swordsman shared the same revelation.

Some among them were taken aback, while Vesta's eyes narrowed with a chilling glare. Suddenly, a soldier who had been lying on the ground erupted in joyous cries. The once-quiet atmosphere erupted with jubilant fervor as soldiers began dancing and celebrating, grateful for their survival.

"That's our guardian!" one soldier boisterously exclaimed, his exultation causing a cloud of dust to billow into his mouth, eliciting a bout of coughing.

"We've emerged victorious! Hahaha!" The soldiers embraced one another briefly before remembering their fallen comrades and pushing their friends' bodies away.

"This damn copycat took my friend's life!" A soldier's anguished cry reverberated through the air, a single tear trailing down his cheek.

"Why are you celebrating? Bring back the bodies of our fallen comrades and report to me," the captain's stern voice echoed, casting a somber pall over the jubilant soldiers.

Suddenly, the weight of their losses struck them. Thirty-two brothers had embarked on this journey with Vesta's army, hoping for a brighter future. They had naively believed their first mission would be a relatively simple affair, only to be confronted with the harsh reality that now only ten remained.

On the opposite side, Desmond remained stationed in front of his door, his gaze fixed on the abrupt shift from vibrant liveliness to a suffocating silence. He shook his head, recognizing the importance of reading and managing the emotional climate as a leader.

His attention then shifted to Gregory, the boy with vibrant purple hair, who had been staring at him with a chilling intensity for an extended period.

"What are you staring at, you little beggar? Do you think life will be comfortable for you after your father's demise?" Desmond taunted, his words laced with mockery. Gregory clenched his fist tightly, as if longing to strike Desmond across the face.

"Son," his mother interjected suddenly, placing a gentle hand on Gregory's shoulder, quelling the burning rage and resentment in his eyes. After soothing her son, she cast a cold, resentful glare at Desmond, brimming with disdain. "Ungrateful!"

In her eyes, Desmond was a privileged child who exploited his family's wealth to torment them. If not for the fortune he was born into, perhaps he would understand their struggles. The thought simmered within her.

Desmond felt a twinge of surprise. He blinked, narrowing his eyes as he observed the duo before him. There was a striking resemblance in their expressions and the way their eyes bore into him. Without uttering a word, Desmond turned on his heel and let out a derisive laugh before forcefully closing the door with a resounding thud.

Engaging in an argument with them would be futile, he concluded. Their eyes held an unwavering reluctance to accept a life as commoners. Perhaps, once they arrived in the city, they would grovel at the feet of prominent families or become lackeys, all in pursuit of a comfortable existence.

"Is everything settled, young master?" a fresh, cheery voice called out, accompanied by a subtle, sweet fragrance that wafted past Desmond's nostrils. As he turned his attention, he noticed Laura standing there, holding a basket filled with bread.

"Yes," he replied with a faint smile, his steps leading him towards the bookshelf.