The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

"Thank you, young master," a woman's voice carried from afar, resonating through the sprawling Steel Legion camp. However, Desmond pressed on without pause, his hand raised in a casual wave over his shoulder.

In stark contrast, Laura pivoted on her heels and shot a scathing glare at the distant figures, her gaze piercing their souls for a fleeting moment. With a disdainful snort, she resumed her stride, following faithfully in her young master's footsteps.

Meanwhile, a ripple of astonishment coursed through the group of mercenaries, including Veronica. Confusion etched itself onto their faces, mingling with the curiosity that danced in their eyes. Among them, only Raina comprehended the situation and could only manage a wry smile.

After concluding his visit to the Steel Legion camp, Desmond ventured toward the final bastion of mercenaries. As was customary, his arrival garnered immediate attention from the camp's members, particularly their eyes shamelessly roaming over the figures of Laura and Annie, who stood steadfastly at his side.

"Greetings, gentlemen," Desmond addressed them with an amiable grin, his arms outstretched as if welcoming old friends. This was a different approach from his encounter with the predominantly female Steel Legion, considering the camp was brimming with men and armed with the knowledge he had gleaned.

However, amidst his warm salutations, Desmond's gaze caught a piercing glare from a young man with striking purple hair.

"Huh?" Despite his geniality, Desmond was met with a stony silence, no words exchanged or greetings offered. Their eyes mocked him, treating him as if he were a court jester.

Desmond's smile faltered, his disappointment replacing any anger that might have stirred within him. But just as he was about to address the silence, a silver-haired man with an expression as cold as ice approached him, his demeanor devoid of any trace of emotion.

"What do you want?" The silver-haired man wasted no time, his response blunt and direct. It was Ray, the leader of the Corps of Teleknights, and his impression of Desmond was far from favorable.

After all, Desmond had barely stepped foot outside his carriage during their time together as mere bodyguards. Ray believed that even a semblance of communication would have been appropriate. To compound matters, they had taken in the purple-haired boy and his mother, which only served to cement the image of Desmond as an arrogant scion of wealth.

In that moment, Ray's brow furrowed as he sensed a surge of killing intent aimed in his direction from where Desmond's maids stood. In response, Ray emanated his own aura, exerting pressure to match the threatening presence.

The other members of the corps were uncertain about the unfolding situation, but as their leader exerted pressure on Desmond's party, their hands instinctively tightened around the hilts of their swords, eyes narrowing with suspicion fixed on Desmond and his entourage.

Witnessing this, a glint of icy resolve flickered within Desmond's eyes. The smile on his face waned, replaced by a sense of steely determination as he extended his hand forward.

"Please, forgive my subordinates, brother," Desmond spoke, his voice tinged with authority, his hand gently tapping Ray's shoulder. The disparity in their heights, a mere ten centimeters, spared Desmond the need to raise his gaze. It also allowed him to make the contact.

From Ray's perspective, however, the tap on his shoulder caught him off guard. A brief twinge of pain coursed through his shoulder, prompting a momentary twitch of his expression as he shot a sidelong glance at Desmond. The pressure on Desmond's maids dissipated as quickly as it had emerged.

"Thank you, brother, and please accept my sincere apologies for my earlier rudeness," Desmond offered a genuine apology, aware that the strength of a third-class Swordsman like Ray rendered the pressure on his hand inconsequential.

Desmond desired to make it clear to Ray that he was not to be underestimated, fueled by his newfound confidence after acquiring new skills. Moreover, he was confident in Ray's character, knowing that he would keep their encounter a secret. The pride of leadership and possessing strength equal to that of Vesta compelled Desmond to maintain confidentiality.

Glancing back, Desmond locked eyes with his maids for a brief moment before shifting his gaze back to Ray. He mentally conveyed a message to them, cautioning against causing any unnecessary trouble. This time, his voice carried no warmth or coldness, adopting a neutral tone that prompted his maids to silently nod in understanding.

"I require your mercenaries' assistance in our endeavor to clear the path," Desmond stated, already aware of the conflict between Vesta and the mercenaries' leader. The information he had acquired along the way shed light on the peculiar behavior of the Steel Legion mercenaries. Thus, his visit to the Corps of Teleknights mercenaries was well-prepared.

The atmosphere fell into a profound silence. Each member deep in thought, their eyes eventually turned to Ray, awaiting their leader's decision.

Ray, too, remained silent, his gaze fixed on Desmond for an extended moment.

"Why do you even need to ask? My mission is to ensure your safe passage to Helmfirth city. Have we arrived there yet?" Ray replied, his expression devoid of emotion, as if the thought of abandoning the mission had never crossed his mind.

"What?" On the other hand, Vaurz was taken aback, his voice betraying his astonishment.

Although Ray had not expressed his thoughts during the earlier meeting, Vaurz sensed his friend's reluctance from the expression he wore upon leaving the tent.

"Are you absolutely sure, Ray?" Vaurz pressed, positioning himself beside Ray. Despite his physique not being overly muscular, his height towered slightly above Ray, lending him the air of a formidable bodyguard.

"I understand. Thank you again, brother," Desmond interjected with a smile reclaiming his face, promptly responding before Vaurz could delve deeper into the matter. He then turned on his heel, making his way toward Vesta's camp.

"Yes," Ray replied, allowing himself to be pulled away by Vaurz toward the rest of the members. Brief discussions ensued, their eyes glancing helplessly at their indifferent leader before fatigue settled into their expressions.

Merely observing the treacherous path strewn with rocky boulders that led to Helmfirth city was enough to sap their energy. The most practical and secure option for their return would be retracing their steps and heading back the way they came.

In contrast to the disgruntled chatter among the Corps of Teleknights mercenaries concerning their leader's decision, Gregory watched the scene unfold, his teeth clenched in resentment as his gaze fixated on the distant figure.

"That b*tch! So, she was the one who carried that bastard back into his carriage," Gregory seethed with disdain.

When Annie had carried Desmond on her back, Gregory hesitated to attack the carriage due to his apprehension regarding Annie's true identity. Little did he know, she was just a mere maid—albeit an extraordinary one in his eyes!

In his estimation, judging by their physique, Desmond's strength was inferior to his own. But what if Desmond possessed the prowess of a swordsman while also being capable of spellcasting? The thought sent shivers down Gregory's spine.

Gregory harbored unwavering confidence in his own strength and agility, believing that they were on par with that of a first-class swordsman, capable of evading most magical attacks. He couldn't fathom the idea of Desmond, at his young age, already attaining the status of a first-class wizard or possessing strength comparable to his own.

Gregory's only regret stemmed from his assumption that Annie held some form of expertise or wielded significant authority, causing him to miss the opportune moment to strike them down. However, the truth was that Gregory had numerous chances to confront Desmond, but fear of the potential consequences had led him to waste those opportunities.

Desmond, as the son of a Master Witch, held a position of prominence and power. In contrast, Gregory was merely the son of a deceased wealthy merchant, with his father's whereabouts unknown. His only remaining duty was to protect his mother and lay claim to the remaining wealth his father had left behind.

In the end, all Gregory could do was nurture his resentment, despite the echoes of Desmond's insults directed at him and his mother that continued to reverberate in his mind. Thus, he could only watch as Desmond engaged in conversation with Ray and walked away accompanied by his maids, even though the physical distance between them was a mere few steps.