The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

When the old man heard Desmond's words, a mixture of reverence and agreement flashed across his weathered face. He bowed respectfully, his actions conveying deep respect, before he nodded in affirmation. With a sweeping gesture, he beckoned the guards to enter the room, their imposing figures filling the space.

Some of the guards immediately set about rousing the fainted maids strewn on the floor, while others positioned themselves strategically around the table, forming a protective circle.

Desmond paid little attention to the commotion in the attic caused by the guards. His focus shifted to the map before him as he nonchalantly picked up a pen and ink, gracefully circling various locations on the map with purpose. The rest of the onlookers observed him, their curiosity piqued by his actions.

Meanwhile, the old man's eyes remained fixed on the map, attempting to discern the intentions of his young master from the meticulous circles.

Having completed his markings on the map, Desmond reclined in his chair, his gaze now trained on the assembled guards. If his energy hadn't been so depleted, he would have preferred to employ his powers instead of resorting to manual cartography. "System, scan these individuals," Desmond commanded with unwavering determination, his eyes remaining fixed on the group before him.

Tension filled the air as Desmond's piercing gaze held the guards captive, and the recently awakened maids struggled to comprehend the unusual scene unfolding before them. The guards swallowed nervously, their apprehension evident, while a few couldn't help but betray their excitement at being in the presence of Desmond.

Breaking the silence, Desmond drew a deep breath before addressing the room. "Excellent. With this newfound power, we shall eradicate these vermin," he declared, his voice resonating with authority. He gestured towards the meticulously marked locations on the map, the majority concentrated in the bustling Market District, with a few scattered within the castle walls.

"Pardon me, young master," the old man interjected, his confusion mirroring that of the guards. "What do you mean by 'vermin,' and what do these marked locations signify?" he inquired, seeking clarification.

Desmond's gaze shifted momentarily towards the guards before returning to meet the old man's questioning eyes. "Merely follow my instructions. Procure black garments from the local shops, along with masks for..." His voice trailed off as he glanced once more at the guards, their numbers roughly reaching a staggering hundred, all of whom possessed the skills of seasoned second-class swordsmen.

This unexpected revelation left Desmond momentarily stunned, his breath catching in his throat.

Every single one of them, a second-class swordsman. The implications of the old man's entourage hit Desmond like a sudden gust of freezing wind. How could they, all highly skilled swordsmen, simply serve as guards under the old man? And when Desmond finally scanned the old man himself, his astonishment grew even further.

"You, old man," Desmond began, his voice laced with disbelief. "What is your name? How is it that you, a fourth-class Swordsman, find yourself in the service of my parents?" His words came out in a hushed tone, his narrowed eyes fixated on the enigmatic figure standing before him.

The realization dawned on Desmond that, had it not been for his system's ability to analyze people's statistics, he would have remained oblivious to the old man's true power.

The old man, unfazed by Desmond's discovery, met his gaze steadily. From the very beginning, he had anticipated this moment, his curiosity aroused when Desmond began circling the map. He held suspicions, but revealing the truth rested solely on conjecture.

"As I mentioned earlier, your parents rescued my daughter from the clutches of the Aristocratic Technocracy Organization. And as for my own power, let's just say it was the benevolence of the gods that guided me to this level," the old man explained with a chuckle, undeterred by Desmond's revelation.

The guards, on the other hand, were already aware of the old man's strength. However, when Desmond effortlessly unveiled his true power, they were taken aback, rendered momentarily speechless and unable to react.

Desmond maintained his narrowed gaze at the old man, searching for any trace of malice deep within his eyes. He pondered whether the old man's response was genuine or merely a skillful act.

"Ah, could it be that the 'ants' my young master referred to are none other than the members of the Aristocratic Technocracy Organization?" The old man's tone, unintentionally cold, betrayed a subtle tremor in his hands. Suddenly, he grasped the true intentions behind Desmond's actions, triggered by the mention of his daughter.

However, he couldn't bring himself to believe it and sought clarification.

The guards mirrored the same expressions, awaiting their young master's response while clenching their fists tightly.

Meanwhile, Desmond appeared unperturbed by their stares as he leisurely approached the window, casting his gaze upon the sky where the sun now hung high above the buildings. "Indeed, that's correct," he replied simply, addressing the others with composed words.

Yet, upon hearing his confirmation, a rush of resentment, anger, and excitement surged through the guards, spilling forth from their mouths in a collective shout, their attempts to steady their emotions evident. The old man's grip on the table had grown so tight that the surface splintered into a network of spider-web-like cracks.

After a brief pause, Desmond turned around, tossing a bag of coins onto the table. "We will move under the cover of night, maintaining silence in our steps and disguising ourselves," he instructed.

Then, with a solemn tone, he continued, "If any of you are captured by the guards..." He paused, removing his necklace slowly, his expression devoid of emotion as he glanced at them, before uttering the chilling words, "Eliminate them."

There was no trace of hesitation or nervousness in his voice, only a resolute determination. As he spoke, a shadow of a dragon seemed to break free from his being, exerting pressure on the guards and the old man, leaving them gasping for breath, their bodies drenched in sweat. Even the maids felt the weight of his presence. A thick, tangible aura of killing intent emanated from his eyes.

In that moment, he resembled a wild dragon unshackled from the constraints of the world. Laura, the sole witch among them, caught a glimpse of her young master and witnessed an energy vortex swirling around his form.

Everyone in the room paled upon beholding the intensity in their young master's slitted eyes. The old man, a fourth-class swordsman, was still gripped by fear in the face of this extraordinary phenomenon.

As their bodies gradually sank to the ground, they strained to maintain eye contact with their young master. However, all they could discern was the unmistakable silhouette of a dragon's head, its mouth agape wide.

Upon witnessing the apparition, a torrent of mixed emotions and unsettling memories flooded the minds of those present. Visions flashed before their eyes, ranging from the gruesome sight of lifeless bodies intertwined in a merciless act of murder to the haunting image of a grotesque mountain formed by a pile of human corpses, with an individual seated upon a throne of kings atop the macabre heap.

"Go now," Desmond's voice resounded, filling the room with an eerie echo. His tone carried a roughness, tinged with a dark intensity that seemed to shroud the very air. Even those in the farthest corners of the room could hear his command, a haunting reminder of the presence that enveloped them all.