The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

The sky roared with a colossal vortex, unleashing dark thunder that crackled and cascaded toward the oncoming reinforcements. Slowly, the swirling tempest transformed, taking the shape of a colossal dragon's head, its snarling visage dominating the heavens.

As the people on the ground beheld this awe-inspiring phenomenon, a wave of astonishment rippled through their hearts, particularly gripping Greyson's wife, Violet. Having been hastily evacuated from the castle, she now found herself amidst her loyal subordinates along the way.

"Lady Violet!" The soldiers immediately snapped to attention, their bodies half-kneeling on the ground. Their eyes shimmered with admiration as they beheld the private soldiers who stood steadfastly behind their formidable lady. Only those possessing immense strength or wielding the power of a 2nd class swordsman could stand amongst such elite warriors.

Meanwhile, Violet's eyes sparkled with a fleeting sense of joy as she witnessed her subordinates gathered before her. "Very good!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with determination. "Let us proceed without delay." She swiftly pivoted on her heels and strode purposefully toward Desmond's location.

Even as bolts of black thunder continued to descend upon the earth, there was not a trace of fear or hesitation in Violet's eyes. Her body moved with unwavering resolve, seemingly impervious to the raging onslaught. Miraculously, not a single thunderbolt found its mark upon their location.

Within the city, the reputation of Lady Violet had spread like wildfire. She stood on equal footing with her husband, her beauty and power rivaling that of the master witches residing in the capital.

...

Meanwhile, Desmond's loyal subordinates stood as a protective barrier outside the opulent tavern entrance, their gazes watchful of their surroundings. The atmosphere around them crackled with chaos, the relentless vortex hammering down upon buildings and roads indiscriminately. The air filled with the cries of terrified civilians taking shelter within the structures.

At the forefront, Felix stood with narrowed eyes, his attention focused on the left road where the city soldiers and innocent bystanders lay lifeless. "The young master can be unforgiving," he muttered, shaking his head. Yet, deep within, he couldn't help but be astonished by Desmond's unflinching demeanor toward the fallen.

As a swordsman himself, he discerned numerous ethereal strands of energy rising from their bodies, piercing through the tavern walls. It was evident that these strange phenomena were caused by his young master's powers.

Glancing at his young master's maids, Felix noted their expressionless countenances and unwavering composure in the face of the surrounding chaos. "Forget it," Felix whispered under his breath. However, his pupils suddenly contracted as his gaze shifted to the opposite side of the road, which remained unmarred by battle or corpses.

"Criminals!" a voice boomed from where Felix was looking, accompanied by thunderous footsteps. As the captain caught sight of Desmond's subordinates and their attire, his eyes turned frigid with contempt.

Yet, as his gaze fell upon the lifeless bodies strewn beside them, fury surged through him, his very being radiating a palpable aura of vengeance. "You are all dead!" he bellowed, directing his soldiers to capture the intruders.

Though consumed by a torrent of anger, the captain's mind remained clear as he issued his orders. Felix and the maids exchanged darkened glances. Faced with more than ten fresh adversaries, prepared and poised for battle, and with their own energy still recovering from the previous engagement, the odds were stacked against them.

"Allow me to handle this," Felix stepped forward, shielding the maids from view. His face remained calm, his eyes blazing with unwavering resolve.

*Whoosh!*

The soldiers who bore down upon Desmond's subordinates were no ordinary fighters; they were first-class swordsmen, their speed defying the norms of this world. At the captain's command, they surged forward, their movements transforming the road into a chaotic battleground. Each footfall left deep imprints, shattering pebbles and gouging the sides of buildings.

Some of the soldiers closed in on Felix, while others aimed to bypass him and strike at the vulnerable maids behind. But Felix would not allow it. "You shall not pass!" he declared. To his discerning eyes, their speed seemed sluggish. With a swift motion, he extended his arm, causing the advancing soldiers to stagger backward involuntarily.

"Argh!" The impact of Felix's forceful repulsion was not without consequences. Some soldiers had their armor shattered, exposing vulnerable flesh beneath. The nearby buildings suffered extensive damage, and unfortunate bystanders bore broken ribs as collateral.

The sheer magnitude of Felix's attack rattled the soldiers mentally. Those who had intended to strike at him took a step back, warily assessing their formidable opponent. Even the captain, observing from a distance, could hardly believe his eyes. The power, the agility, and the unflappable composure etched on Felix's face—it mirrored that of their lord, a force to be reckoned with.

"Regroup!" The captain's voice reverberated with panic as his gaze fell upon the injured soldier who had been forcefully pushed back.

Then, his eyes alighted upon an elderly man, standing with his hands spread wide, revealing two sets of deadly daggers adorned on his fingers. His face concealed beneath a black cloth, only his snowy hair and creased visage visible. Yet, his eyes gleamed like a predatory beast, and his back bore witness to the stormy clash of the vortex and the crackling black thunder.

An oppressive pressure radiated from the old man's being, bearing down upon the soldiers and burdening their bodies and senses. As the soldiers regrouped, their initial excitement waned, their feet sinking into the shattered road. Their faces turned pallid, some struggling to withstand the strain while bleeding from various wounds.

The captain, clenching his teeth tightly, transmitted an audible grinding sound to his men. "Use your ultimate skill!" he roared, his voice tinged with desperation.

In unison, the soldiers bellowed, "HA! Swordsman skill: PowerBoost!" Their bodies began to swell, their faces flushing crimson. Eyes blazed with a blood-red intensity, fixed upon Desmond's subordinates.

The suffocating pressure they had faced earlier slightly diminished, granting them a modicum of freedom in their movements. While the captain still grappled with the lingering weight, a curse escaped his inner thoughts. His gaze shifted toward the civilians, peering fearfully through windows, their eyes carrying a mix of worry and hope.

He couldn't afford to disappoint them, but he also couldn't ignore the atrocities committed by these criminals.

Yet, the gruesome aftermath of the previous attack brought forth anguished cries from the remaining civilians, witnessing their loved ones fall victim to brutal wounds and exposed ribs. "Traitors like these deserve no mercy!" the captain thundered, his voice reverberating through the air, igniting a storm of tears stained with blood.

Their methods were unspeakably cruel. Even the lowliest thief or member of the darkest criminal organization held a shred of empathy for the innocent.

Understanding the gravity of the situation, the soldiers recognized that their opponent was not one to be overcome through sheer numbers alone. They faced a formidable adversary, and the captain's words resonated deeply within their hearts.

"Soldiers! Attack!" the captain commanded, his sword held high as he pointed toward Desmond's subordinates. His eyes gleamed with unwavering determination, ready to lay down his life to safeguard the innocent.

*Whoosh!*

In that instant, the captain surged forward, leading the charge. Swift as a thunderbolt, he arrived in front of the old man. The ground beneath him cracked and crumbled, forming a small cavity, while a gust of wind sent a blast that momentarily pushed his subordinates back a few inches.

Remarkably, both the soldiers and civilians emerged unscathed, their skin untouched by even a scratch. The power of the Boots' skill coursed through the captain's body and veins, doubling his combat prowess. His frame swelled, filling his armor to the brim. With a firm grip on his sword, his eyes remained fixed on the old man's every move.

"DIE!" he roared, his voice filled with unbridled determination.