The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

In the secluded depths of the Grand Canyon, where Desmond's mansion stood on the ethereal frozen ground, a middle-aged man ascended the stairs with a blend of anticipation and apprehension etched across his face. His stride quickened, a sense of urgency pushing him forward, while his watchful gaze swept over the mansion's surroundings.

With each step he took on the transparent ice stairs, he beheld a breathtaking view of the lake beneath, its calm waters shrouded in mystery, mirroring his own reflection with an uncanny shadow. The sight never failed to astound him, for the mansion's construction relied solely on the foundation of frozen water.

The seemingly fragile pillars, serving as the main supports, belied their strength, and with each passing month, instead of succumbing to the thaw, the chilling aura in the area grew more intense.

"Greetings, young master. I have come in response to your summons," the middle-aged man spoke with a courteous tone as he arrived at the mansion's entrance, bowing respectfully and lowering his head.

The man in question was Ken, and as soon as Laura had summoned him to meet his young master, a glimmer of joy lit up his eyes. In recent months, he had rarely interacted with his master, his duties confined to mundane chores such as gathering and hunting beasts for sustenance, as well as attending to the needs of the young lady.

The monotony of these tasks had left him bored and burdened by the lingering debt he owed to his young master.

While awaiting his young master's response, Ken's gaze wandered across the mansion's empty courtyard, its solid ground of frozen ice serving as a testament to the peculiar nature of its construction. Despite the foundation and ground being made of ice, the mansion itself was fashioned from dark, exquisite wood.

"Enter," a voice suddenly resonated, shattering Ken's train of thought and bringing him back to the present.

Without hesitation, Ken swung open the door, traversed the tranquil and dimly lit hallway, and ascended to the second floor. As a seasoned swordsman, his heightened senses allowed him to effortlessly discern the source of the voice.

Taking in the ambiance of the mansion, Ken couldn't help but feel a tinge of unease. Even as a mature adult, he found it difficult to find comfort within these walls.

Upon reaching the door to the laboratory, a surge of nerves coursed through him, his mind conjuring images of Felix's ill-fated encounter and the unsettling rumors swirling among the subordinates about his master's inhuman experiments.

Yet, when he reminisced about how his young master had provided him shelter, enabled him to exact his final revenge, and even defied the kingdom, determination swelled within Ken. "I cannot disappoint my master," he whispered to himself, shaking off his hesitation. "Such doubts would shame me."

Meanwhile, Desmond observed Ken's arrival, noting the resemblance that Laura had described. Nodding, he gestured towards a chair situated nearby, mirroring the manner in which he had treated Felix when the latter became a guinea pig for his experiments.

Clutching a tube brimming with the vivid green blood of the Husk King, Desmond positioned himself amidst an array of cauldrons. Once he had securely placed the tube on a rack, he turned to face Ken, his eyes narrowing with an intensity that seemed capable of piercing through the depths of human emotion.

"Do you understand why I summoned you here?" Desmond's voice resonated, laced with the manipulation of natural energy as he conjured a chair, slightly elevated, between them.

However, Ken's mind was filled with uncertainty. He had no knowledge of the reason behind his young master's summons, and it seemed like a test of his intellect. As he surveyed the cauldrons and the blood within them, he couldn't deny that the rumors were true—his young master was indeed engaged in inhuman experiments.

Yet, Ken remained unfazed. After all, his ultimate goal had been achieved, and his life had been devoid of purpose since the tragic loss of his family. He had no new aspirations to pursue; his existence revolved solely around repaying his master's kindness. Even if the debt were to be fully settled one day, he would continue to follow his master as long as they both drew breath.

Recalling the memories of how he had ruthlessly dispatched the criminal who had taken his family away, a bitter laugh escaped Ken's lips, and he found himself sympathizing with Felix's plight.

In response, Ken raised his head and met his young master's gaze, politely replying, "I do not know, young master, but even if you wish for my demise, I am prepared."

Desmond was momentarily taken aback by Ken's unexpected response. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized him, searching for any trace of curiosity or concern on his face, but all he found was resignation and a haunting emptiness. A fitting, yet broken candidate, Desmond thought to himself.

"I see. Lie down there and roll up your right sleeve," Desmond instructed, accepting Ken's resolve. He began preparing the blood and the syringe, recreating the prison-like environment that Felix had endured.

While injecting the blood into the syringe, Desmond added a small amount of his own blood to the mixture. This precautionary measure would allow him to regain control of Ken's body in case he were to go berserk or betray him. It wasn't a matter of distrust; one simply needed to be cautious, lest they be stabbed in the back.

Ken, on the other hand, maintained a calm demeanor, his gaze fixed upon the ceiling as he waited for his master. It seemed he had truly relinquished any attachment to this life. As he caught sight of the strange object in his master's hand, he offered a gentle smile and took a deep breath. "Please, young master, do not hold back."

With a nod of acknowledgment, Desmond proceeded to pierce Ken's skin, slowly depleting the green blood from the syringe barrel. He glanced at Ken, who had closed his eyes, his face contorted in mild discomfort.

After completing the injection, Desmond stepped out of the prison, settling himself in a chair as he awaited Ken's reaction.

Internalizing his command, Desmond called upon the system to scan Ken's stats.

[Scanning the target...]

[Data received!]

[

-Status-

Name: Ken

Sex: Male

Age: 45 years

Race: Human (90%) ↓ ↓

Class: 2nd class Swordsman

Occupation: Servant

Unique Energy: 16.42

Strength: 53.00

Agility: 53.00

Stamina: 3.35

]

"As expected of Felix's subordinate," Desmond muttered to himself, acknowledging the long-noticed decline in Ken's human heritage.

The transformation was now underway and would likely be complete within the next two hours, Desmond surmised. However, just as he was about to leave the room, a growl reverberated from behind.

"Food... *growl*... Need... *growl*... Flesh," a hoarse voice, laden with heavy breaths and muffled by a mouth full of meat, emerged from the prison. The words were garbled, as though spoken by someone attempting to communicate with a mouthful.

"It's quicker than Felix," Desmond noted, furrowing his brow as he noticed the constant dribble of saliva cascading from Ken's mouth. Ken, now on all fours, resembling a crazed animal, pounded the prison bars in a futile attempt to break free. However, his teeth began to crumble one by one, unable to penetrate the unyielding hardness of the iron.

Nevertheless, the wild, uncomprehending gaze in Ken's eyes persisted, disregarding the bleeding gums caused by his relentless assault on the iron bars. He even resorted to using his nails, causing them to break under the pressure.

"This is peculiar, far too peculiar," Desmond's expression soured, his brows furrowing in deep concern. Unlike Felix, who displayed a beastly nature after his transformation into a Flying Lizard Beast, Ken seemed oblivious to the fact that his body was human.

"Could this be the reason why the Flying Lizard is classified as a B rank? Not only due to its power but also its intelligence?" Desmond pondered, a tinge of regret creeping into his thoughts. If that were the case, he should have waited and used a more suitable creature for the experiment instead of subjecting his other subordinates to such trials.

"System, scan," Desmond commanded, determined to remain positive and not give up. Observing Ken as he continued to harm himself, Desmond couldn't shake the feeling that it would be a waste for Ken to perish. He was a perfect puppet—err, a perfect subordinate—capable of carrying out various missions in the future.

Perhaps the issue lay in the mixture of his own blood with the syringe? Desmond considered this possibility, hoping that a solution could still be found.