The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

The aftermath of Alice's departure. As the sun rose on the following day, Desmond delved into his usual routine of honing his swordplay and mastering his magical prowess. However, a peculiar change in his nocturnal exploits caught his attention.

Instead of his usual demon-hunting escapades, the darkened streets were swarming with lingering royal troops, casting an enigmatic shadow over Desmond's thoughts.

A sense of confusion tingled in the air, leaving Desmond perplexed about the unusual nocturnal activities. The morning whispers carried rumors of a gruesome menace haunting the nights, preying upon demons and innocent souls alike. The chilling revelation halted Desmond's progress, rendering his growth stagnant.

Though his energy continued to surge, it paled in comparison to the immense power he once harnessed by absorbing demon corpses. Hope seemed elusive, clinging to the remnants of his guild assignments that had finally borne fruit.

With each passing day, Desmond's dwelling became a hub of activity as solo mercenaries flocked to his doorstep, bearing tidbits of crucial information concerning an elusive organization known for its sinister trade in "kidnapped children." Armed with fragments of intelligence, Desmond uncovered the name of this clandestine group—the Aristocratic Technocracy Organization.

Their infamous notoriety had burgeoned since Edward ascended the throne, a festering menace within the northern kingdom. Its ranks harbored thieves, murderers, slave owners, and a web of malevolence, with nobles or ex-nobles lurking in the shadows of its leadership.

Yet, a significant revelation seized Desmond's attention—the organization, typically profit-driven through robbery, prostitution, and gambling, had veered into a heinous enterprise of child abduction. The gravity of this revelation sparked Desmond's curiosity, driving him to venture into the midnight abyss in search of further intelligence.

Through daring captures of presumed members, Desmond extracted valuable scraps of information, leading him to a startling revelation—the organization's headquarters nestled within the very heart of Helmfirth city, where the North Academy stood tall.

For an entire year, Desmond relentlessly pursued the organization's operatives, desperate to unravel the truth and expose their enigmatic leader. Tireless nights blurred into days as he pieced together the puzzle, fueled by an insatiable thirst for justice.

Finally, his dogged determination bore fruit—a whispered secret revealed that the organization's enigmatic boss would grace North City with his presence on this very night.

.

.

.

Under the moon's watchful gaze, Desmond found himself immersed in the dimly lit confines of his room, surrounded by a sea of scattered documents.

One parchment, titled "Top Information about the North Kingdom," held his unwavering attention, while a plethora of other papers littered the floor, a testament to the year-long crusade consuming his existence—the pursuit of truth amidst the darkness of the Aristocratic Technocracy Organization.

"Status."

[Scanning Host Body...]

[Scan Complete!]

[

-Status-

Name: Desmond

Gender: Male

Age: 7 years

Race: Human (95%)

Class: Swordsman

Occupation: None

Unique Energy: 23.37 -> 24.83

Strength: 11.44 -> 13.26 -> 15.91

Agility: 6.52 -> 8.34 -> 10.00

Stamina: 4.98

]

Desmond's eyes roved over the status report, assessing his growth over the past year. Disappointment welled within him as he noted the meager progress. The whispers of truth lingered—he needed to engage in more frequent demon hunts to truly amplify his potential.

The random boosts to strength and agility, gifted by the demonic adversaries, remained a coveted boon, a shimmering sliver of advancement amidst the stagnant sea of his growth.

In a world oblivious to Desmond's true nature, others would regard his statistics as a testament to prodigious talent. A swordsman typically attained such prowess by the age of fifteen, serving as a gateway to the army or a coveted position within the guild. Yet, behind the veil of his seemingly exceptional abilities, lay the secrets of relentless demon hunting.

...

Throughout the year, Desmond dedicated himself to rigorous underground training, honing his agility and fortifying his strength, while diligently refining his command of elemental forces and mastering the art of the sword. His unkempt hair cascaded down to his shoulders, lending an air of maturity beyond his tender age of seven.

His physique, no longer swollen and muscular, adapted to the infusion of beneficial demonic energy, harmonizing with his ongoing development.

However, a sinister transformation gripped his countenance, etching an unsettling aura within his gaze. Once likened to the eyes of a beast, his stare now held the chilling truth—a beast cloaked in human flesh.

As the anticipation for the impending meeting simmered within him, Desmond's thoughts veered towards the roster of "Top Mercenaries of the Raven Soul Guild." With a jolt of determination, he rose from his bed, inadvertently scattering the once orderly papers across his lap. Shaking his head to refocus his thoughts, Desmond meticulously gathered the strewn documents, restoring order to the chaos.

Finally, he embarked on a purposeful journey towards the library.

...

Seated within the library's hallowed halls, Desmond immersed himself in a tome, delving into a world of warriors. The pages unfolded tales of the illustrious Corps of Teleknights, the indomitable Steel Legion, the enigmatic Void Challengers, and the intrepid Explorers of the Mysterious.

If I'm not mistaken, Alice is accompanied by a Steel Legion comprised solely of skilled female warriors. Desmond's thoughts wandered to the formidable band as he glanced out of the library window, where the luminous moon cast its ethereal glow. "Alice... I hope you fare well on your journey. May no harm befall you along the way."

[System Alarm Activated!]

[Messages: It's time to hunt the rat]

Suddenly, an alarm echoed through the system, demanding Desmond's attention. His eyes grew cold, a chilling glint piercing through as a sinister smile curled upon his lips. "It's time." He swiftly returned to his room, retrieving his sword from the depths of the wardrobe. "Last time, my father's sword met its demise, but now I possess a new blade, perfectly suited for nocturnal hunts."

Clad in black attire, he concealed his identity with a mask and a shirt to veil his hair. As he gazed upon his transformed appearance, Desmond mused, "Is this what it feels like to be a ninja?" His voice took on an air of mystery, distorted by the mask that concealed his mouth. "Perhaps after tonight, I shall reexamine the secrets hidden behind the underground door."

With those final words, Desmond activated a spell that cloaked him in invisibility.

...

The midnight hour enveloped the Outer City. Within a bustling tavern, a middle-aged man with flowing purple hair sat alone at a table, nursing a drink.

Laughter and conversation filled the tavern, the vibrant atmosphere intertwined with the lively banter of patrons. Several female servers gracefully attended to the customers, while others engaged in boisterous card games, their joyous revelry echoing throughout the establishment.

Yet, an air of isolation surrounded the middle-aged man, causing others to maintain a cautious distance from his table. His piercing gaze remained fixed upon the tavern's entrance, awaiting the arrival of someone.

In an instant, the door swung open, and his eyes locked onto another middle-aged man entering with a woman. "Tch, where have you been!" Impatience crept over him as he surveyed the room. Seconds turned into an eternity, boredom seeping into his demeanor. He beckoned the bartender, his gaze piercing. "Arfin, how has business fared lately?"

"Apologies, boss, things haven't gone according to plan." Arfin's voice trembled, cautious not to provoke any further discontent. He approached his boss, ready to divulge the intricacies of their current situation. "Allow me to explain the details."

As Arfin recounted the city's recent events, his boss's face contorted with anger, his fury resounding as he struck the table with a resounding thud. The bustling tavern suddenly fell silent, the patrons shrinking back, their voices hushed, awestruck by the display.

"Have you blundered? Why are the royal troops roaming the streets at night?" The middle-aged man's rage reverberated through the tavern. The once lively ambiance now carried an undercurrent of fear.

"Forgive me, boss, this wasn't the case before. However, with the escalating incidents of deaths in the streets and the demise of slaves, the kingdom had no choice but to act."

In an instant, the middle-aged man vanished before Arfin's eyes, replaced by an empty space, as if swallowed by darkness. Panic rippled through the tavern as the patrons recoiled, watching a hand emerge from the shadows, wrapping tightly around the bartender's throat, choking the life out of him.