The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

Desmond's message, transmitted through the power of magic, reached Elizabeth, who nodded in acknowledgment. Observing her assent, the guards standing near her promptly dispersed, clearing the shop and leaving the princess alone with the enigmatic young man and his maid.

"I must confirm your identity, Mr. Desmond. Please, open your robe so that I may see your face directly," Elizabeth requested, her tone a blend of curiosity and caution. Despite her lineage as the daughter of King Edward, she understood the importance of exercising prudence.

Her gaze remained fixed upon Desmond and his maid, subtly assessing them. Though the young man had disclosed his true name, Elizabeth recognized the need for vigilance, born out of her royal responsibilities.

With sincerity and a touch of apology in her voice, she addressed the onlookers, "I apologize for the rudeness of my request, but could you kindly grant us a moment of privacy? There is a grave matter I must attend to as a princess."

The bystanders, taken aback by her words, found themselves persuaded by the enigmatic presence before them. The princess possessed the authority to forcibly remove them, yet they sensed no malice in her intentions. Bowing respectfully, they acquiesced and left the premises.

...

Once the shop had emptied, Desmond turned to Laura, seeking her assistance in removing his robe. The task proved arduous for him, burdened as he was with injuries that hindered his mobility.

As Laura carefully peeled back the fabric, Elizabeth's eyes beheld the sight before her—a body swathed in bandages, wounds and a missing right hand.

Laura, her heart heavy with sorrow at the state of her young master, averted her gaze, pretending to focus on the garments nearby.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, involuntarily dropped the clothes she held, overcome by an instinctual urge to approach Desmond and tend to his injuries. Yet, Desmond gently restrained her. "Ms. Elizabeth, do you have a room available for me?" he inquired.

Elizabeth nodded swiftly, her concern etched upon her features. Guided by Laura, Desmond was led to the chamber prepared for his arrival.

...

Within the confines of the room, Laura handled the delicate task of unwrapping the bandages that enshrouded Desmond's body. Numerous bite marks, likely inflicted by wild creatures, marred his flesh. Additionally, a clean, precise cut adorned his hand, indicative of a sharp implement. The sight of his wounds weighed heavily upon both Elizabeth and Laura, evoking a shared sense of sadness.

Elizabeth's innate maternal instincts surged forth, compelling her to recite an incantation, intending to assess Desmond's condition. As she chanted, a small, luminescent white orb materialized within her palm, delicately entering Desmond's body. Yet, mere seconds later, it emerged once more, its once-pure hue now tinged with darkness, intermingled with traces of blood.

Desmond swiftly halted Elizabeth's attempt to cast another spell, his voice laced with concern. "Please cease, Ms. Elizabeth. What exactly are you doing?" His attention had been solely fixated on his injuries during Elizabeth's initial healing, rendering him oblivious to the presence that had entered his body.

However, upon witnessing the emergence of the orb and sensing the notification system, an unsettling sensation of unease overtook him, as though his very being had been tampered with.

Elizabeth, perplexed by the sudden change in atmosphere, felt her anxiety deepen, her earnest desire to aid him intensifying. Despite their initial encounter in the arena, Desmond's wounded appearance now invoked within her the image of an injured puppy.

Thankfully, Desmond remained oblivious to Elizabeth's thoughts; otherwise, he might have swiftly departed, consumed by a sense of humiliation. His original intent in requesting a room had been to change attire and make a purchase, but Laura's inadvertent unveiling of his wounds had diverted their plans.

Although Elizabeth's previous healing efforts had not yielded significant consequences, Desmond still perceived a subtle shift within himself.

Initially, the wounds had carried a chilling sensation. However, as the clotting blood gradually warmed and coursed more freely, Desmond experienced a measure of relief. "Indeed, young master," Laura concurred, her voice tinged with concern, "it is necessary to cleanse the wound to prevent any potential infection." She offered him a cloth drenched in warm water.

Desmond attempted to brush off their worries, asserting, "It's alright. I'm simply here to purchase clothing and move on."

Elizabeth's countenance fell, a veil of sadness descending upon her features.

However, Laura, who had never before spoken out of turn, admonished Desmond for the first time. "Not 'young master'! How can I return and engage in lighthearted conversation with the other maids if I cannot adequately tend to your needs this time?" Her words were accompanied by tears streaming down her face, her grip upon Desmond's hand growing tight as she regarded him with profound concern.

Desmond found himself bewildered by the contrasting reactions of the two women. He failed to comprehend why his mention of returning home left Elizabeth disappointed and despondent, nor did he grasp the reason behind Laura's tearful display. He had assumed that once they entered the room, she would leave him to his own devices, neglected and forgotten.

However, the depths of a woman's heart proved extraordinary.

Shaking his head, Desmond directed his gaze toward the two women. "Very well, I suppose I shall remain here for a while," he acquiesced, his tone solemn. His gaze then shifted to Laura, a serious expression etching his face. "You are aware that we are faced with a problem. Annie is currently endeavoring to resolve it, and I am uncertain whether she will return alive."

Laura's eyes gleamed with joy upon Desmond's agreement to stay, but when he mentioned Annie, her expression turned solemn, hinting at deeper concerns.

Elizabeth, who had been attentively listening, found herself torn between happiness and sadness. As a princess, she possessed the potential to resolve the entire predicament at hand, yet Desmond's reluctance to involve her left her bewildered.

She had always assumed that people would seek her family's aid in resolving problems, and she harbored a slight resentment toward those who kept her apart from her father.

Desmond redirected his attention to Elizabeth, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "Ms. Elizabeth, would you be willing to assist in healing my wound? I am willing to compensate you for both the previous healing and the forthcoming one," he proposed, his gratitude evident in his words.

Desmond was renowned for his formidable pain tolerance, but that did not render him impervious to suffering. Even the most stoic and impassive individuals would likely shriek in agony if subjected to a knife piercing their genitals.

Elizabeth reassured him, saying, "Fear not, it is but a minor issue for me. Furthermore, I extend my gratitude to you, Mr. Desmond, for extending your aid to me." Her words carried an underlying meaning, though Desmond remained oblivious to her intentions.

"Pardon me, Ms. Elizabeth, but I'm uncertain of your meaning," he inquired, seeking clarification.

"Let us commence before the wound becomes infected," Elizabeth urged, sidestepping his question. She closed her eyes, murmuring an incantation. "Laura, please assist in cleansing your young master's wounds, that I may expedite his healing," she instructed, assuming a position of authority.

"Yes," Laura responded, though she couldn't help but find Elizabeth's sudden authoritative demeanor somewhat puzzling. She dampened a cloth with warm water, gently attending to Desmond's wounds, before proceeding to dry them with another cloth.

The white orb once again entered Desmond's body, emerging with a darkened hue, signifying the presence of tainted blood. This process continued until Desmond sensed the majority of his wounds warming and his blood returning to its natural flow, save for the injury on his hand.

...

Meanwhile, in a secluded alley on the city's outskirts, a fierce battle raged between a woman and a horde of demons.

Brandishing a jet-black sword, she waged a relentless assault, fending off the relentless advance of the demonic entities. Despite sustaining injuries, her determination blazed within her eyes, undeterred. Her body bore numerous scratches, blood trickling from her head, thighs, and arms, but she refused to yield to the pain.

The demons appeared endless, their attacks unyielding. In spite of the pile of demon corpses strewn about her, the remaining fiends displayed no semblance of concern, some even resorting to cannibalizing their fallen comrades. Outnumbered and outmatched, the woman refused to surrender.

Glimpsing a burly man perched upon a rooftop, his laughter resonating through the alley, she directed her gaze upward. "Is this what you wanted? You've forced my hand, hahaha," he taunted, deriving amusement from her suffering.

The woman gritted her teeth, frustration welling within her as she once again failed to comply with her master's orders.

Fatigue gripped her, her body throbbing with pain, yet surrender remained an unfathomable concept. She inhaled deeply, steeling herself for the onslaught yet to come.

She turned her attention to the remaining demons, their smiles twisted and eyes brimming with grim determination. She understood that this battle was far from over, mentally preparing herself for the arduous trials that lay ahead.