The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

At the edge of the beast territory in the North Kingdom, a sprawling expanse of tents dotted the landscape, forming a makeshift encampment protected by a sturdy earth wall. These temporary quarters served as a haven for the valiant royal soldiers, a bastion against the relentless onslaught of recent beast attacks.

Inside one particular tent, the morning sunlight filtered through the fabric, casting a warm glow upon the scene. A tantalizing aroma of freshly cooked breakfast filled the air as a couple sat together, savoring their meal in companionable silence. Leona, her brow furrowed with concern, broke the tranquility of the moment. "Honey, don't you think it's time we request permission to return home?

I have this gnawing feeling that something dreadful is on the horizon."

Bastian shook his head, his resolute gaze fixed on the war map sprawled across the table. "We've already taken leave when we dealt with the Desmond case. That's precisely why we remain here, to make amends for our absence."

Leona mulled over Bastian's words, contemplating another avenue. "What if we approach Noe again? Perhaps he'll reconsider." However, before she could articulate her thoughts fully, a soldier abruptly entered the tent, his breath slightly ragged. "Apologies, Master," he gasped, "but it seems the beast races are converging upon our location."

Bastian and Leona exchanged meaningful glances, their unspoken agreement evident. The soldier took their acknowledgement and left the tent, leaving the couple to grapple with the imminent threat. Bastian resumed his meal, albeit with a touch of gravity in his voice. "The beast races have grown increasingly relentless of late," he mused, his eyes narrowing with determination.

Leona let out an exasperated snort, her frustration palpable. "If not for these repugnant creatures, perhaps Alice could have been enrolled in the academy by now." Their prolonged absence, courtesy of the king's grand celebration, had disrupted their plans, leaving them estranged from their faithful servants and unable to communicate with Desmond.

The sudden surge of beast attacks had plunged the kingdom into chaos, compelling Bastian and Leona to take charge of the perilous situation. However, their unwavering efforts failed to deter the savage beasts, who seemed undeterred even in the face of injury and death.

It was a gruesome spectacle, as the beasts trampled their wounded comrades in a frenzied march, uncaring for the sanctity of their own lives.

Noel, cognizant of the dire implications, remained steadfast in his resolve to station Bastian and Leona on the treacherous border. As a candidate for the esteemed rank of Grandmaster, he bore the weight of grave decisions upon his shoulders, fearing that if left unchecked, the Beast Race might unleash their fury upon the vulnerable villages nearby.

...

With sword in hand, Bastian rose from his seat, his muscles taut with readiness. Simultaneously, Leona seized several vials brimming with a mysterious blue liquid, their potency evident from the faint magical shimmer. As they exchanged a wordless moment of shared determination, Bastian closed the distance between them, capturing Leona's cherry-red lips in a passionate kiss.

Leona, her face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration, pushed Bastian away gently. "Time is of the essence. We cannot afford delay." With that, she swiftly made her way towards the tent's exit, her purposeful strides underscoring her urgency.

Bastian followed closely behind, a smile adorning his countenance, silently grateful for the unwavering strength and resolve of his beloved partner.

But as Leona and Bastian stepped out of the tent, the sight that greeted them deviated drastically from the familiar routine of soldiers valiantly defending the fort and battling the Beast Race. This time, an imposing Sky-Hunter loomed amidst the herd of beasts, casting a chilling aura that caused even the most seasoned warriors in the camp to falter.

A weary soldier, his armor showing signs of wear, hesitantly approached Leona and Bastian. "Master, what shall we do now? Should we retreat and fortify our defenses?"

Leona's eyes remained fixed on the Sky-Hunter, its ethereal form hovering in the air, wreaking havoc by mercilessly slaughtering soldiers who stood atop the fortress. "Leave it to me," she responded with unwavering resolve.

Bastian, intertwining his fingers with Leona's, interjected firmly. "No, we will handle this together. Instruct everyone to exercise restraint and avoid engaging the Sky-Hunter directly. If anyone finds themselves trapped or targeted, their priority should be to flee or assist their comrades, minimizing casualties."

Leona, holding the highest authority within the camp, acknowledged Bastian's words, their bond allowing him to serve as her representative due to his unique status as a Dual-Class.

"Yes, Master!" the soldier acknowledged, promptly departing to relay the orders.

Anxiety flickered across the expressions of Bastian and Leona as they exchanged a knowing glance. "A Sky-Hunter, huh... This will be an arduous battle, my love," Bastian admitted, his voice laced with concern. "If the situation becomes overwhelming for you, prioritize your safety and leave it to me."

"But we both know that's unlikely," Leona countered, embracing Bastian tightly and planting a tender kiss on his cheek. "We cannot allow ourselves to falter here. We still have Desmond and Alice to protect."

Bastian's smile was both reassuring and determined as he pressed a loving kiss upon Leona's forehead. "Worry not. If matters spiral out of control, we will withdraw, facing the wrath of the prime ministers if need be."

Leona nodded, finding solace in the warmth of Bastian's presence, her cheek resting against his in an unspoken bond of trust.

...

The Sky-Hunter, an esteemed Beast Race belonging to the 'A' rank classification, bore the majestic form of a colossal white lion with magnificent wings. Its power rivaled that of a seasoned 3rd-level Wizard or 3rd-level Swordsman, showcasing the incredible might it possessed.

While Sky-Hunters were known to seldom prey upon or attack humans, the current circumstances were far from ordinary. The relentless onslaught of Beast Race assaults coupled with the unexpected appearance of another 'A' level beast hinted at a deeper, unsettling truth—the imminent arrival of a formidable Dragon Beast.

As beings of remarkable intelligence akin to humans, the Beast Races of 'C' level and beyond held their own pride and hierarchy. Only the strongest among them, or those belonging to the upper echelons of their society, could exert control and command the lower-ranked members of their kind.

.

.

.

Simultaneously, in the grandeur of the throne room...

As Sanders recounted the gruesome details of the tavern massacre, Edward's brows shot up in astonishment. "And have you taken swift action to resolve this case?" he queried with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Beading with sweat, Sanders replied with a tremor in his voice, "Y-Yes, your majesty. We have dispatched an investigation team to uncover the truth."

In an instant, a hairline fracture ruptured the air in front of the king, and Sanders vanished from sight, replaced by a resounding groan that reverberated through the room. Gradually, Sanders reappeared, his disheveled figure slumped against the throne room door.

The unexpected turn of events left everyone in the room at a loss for words. The abrupt manifestation of a dimensional crack, coupled with the destruction of the regal red carpet and the release of overwhelming power, caused the very foundation beneath them to warp and contort.

All eyes turned toward Edward, their senses acutely aware of the weight of his aura bearing down upon them. His voice resounded with an icy chill, freezing the marrow in their bones.

"Rectify this at once," Edward commanded with unwavering resolve.

"Yes, your majesty!" The collective response rang out in unison, heads bowing in deference.

As the throne room door creaked open and Edward departed, an eerie silence settled upon the room. Slowly, heads lifted, their gazes now fixated on Sanders and the state he was in. It was evident that he had suffered grievous injuries, inadvertently propelled against a nearby pillar by the king's abrupt exit.

The room stood aghast, save for one individual—Holmes. He reveled in the sight of Sanders' misfortune, his inner delight threatening to burst forth in laughter. However, mindful of the king's presence, he repressed his mirth, concealing his true emotions. Now that Edward had left, Holmes could no longer contain himself, and his laughter erupted, much to the shock of those in his vicinity.

"What could possibly amuse you, Mr. Holmes?" inquired one bewildered onlooker.

Sporting a wide grin, Holmes retorted, "Can't you see that pitiful display? He was thrown away with such disdain, hahaha!" His laughter grew in volume as he pointed mockingly at the unconscious figure of Sanders.

Hearing this, a surge of anger coursed through the crowd. "Instead of reveling in his suffering, why not extend a helping hand?" chastised one concerned individual.

"We are all at risk if the king's wrath is incurred," added another, voicing their shared sentiment.

One by one, they berated Holmes, their frustration evident. "Are you even listening?" one person stepped forward, clutching Holmes by the collar. "You have crossed the line. I ought to banish you to the treacherous beast territory," he threatened.

Swiftly releasing his grip, the man retreated, aware of the repercussions should he provoke Holmes any further. Despite the resolution of the argument, lingering disdain cast its shadow upon Holmes from those who bore witness to his callous behavior.

Just as the throne room doors swung open once more, the guards approached to attend to Sanders. However, their progress was impeded by Holmes. "Hold on a moment," he declared, striding toward Sanders and callously spitting in his face. "You deserve nothing less, hahaha."

Even the guards, who bore witness to this act, seethed with anger and yearned to seize Holmes in retribution. Yet, they knew all too well that such actions would only result in their own defeat, for Holmes held a position of influence and power. Only after Holmes had made his exit did they dare to gingerly lift Sanders onto a stretcher, treading with the utmost care.