The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

Upon hearing the disheartening news, Desmond found himself with no alternative but to undergo the prescribed treatment for a grueling ten days. However, despite the collective efforts of the healers, the desired outcome remained elusive.

The lead healer bowed apologetically before addressing Desmond. "I apologize, young master. It appears that your hands require the expertise of a Master Wizard or Witch. The issue delves into the realms of time and dimension, necessitating the intervention of a Master who has mastered healing and dimensional spells."

The assembled Wizards and Witches regarded Desmond with a mixture of concern and worry. Never did they envision that the son of a revered Master Witch would venture so recklessly into peril, endangering himself and nearly succumbing to disability.

Thankfully, Desmond's lineage afforded him a lifeline, as hiring a Master Wizard or Witch would have been nearly impossible given the prevailing circumstances.

Desmond sighed, accepting the verdict. "Very well, you may take your leave. Annie will handle the necessary compensation."

Over the course of the ten days, a steady stream of healers, not merely one or two, but a total of five to seven Wizards and Witches, visited Desmond's residence, each hopeful of effecting his recovery.

Initially, Desmond had adopted a somewhat nonchalant attitude towards his convalescence, harboring a glimmer of hope. However, as the days wore on and the healers' efforts repeatedly met with failure, that hope gradually waned.

"Yes, young master," the healer responded respectfully before exiting the premises.

Not only Desmond, but his loyal servants also remained faithfully by his side throughout the arduous ten-day period, tending to his needs with unwavering devotion.

Among the most humbling moments for Desmond occurred when his servants insisted on assisting him with bathing, despite his protests of self-sufficiency. Eventually, he relented, permitting only Annie to remain in the room, as her demeanor exuded a sense of calm and obedience, in stark contrast to Laura, who seemed perpetually prone to causing trouble.

Desmond found solace in Annie's composed countenance as she diligently executed her duties.

...

Once the healers had departed, Desmond received a message from Clementine, delivered through the flickering energy of his mirror. Prompted by the summons, he requested Annie to fetch a small mirror.

Curious, Annie inquired, "What's the update this time?" Simultaneously, Desmond's attention was drawn not only to Clementine's reflection in the glass but also to the figures of Elizabeth and Diana, who stood closely by Clementine's side, their intent to gauge Desmond's well-being evident in their presence.

"Understood," Desmond replied wearily, his gaze shifting briefly to Elizabeth and Diana, sensing their underlying thoughts.

...

Meanwhile, news of Desmond's debilitating injury had swiftly spread among the privileged echelons, eliciting immense satisfaction from Gibson, who harbored a deep-seated grudge against Desmond following their public humiliation in the arena.

Soon after, an enigmatic package arrived for Desmond from an anonymous sender. Cautiously, Desmond instructed his servant to open the package outside of the house, his instincts alert to potential danger. His suspicions proved valid when it was revealed that the sender was none other than Gibson.

Contained within the package was an animal hand, severed and preserved. Desmond recoiled at the macabre sight, grateful that he had kept his distance. Alongside the grotesque offering, a parchment materialized, fashioned not from modern paper but from animal hides such as deer or goatskin.

The words upon the parchment were scrawled in blood, not ink, and the message read, "Hey, I found your hand in one of the farms near my house."

Rather than reading the message himself, Desmond delegated the task to his attendant. The parchment itself exuded a repugnant odor, crafted from the skin of an animal's hindquarters.

Conversely, amidst the unsettling developments, Desmond also received thoughtful gifts such as ice cream and apple pie, surmising they were gestures from Elizabeth, Diana, or perhaps one of his devoted admirers.

...

As Desmond concluded his conversation with Clementine, he noticed her daughter, Diana, exhibiting a dismissive attitude towards her mother's presence.

"Hello, how are you?" Only Diana's reflection appeared in the glass, her tone betraying a lack of genuine concern, while her cheeks tinged with a hint of blush.

Desmond recognized this behavior, reminiscent of Alice's past antics, and knew all too well the wearisome task of navigating such interactions.

"Thank you for your concern, Miss Diana. I am well. If there is nothing else, I will bring this communication to an end."

Diana appeared disappointed by Desmond's formal address and swiftly vanished from the mirrored surface.

"Wait a moment, Master Desmond." This time, Elizabeth materialized in the mirror, wearing a serious expression, clearly driven by a matter of significance.

"Ah...Ms. Elizabeth, farewell." Without awaiting Elizabeth's response, Desmond hastily severed the flow of energy within the mirror, reverting it to its ordinary state.

"Phew, that was a close call. She was about to inquire about my hand again."

Desmond's voice carried a tinge of concern as he whispered, "Maybe the king is starting to suspect me, but the investigation team hasn't shown up yet. Or it could be Grimm's doing." His thoughts swirled with apprehension, realizing the gravity of his situation. The imminent encounter with the King, if his crimes were exposed, weighed heavily on him.

The mere idea of Imperial Empire assassins lurking in the shadows only fueled his determination to maintain an unwavering facade.

Deep down, Desmond understood that if he were to be apprehended and imprisoned by the North Kingdom, the guilt would inevitably stain his family as well. The weight of this realization pressed upon his shoulders, intensifying his resolve to navigate the precarious path ahead.

Rumors of the intricate relationship between the king and Grimm formed the basis of Desmond's speculative musings. Unbeknownst to him, Edward's involvement merely amounted to a slight assistance to Grimm during this time.

...

Having concluded his communication with Clementine, Desmond reclined on his bed. Despite the best efforts of numerous wizards, witches, and his dedicated servants, his hand remained unhealed. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he ruminated on how much easier things would be if his mother were present by his side.

Earlier, he received news of Noel's summoning of Master Wizards, Witches, third-class Swordsmen, and renowned mercenaries for a confidential mission at the border, involving menacing beasts. This revelation dashed Desmond's original plans, which entailed further investigation into Krox's organization.

Frustration and a dearth of solutions gripped him, leaving Desmond no choice but to lie in bed, contemplating and meditating during the healing period. His determination remained unshaken, patiently awaiting the moment when he could resume his training and delve deeper into the enigmatic dungeons.

"Once this treatment period concludes, I'll redouble my training efforts to continue my investigations," he vowed in resolute silence.

...

Months passed, and the sight of Desmond honing his swordsmanship with only one hand became a common occurrence. Several devoted servants stood nearby, attentive to his training, but this time he opted for the familiarity of his yard instead of venturing into the forest.

"Young master, it's time to eat," one of the servants gently called out, a sincere attempt to interrupt Desmond's vigorous sword swings.

"Just a minute," he replied, momentarily halting his movements, before channeling his arcane powers. Natural energy coalesced within his palm, forming a miniature whirlwind akin to a pebble in size.

With a swift motion, Desmond hurled the vortex skyward, where it expanded into a colossal, rock-sized maelstrom, engulfing the clouds. The sheer force of the spell caused some of the maid's garments and a handful of aprons to be caught in its cyclonic embrace.

"Young master, please cease this! Otherwise, everything will be whisked away," the collective voices of the maids pleaded desperately, their alarmed cries ringing in Desmond's ears.

Acknowledging their distress, Desmond ceased his spellcasting and surveyed the aftermath of his mystical display. His eyes roamed the scene, taking in the scattered attire and swirling energies before him.

"Well, at least I've gained better control over my powers now. But having to disarm every time I cast a spell is truly bothersome," he grumbled, voicing his annoyance at the inconvenience.

Remarkably, these past few months had not witnessed a decline in Desmond's combat prowess but rather a steady rise. Previously, he had relied on both hands, striving to balance his strength between them. Yet, with the loss of his right hand, his focus had sharpened, leading to an unexpected clarity of mind.

Before the injury,

Desmond predominantly employed one-handed spells for minor applications like conjuring small fireballs. However, he had come to realize that if he wished to cast intricate spells such as area spikes, he required the use of both hands.

Thus, the loss of his hand proved to be both a boon and a bane. While it boosted the potency of his spells, it necessitated the removal of his sword with each incantation—an inconvenient trade-off he had to contend with.

"Where's my food?" Desmond inquired, shifting the topic, as his appetite stirred within him, diverting attention away from his persistent trials.