The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

The next day, as the first rays of sunlight gently caressed the horizon, Desmond stealthily ventured into his backyard, well before the maids stirred from their slumber.

The realization hit him anew that the demon he had captured was no mere object but a living, breathing entity.

Ignoring the frosty tendrils of remorse that crept through his mind, he recollected burying and freezing the creature.

Step by deliberate step, Desmond traversed the landscape, his senses attuned to the subtle changes around him.

In the vicinity of where the coachman's corpse had been interred, an unexpected sight greeted his eyes—a delicate sprout emerging from the fertile earth, testament to nature's indomitable spirit.

Intrigued, he continued his exploratory prowl, his feet stirring up the earth until an unexpected metallic clink reverberated through the air. The hard surface beneath his foot revealed itself, an icy crust that encased the dormant demon.

Without hesitation, Desmond extended his outstretched hand, its power pulsating with arcane energy. Uttering an incantation that danced on his lips, a searing stream of fire erupted forth, a fierce dance of flames aimed directly at the ice-bound prison.

Slowly but surely, the icy barricade began to relent, yielding to the relentless onslaught of heat. The melting process unfolded before him, a mesmerizing ballet of fire and ice, enveloping Desmond's vision and body in a shroud of ethereal steam.

Though the steam carried the sweltering touch of heat, Desmond, resolute and resilient, stood unperturbed.

As the final vestiges of ice melted away, Desmond's gaze fixed upon the unassuming bag that still held the dormant demon, seemingly suspended in time.

Invoking the ancient words of another incantation, the ground beneath his feet stirred, responding to his command.

A spectral hand, formed from the very earth itself, emerged, delicately retrieving the pouch. Another hand materialized, gently unfurling the contents of the bag, unveiling the slumbering demon child.

"Well, at least you're alive," Desmond mused, his thoughts tinged with a trace of detached concern. "It would be a regrettable loss if you were to perish, left to decay into oblivion."

Utilizing his elemental mastery over the earth, Desmond guided the ground to cradle the bag once more, ensuring its concealment.

He promptly set the clandestine scene to rights, deftly freezing the once-exposed cavity before shrouding it in a cloak of earthen secrecy.

Assured that his actions had gone unnoticed, Desmond cautiously retraced his steps, his thoughts consumed by the secrecy he must maintain.

...

Later that day, Desmond emerged from his nocturnal slumber, only to find the sun already perched high in the sky, casting its warm rays upon the world.

A sense of lethargy had pervaded his being of late, the previous night having been squandered on indulging in the realms of written knowledge rather than honing his own craft.

The realization gnawed at him, unease clawing at the recesses of his mind.

"This cannot persist," he ruminated, a quiet determination settling over his thoughts.

Urging the System dwelling within his consciousness, he commanded it to set an alarm, a persistent reminder that would jolt him from the clutches of sloth and demand his dedication to exercise and self-improvement.

Satisfied that the alarm had been securely implanted, he rose to his feet, summoning forth a steely resolve to practice diligently.

After hours of arduous training, the satisfaction that had eluded him finally took root within his being. The lingering discontentment dissolved, replaced by an effervescent wellspring of self-assurance.

Now clad only in his bare upper torso, glistening with the sheen of exertion, Desmond ascended to the second floor of his abode.

Each step he took along the dimly lit corridor beckoned the gaze of the maids, who, upon catching sight of him, found themselves inexplicably compelled to avert their eyes, a silent testament to his newfound presence and charisma.

Meanwhile, in the hushed ambiance of the second-floor hallway, Desmond found himself on the cusp of entering the bathroom when his attention was seized by the presence of a maid, specifically assigned to locate the elusive VIP room, who had returned to him.

The interruption disrupted his initial course of action, momentarily diverting his focus.

"Young master," she addressed him, her voice soft and deferential.

Desmond, inquisitive, sought clarification. "What is it?" he queried, his curiosity piqued.

As he conversed with the maid, Desmond took the opportunity to garb himself, the fabric of his attire deftly concealing the sculpted contours of his well-toned muscles and the tantalizing sight of his chiseled six-pack abs.

The customary ritual of shedding his upper garments during exercise had become a habitual practice for him.

However, today, an unanticipated unease prickled beneath his skin, induced by the unabashed gazes of the maids, prompting him to hastily restore his clothing to its rightful place.

Observing Desmond's swift action, the maid before him blushed faintly, her cheeks tinged with a delicate flush. In the presence of the more mature maids, she found herself still in the nascent stages of growth and self-discovery.

While Desmond appeared youthful in her eyes, the well-defined contours of his physique eluded casual dismissal.

"I have completed the task, young master," she announced, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "Shall I summon the horse-drawn carriage as you requested?" Her gaze, shy and timid, flickered in avoidance, her fingers finding solace in the nervous tugging of her skirt hem.

A trace of crimson stained her lower lip as she unwittingly bit down, a tiny droplet of blood escaping, evidence of her flustered state.

Deliberating for a brief moment, Desmond weighed his options. "No, I shall first avail myself of a refreshing shower. Once I am prepared, you may proceed with summoning the carriage," he replied, his tone composed and assured.

"Understood, young master," the maid acknowledged, her voice barely above a whisper, before hastening away, likely to deliver his instructions to the waiting guards.

Desmond observed her departure with a nod of acknowledgment, appreciative of the maid's efficiency in carrying out her assigned duties.

The disarray of her appearance failed to garner his attention, for his mind was occupied by matters of greater significance.

...

Having luxuriated in the invigorating embrace of the shower and adorned himself in appropriate attire, Desmond emerged from the grand entrance of his abode, greeted by the sight of the horse-drawn carriage awaiting his arrival.

Accompanying it were a pair of vigilant guards, ever watchful. Positioned at the rear of the carriage, a pouch brimming with gleaming gold coins awaited its destined purpose.

The coachman dutifully swung open the carriage door, a silent invitation for Desmond to embark upon his journey. Gracefully descending the stairs, he made his way inside, settling into the plush interior.

With a seamless motion, the carriage set into motion, its wheels creaking in rhythmic harmony, the resonant clip-clop of hooves providing a melodic cadence to their progression.

From the confines of the carriage, Desmond could discern the faint yet heartfelt farewell offered by his loyal maids, their parting words carrying a sense of concern and well-wishes.

"Stay safe and exercise caution, young master," their collective voice murmured, their heads bowed until Desmond vanished from sight.

"A commendable display of loyalty," Desmond mused silently, an undercurrent of appreciation coursing through his thoughts. Such devotion was a testament to the bonds forged within his household.

The carriage continued its advance, gliding along the tranquil streets, its passage accompanied by the intermittent symphony of horse hooves and the rhythmic creaking of wheels.

Dust particles danced in the golden rays of the evening sun, casting fleeting shadows in their wake as the carriage wound its way through the thoroughfare, flanked by bustling shops and the occasional onlooker.

...

Before venturing further towards his destination, Desmond made a calculated decision to don a fox mask, skillfully concealing the upper contours of his face.

Despite being aware that the VIP auction would provide clients with private rooms shielded by one-way mirrors, he maintained a sense of caution, unwilling to leave anything to chance.

In addition to the mask, Desmond received a meticulously crafted ring from the maid responsible for securing his VIP room. She assured him that the ring had already been duly registered, a crucial requirement for entry into the exclusive auction.

Slipping the ring onto his finger, Desmond experienced a faint reverberation, a subtle rumble that resonated through his senses.

The rhythmic cadence of the horse's strides grew more pronounced as they drew closer to the bustling venue of the auction.

"Please, young master," the coachman respectfully addressed Desmond, his demeanor radiating professionalism as he alighted from the carriage, promptly opening the door for his esteemed passenger.

Desmond acknowledged the gesture with a nod, appreciative of the coachman's unwavering commitment to his duty.

Stepping out of the carriage, Desmond's gaze fell upon the pouch brimming with gleaming gold coins, positioned beside him.

The guards and coachmen, efficient in their execution, swiftly departed, leaving him alone to contemplate their unexpected absence. T

he abruptness of their departure caught him off guard, shrouding the situation in an air of perplexity. Questions swirled within Desmond's mind, his thoughts grappling with the sudden abandonment.

"What the fuck?" his inner voice exclaimed, a mixture of frustration and bewilderment permeating his thoughts.

"Could they believe I'm safe simply because we're in proximity to the barracks and the king's residence? No, that's illogical. Have my loyal servants fallen under the influence of a hypnotic spell?"

Caught in a momentary daze, Desmond's reverie was interrupted by the commanding presence of a guard who promptly stepped forward, his gaze fixated on the ring adorning Desmond's finger.

With a firm yet silent gesture, the guard motioned for Desmond to place his hand upon a nearby stone adjacent to the auction's entrance.

A realization dawned upon Desmond, a fleeting thought dissipating his growing concerns.

"Ah," he ruminated, a newfound acceptance tempering his initial frustration. "It matters not for now. I shall inquire about their sudden departure after the conclusion of the auction."

Complying with the guard's unspoken directive, Desmond pressed his left hand against the cool surface of the stone, triggering the activation of a holographic display:

{VIP}

Welcome, please wait for your guide...

The transformation in the guard's demeanor was instantaneous, a marked shift in his countenance and disposition.

"Please, young master, kindly wait here momentarily," the guard implored, his tone now filled with deference and respect. He proceeded to pull out a chair, a gesture that silently conveyed Desmond's elevated status and importance.

It didn't take long before a maid, adorned with glasses, approached Desmond with a courteous greeting. Her eyes, cautiously averted, took in his attire, her professional demeanor untouched by the allure of his presence.

"Hello, young master," she greeted him, her voice laced with politeness and a studied avoidance of direct eye contact.

"Yes, that would be me," Desmond responded, his tone measured and self-assured.

"Please, follow me," the maid beckoned, a subtle indication for Desmond to proceed.

"Ah, before we proceed, could you kindly attend to the matter of my gold coins over there?" Desmond requested, extending a hand to point towards the conspicuous pouch.

"Of course, young master. Rest assured, your gold coins will be safeguarded with utmost care and security," the maid assured him, her words resonating with an air of reliability and trustworthiness.