<div> Chapter 86: Misunderstanding
 As Desmond perused the collection of auction items, his fascination grew with each historical account he read. He marveled at the intricate storytelling woven into every piece, acknowledging that even amidst the darker elements, the creators had gone to great lengths to craft captivating narratives.
 "Interesting," he mused to himself, his mind sharpened by his past experiences. "Such tricks hold no sway over me. After all, I was raised in the embrace of a renowned organization during my previous life. Deception and nefarious dealings were commonplace in my daily existence."
 Unbeknownst to Desmond, a portly man with malevolence emanating from his gaze steadily approached, driven by a wicked intent. If Desmond continued engrossed in his exploration, an imminent collision between the two was all but unavoidable.
 As their paths converged, a sinister grin spread across the fat man’s face, his clenched fists tightening with anticipation. Accelerating his steps, he aimed directly for Desmond’s midsection, his intention clear: a forceful strike to the stomach.
 The growing tension did not go unnoticed by the surrounding onlookers. The palpable anger exuded by both men filled the air, creating an atmosphere heavy with hostility. The resounding thuds of the fat man’s footsteps echoed through the ears of those nearby, amplifying the sense of impending confrontation.
 "Almost there... Closing in..." the fat man’s thoughts raced, a glimmer of triumph dancing in his eyes. Through the periphery of his vision, he glimpsed Desmond’s expression, or lack thereof.
 "He hasn’t noticed," the fat man thought, an elated sensation washing over him. "I can already envision him writhing in pain, begging for my forgiveness."
 Images of Desmond doubled over, his groans of agony mingling with venomous glares, flooded the fat man’s mind. Victory seemed assured, a vivid fantasy playing out before him.
 "Haahhhhh!" The fat man bellowed, his fist hurtling towards Desmond’s abdomen, his hand encased in solid rock, courtesy of a reinforcing spell. The ambient energy condensed, transforming into rigid plates of steel-like stone, bolstering the fat man’s strike.
 CRACK.
 The fat man erupted into a fit of raucous laughter, reveling in the perceived softness of his target. His chuckles were tinged with madness, his delusions having consumed his sanity. Triumph appeared within his grasp.
 But amidst the echoes of his mirth, another peal of laughter reverberated through the air, abruptly halting the fat man’s ecstatic expression.
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 Desmond’s gaze locked onto the fat man’s visage, a sly smile forming on his lips.
 "Gibson, is that you?" he taunted, his voice laced with an evil amusement.
𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂 Though unable to clearly discern the fat man’s expression before him, Desmond could sense the shock radiating from the man’s gaping mouth and bulging eyes. The unexpected reaction left the fat man frozen in place, his confidence momentarily shattered.
 Crack, crack.
 The unsettling sound of cracking echoed through the air as the earthen spells coating the man’s hand began to fracture. The cracks spiderwebbed, extending further until they reached his shoulder.
 With a swift and deft motion, Desmond twisted the fat man’s hand 180 degrees, eliciting a piercing scream of agony. Then, effortlessly utilizing just one hand, he effortlessly hoisted the fat man into the air before forcefully slamming him back down.
 Thump, crack.
 The hefty man’s massive body crashed behind Desmond, causing the floor to crack and leaving behind a small indentation—a testament to the force of impact.
 Turning around, Desmond’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the aftermath of his actions.
 "Is he... dead?" he pondered, a hint of concern infiltrating his thoughts. "My emotions got the better of me, and I let my control slip."
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 </div> With deliberate caution, he carefully examined the fat man’s condition. The shattered mask revealed an unconscious Gibson, his face streaked with blood. Desmond’s lips twitched in a mix of conflicting emotions.
 "Ah, shit. Looks like my hunch was right... This complicates matters," he contemplated, realizing the potential ramifications of the situation.
 Initially uncertain of the fat man’s identity due to the mask, Desmond had taken a calculated guess that led him to believe it was Gibson.
 "If this man isn’t Gibson," he ruminated, "the issue could be resolved relatively easily. However, if it truly is Gibson, things could become troublesome. He’s a prominent figure, and the auction will need to address this incident to preserve their reputation and continue their business."
 Surveying his surroundings, Desmond spotted a female staff member from the auction who had been observing the altercation. "Excuse me, miss," he called out, his voice laced with an underlying urgency. "Could you please lend me your assistance?"
 As the staff member cautiously approached, her trembling intensified. Witnessing Desmond’s display of astounding strength as he effortlessly lifted and slammed a man of Gibson’s size had overwhelmed her senses. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground.
 "P-Please... sir... forgive me... I... I saw nothing," she stammered, her voice quivering with fear for her life.
 Desmond attempted to reassure the staff member and dispel any misunderstandings, but his efforts were interrupted as a circle of guards closed in on him.
 "Remain still!" one of the guards barked, their voices filled with authority.
 Rumble, rumble.
 The resounding footsteps of the guards reverberated through the space as they encircled Desmond, a few of them maintaining a safe distance, their weapons trained on him, ready to act at a moment’s notice.
 Desmond’s attention was caught by the maid who hurriedly approached Gibson’s prone body. "Young master... young master..." she sobbed, her hands hovering over Gibson’s cheek as she began to perform a series of intricate magical incantations. A soft green glow enveloped the lifeless form, but after a few tense moments, the maid’s voice turned desperate. "No... young master... hurry, take him to a skilled healer!"
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 </div> The guards, already brimming with anger, grew even more incensed. One of them stepped forward, his spear dangerously close to Desmond. "What business do you have at this auction?" the guard demanded, his tone laced with hostility.
 Desmond shook his head and let out a rueful chuckle. "Just my luck, I find a beautiful woman, and trouble inevitably follows," he mused aloud.
 Taking stock of the situation, Desmond assessed the ten guards surrounding him. Seven of them were formidable first-class swordsmen, while the remaining three were skilled wizards. The odds were stacked heavily against him—fighting off even one group would prove challenging, let alone facing them all simultaneously.
 Amidst the chaos, the maid continued to sob, cradling Gibson’s motionless body, which now bore the marks of impact. The captain of the guards fixed Desmond with an icy stare, his gaze unyielding. "Sir, please accompany us," he commanded, directing the wizards to prepare for Desmond’s capture in case he resisted.
 "I haven’t done anything wrong," Desmond responded calmly, his voice steady. "You may ask your questions, and-"
 "Shut the fuck up!" a guard abruptly interjected, accidentally impaling the missing portion of Desmond’s right hand with his weapon. The change in Desmond’s expression was palpable—a shift from calm to something far more intense.
 "You seek death, is that it?" Desmond’s eyes blazed with a piercing killing intent, radiating outward in all directions. Swiftly, he seized the guard’s weapon that had pierced his hand, crushing it until it snapped with a resounding crack.
 In one fluid motion, Desmond stood before the guard, and with a single powerful punch, sent the man hurtling through the air, crashing down roughly ten meters away with a heavy thud.
 The onlookers, momentarily stunned by the sudden turn of events, quickly realized that Desmond was no longer surrounded by guards. Instead, he stood shoulder to shoulder with them, his posture conveying readiness to strike. With a single arm extended, his presence exuded a dangerous aura.
 Curiosity swirled among the crowd, the question lingering in their minds: What was he planning? The answer came swiftly, accompanied by a bloodcurdling scream.
 "Aaaaaaaa!" All eyes turned to the source of the agonized cry, witnessing a guard writhing in excruciating pain. His face was mangled beyond recognition, blood pouring from every orifice. Even his armor bore the signs of severe damage. The guard’s eyes, filled with desperation, pleaded for help from his captain before eventually closing, succumbing to his wounds.
 "FILTHY BASTARD! SEIZE HIM!" the captain roared, consumed by fury.</div>
 

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Chapter 86: Misunderstanding

Chapter 86: Misunderstanding As Desmond perused the collection of auction items, his fascination grew with each historical account he read. He marveled at the intricate storytelling woven into every piece, acknowledging that even amidst the darker elements, the creators had gone to great lengths to craft captivating narratives. "Interesting," he mused to himself, his mind sharpened by his past experiences. "Such tricks hold no sway over me. After all, I was raised in the embrace of a renowned...

The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

Chapter 86: Misunderstanding

The Most Satisfied Reincarnate - Chapter 86: Misunderstanding