A Gift

After Desmond's departure, a hushed stillness settled near the entrance of the basement. As the minutes stretched on, shadows began to converge upon the area, their presence shrouded in mystery.

A flicker of movement caught the attention of one of the shadows, drawing its gaze toward a pile of fallen leaves near the cellar door. Curiosity sparked within it, and the shadow nudged its companion, beckoning it closer.

"What's amiss?" the second shadow inquired, peering at the fallen foliage.

"Do you perceive it?" the first shadow responded, voice tinged with intrigue. "Is it not the fragrance of autumn?"

The second shadow pondered for a moment, casting its gaze over the surrounding bushes. "Indeed, it seems peculiar. How can leaves be falling here when summer still holds sway?"

Their eyes sharpened, honing in on the anomaly before them. Suddenly, a burst of laughter erupted, echoing through the night.

"Hahaha... A jest well played! Worry not, perhaps a gust of wind spirited the leaves to this spot," the first shadow chuckled, pointing toward the vigorously swaying trees overhead.

"Aye, that could be the case. Perchance, we fretted too much," the second shadow conceded.

"Let it be. The grandmaster bid us to keep vigil over this family, yet naught has aroused suspicion in three long years. Methinks Grandmaster Weston and Master Noel's concerns were overwrought."

"True indeed. I yearn for a swift resolution. This task grows wearisome, while our comrades revel in nightly revelries."

With the night extending its icy fingers, the two shadows engaged in idle banter, their voices mingling in the cold air. Eventually, their conversation waned, and their attention returned to the watchful gaze they were entrusted with. These shadows, a formidable unit trained by Grandmaster Weston himself, were adept at handling any situation that might arise.

...

As Desmond emerged from the depths of the basement, he ventured back into the castle through its unassuming rear entrance nestled within the kitchen's domain. The door emitted a high-pitched squeal as it swung open, causing Desmond to wince at the grating sound. Darkness enveloped the kitchen, broken only by the faint glow emanating from the grand chandelier suspended above the dining table and the moonlight filtering through nearby windows.

In a sudden and unexpected surge, lightning ripped through the night sky, casting an illuminating brilliance upon the scene. "Huh!" Desmond gasped, his heart pounding within his chest. The blinding radiance momentarily robbed him of his vision. As his sight gradually returned, he found himself confronted by a shadowy figure slumped over the dining table, its form resembling that of a person.

"Huh?!" Desmond's senses jolted into high alert as his eyes fixated on the mysterious silhouette. A surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins, urging him to tighten his grip on the sword hanging by his side.

Step by deliberate step, Desmond inched closer to the enigmatic shadow, the figure slowly materializing before him. As he drew nearer, the form revealed itself to be that of a slumbering girl, nestled against the dining table. Cradled in her grasp was a delicate box, causing Desmond's tension to dissipate, replaced by a wave of relief that washed over him.

"You startled me, sis," Desmond whispered, his gaze softening as he beheld his elder sister and the gift she clutched. Shaking his head, he murmured, "It's been one year, hasn't it?"

Indeed, it had been a full year since their parents had departed, leaving Desmond and his sister behind. In the midst of their tangled emotions, Desmond had forgotten about his own birthday. However, Alice, who adored him dearly, had always managed to surprise him each year. Recalling the previous year, his heart warmed at the memory of Alice's gift—a sword scabbard that he still treasured.

Not only had Alice showered him with love, but Desmond, too, had undergone a transformation. Over the passing years, her unwavering kindness and affection had slowly thawed the walls around his heart, gradually allowing her to fill the void left by their absent parents.

Though they had started as strangers, a seed had taken root within Desmond, blossoming into acceptance of Alice as his sister, his family.

"Come on, sis, it's chilly out here," Desmond coaxed gently, sweeping Alice into his arms. With a protective stance, he made his way toward the staircase, ascending to the warmth of the second floor. Despite her petite frame, Desmond, whose daily routine involved wielding a hefty 5kg wooden sword, found her weight inconsequential.

Upon reaching the second floor, Desmond navigated the familiar hallways with ease until he reached the sanctuary of Alice's room. The door creaked open under his touch as he entered, carefully cradling Alice in his arms. With a tenderness that belied his strength, he gently laid her down upon the soft embrace of the bed.

In that tender moment, as Desmond sought to settle Alice in her slumber, a sudden tug on his clothes caught him off guard. Turning his gaze, he found Alice still lost in the depths of her dreams, yet her hand clasped his firmly. His eyes traced her serene face, which bore a bittersweet smile accompanied by a solitary tear that gently trailed down her cheek.

"Father, Mother, don't leave me again. I miss you," Alice's plaintive words reached Desmond's ears, tugging at his heartstrings. Gently, he reached out, his hand finding solace in the act of rubbing her head, a silent gesture of comfort. Inwardly, he sighed, recognizing the significance of this crucial stage where parental love should have been bestowed upon a child.

It pained him to think that in such circumstances, a young girl might grow to resent her parents or seek alternative sources of protection. He understood the weight of the responsibility that now rested on his shoulders, and a deep sense of duty settled within him.

Alice's expression then shifted, her mouth curving up into a serene smile. Desmond tenderly draped a blanket over her slumbering form, ensuring her warmth and security, before quietly exiting the room, leaving her to her dreams.

Observing Alice, a warm sensation washed over Desmond, evoking memories of his own past, where his family, despite being part of a Mafia organization, had cared for him and provided everything he needed. In that moment, he recognized the immeasurable value of a family as the closest pillar of support in the world.

...

Returning to his own room, Desmond flopped onto his bed with a satisfied sigh. A sense of ease washed over him as he shifted his gaze to the ceiling, his mind drifting into contemplation.

"Ah." Desmond let out a soft moan, his body relaxed and devoid of any pain. He absentmindedly touched his clothes, opening them slightly, revealing a glimpse of his skin.

"Not even the faintest trace of pain remains. The burn marks I sustained in the dungeon are completely gone," Desmond remarked, his voice tinged with a mixture of wonder and satisfaction. Previously, his muscular abdomen had been marred by severe burns—a sight that, in his previous world, would have been deemed permanent, with no hope of healing or removal.

Yet, through his unwavering focus on healing, the once-agonizing wounds had miraculously vanished, leaving no evidence behind.

Lying there, his gaze fixed upon the ceiling, he muttered to himself, "Status."

A moment of anticipation hung in the air as Desmond awaited the response.

[Scanning Host's Body...]

[Scan Complete!]

[-Status-

Name: Desmond

Gender: Male

Age: 3 years

Race: Human

Class: Swordsman

Occupation: None

Unique Energy: 5.05

Strength: 7.04

Agility: 0.44

Stamina: 1.63]

"Hmm, my agility seems to have increased, though I can't feel any noticeable changes," Desmond mused, his eyes tracing the details of his status. Just then, a deafening roar reverberated through the skies, catching his attention. Peering through the window, his gaze fell upon the cascading rain outside, a deluge drenching the world around him.

Fixing his gaze on the mesmerizing raindrops, Desmond found himself captivated by the intricate details of each descending droplet. It was as if time had frozen, and the suspended water particles hung in mid-air, their descent slowed to a crawl.

"Perhaps this is one of the benefits of increased Agility. Not bad at all—a small advantage with a noticeable effect," Desmond thought, acknowledging the subtle yet remarkable enhancement.

Turning his attention to the gift box he had retrieved from Alice's grasp, he anticipated the contents within. The box was compact, fitting neatly into the palm of his hand, adorned with an elaborate ribbon tied around it.

With a deliberate motion, Desmond tugged at the ribbon's midpoint, causing the box's wrapping to unfurl gracefully, unveiling a delicate necklace within. The silver chain glinted under the ambient light, while the centerpiece showcased a meticulously crafted dragon's head.

Desmond chuckled and shook his head, amused by the progression from a sword scabbard to a necklace. "Thank you, sis. You truly care for me," he expressed his gratitude while cradling the necklace in both hands. Now, his focus turned to securing this potentially perilous item.

Retrieving his trusty sword, Desmond opened the cupboard and deftly pulled a concealed rope. Carefully, he stashed the necklace away, ensuring its safety from prying eyes. Satisfied with his secret hiding spot, he resumed his meditation, intending to augment his Unique Energy.

"System, have you stored my parents' battle records?" Desmond inquired, his mind attuned to the hidden depths of knowledge within the system.

[Creating a Task...

Used 1 Slot

Status: Working 0%]

[Working 50% ..]

[Status: Completed]

[Saving to Database ...]

[Data Saved!]

[System Suggestion: Yes, there is a recorded battle from three years ago when your parents were under attack by assassins. Would you like to play the recording?]

"Yes, please," Desmond replied, settling into a comfortable, cross-legged position on his bed. With a calm determination, he initiated his meditation while immersing himself in the playback of the intense clash between Leona, Bastian, and the assassins. This technique had become a ritual for Desmond over the years, allowing his body to gradually assimilate the movements witnessed in the recording.