230. Underestimated.

I had underestimated the current situation.

Sweet—sweetier than chocolate.

Only black can become divine—and an enemy.

Even in darkness, he had calculated that direct confrontation could be avoided—anything was possible then.

That is accurate. The black one currently remains cautious toward me, but does not recognize me as an enemy.

There is a difference in initial response between me, who inherently perceives anyone other than myself as a potential enemy, and others.

The time required to overcome the disparity in power becomes effective when the surrounding circumstances are manipulated accordingly.

Even if direct confrontation becomes unavoidable, a means to prevail will be in place by then.

That is precisely why my enemy no longer exists in this world.

That was what she thought.

It had been sweet.

It was sweeter than soft cream—excessively so.

To become a god does not grant omnipotence.

Nothing more than slightly strong.

It is proof offered by the black entity that could not alter this world.

I should have contemplated that more deeply.

Even if reflection would not have changed anything.

Still, I regretted it.

I should have known.

The malice of humans.

How depraved the people of this world could be.

What truly needed vigilance was not mere strength, but the capacity for cruelty—human emotion itself.

I should have known. Yet I dismissed it.

It was naive.

Naive beyond even eating sugar straight from the spoon.

The Fourth Army, led by street thugs, launched a surprise assault on the Seventh Army.

The Seventh Army, believing themselves the aggressors, found themselves instead caught off guard, reacting in disarray.

As a result, they failed to establish a proper defense, and allowed the outer wall of the city to be breached without resistance.

At this point, the defenders' advantage had largely dissipated. The battle descended into chaotic melee on equal ground.

When that occurred, morale directly influenced outcomes.

Fourth Army, prepared and advancing with precision, versus Seventh Army, caught off guard and thrown into disarray during their own offensive preparations.

The disparity was evident.

Yet this advantage held only in the opening phase. By mid-battle, Seventh Army had stabilized.

One might call them professional soldiers, then.

Still, their initial losses were substantial. Even with recovery, they were gradually pressed back.

Fourth Army refrained from reckless, all-out assaults. The engagement shifted to cautious attrition, minimizing unnecessary expenditure.

Had the Seventh Army pressed forward with momentum after regrouping, they might have suffered severe losses.

The commander maintained control over the battlefield's intensity, ensuring orders reached their intended recipients.

Crap, actually doing it.

The outcome of this battle was clear.

It would now depend on the actions of the Seventh Army's commander, Workis.

Total resistance would result in the annihilation of the Seventh Army.

Surrender would end the conflict immediately.

Either way, Workis, as the mastermind, would not survive. But from the standpoint of saving the troops, surrender would be preferable.

The issue remained the masked man.

According to the fragmented search, the man's presence was not detected on this battlefield.

Had he sensed the danger early and fled?

That assumption was half correct, half incorrect.

A group attempted to break through the Fourth Army's encirclement.

Though few in number, they were carving a gap through the encirclement with precise magic, attempting a desperate escape.

Their distinguishing feature was that all wore hoods, concealing their heads.

Undoubtedly an elven group.

I made that judgment and directed a fragment toward them.

I could leave it to the Fourth Army, but I preferred to secure at least one myself.

In the chaos, I intended to isolate one individual into a separate space without detection.

As I approached, I found the figure.

I had found it.

A small child, out of place on the battlefield.

Smaller than any recorded hero.

Smaller than the current Vampire Child.

A child of such diminutive size, fighting desperately amid combat.

Curiously, the elves seemed to be fighting around the child.

The child's skill level was unusually high for its appearance.

Yet among the surrounding elves, adults with greater ability were present.

Yet the center remained the child.

Shielding the child, they fought.

A voice reached the ears.

"Keep going! Now, run!"

"Yes!"

From my perspective, frankly, their chance of breaking through the encirclement was nonexistent.

Given individual capabilities, breaking free from this position was impossible unless they possessed hidden reserves.

They must be aware of this.

Yet they attempt a breakthrough, betting on a single sliver of hope.

No indication of surrender.

They are charging into death.

One after another falls, as proof.

"Kinin!"

"Oka, go!"

"But!"

"Go! I'm done!"

"No!"

"Save your student! Don't stop here! Go!"

The wounded man, summoning his final strength, charges forward.

It is met immediately by a counterblade, pierced through—life ends.

No resolve, no conviction, no strength—none can achieve what cannot be achieved without power.

They are elves.

But they are surely different.

Not the ones I targeted.

Just a jester, unaware, clinging only to their own sense of justice.

Known as the 'foolish faction' to the Demon King, scorned and dismissed.

But none of that matters.

"Oka." "Student." That is what they said.

I understood immediately what those words meant.

Because the child at the core of the elves—its soul—was profoundly alien compared to the others.

The resonance of that soul was similar to that of a Vampire Child.

That meant one thing.

I activated spatial magic and evacuated the elven group.

I collected the corpses as well.

The remaining Fourth Army voiced confusion at the sudden disappearance of their opponent.

The elves, dumped in an arbitrary location, stood dazed, unable to comprehend their circumstances.

Yet, recognition dawned. Cheers rose.

A sigh of relief.

Then, in the next moment, uncontrollable rage surged.

Damn it!

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

Ah. I see.

I understand now. The enemy's intent.

It didn't matter whether this coup succeeded or failed.

Only one experiment mattered.

To observe the response of the Demon Army upon discovering a reincarnated soul.

To test their reaction.

If surveillance was in place, the enemy must already know the Demon King protects the Vampire Child.

They wanted to see how we would react to the revelation of a reincarnated soul.

That was the plan—decide whether to use the child as a hostage to the Demon King, or discard them outright.

Originally, that group was meant to be thrown directly at the Demon King.

That would have forced the Demon King to respond, regardless.

But the plan changed due to the surprise attack by the Fourth Army.

Had it continued as intended, that group would have been annihilated without achieving anything.

Yet I intervened.

Humiliation.

Why must I return that person—once within my grasp—back into the enemy's hands?

I saw another soul fragment, like a parasite, adhering to their spirit.

It could seize control of their soul at any moment.

Had I taken that person away as planned, the enemy would have acted without hesitation.

That person was being held as a hostage.

I deliberately let the enemy know that the person I rescued still held value as a hostage.

Now, the enemy should hesitate before acting rashly.

A hostage has value only when alive.

As long as the enemy finds use in them, they won’t harm the person.

Should they act rashly, there will be no mercy.

Observing the group I rescued.

The person was crying.

Vomiting while crying.

What the enemy whispered into their ear remains unknown.

Likely something like “a student has been abducted by the Demon King,” or similar.

Yet they came to rescue them, standing in that battlefield.

How much resolve, how much inner conflict it took— I cannot know.

I cannot know, but from the sight of them crying, vomiting, suffering— I understand the journey was severe.

I cannot do anything for such a person.

If I did, the enemy would exploit that weakness.

I thought, having become a god, there would be no enemies left.

How naive.

Naive even compared to the taste of blood spreading in this mouth.

I admit it.

Potimas, you are worthy of being my enemy.

And I will make you understand.

Exactly whom you have made your enemy.

I will not forgive.

I will never forgive.

I will kill you in regret and despair.

So, teacher.

Wait for me.

I will save you.

Someday. I will save you.