297 The Elf Village Defense Battle⑨

"Ariel! What is that! What on earth is that!?"

Potimas’s voice crackled with urgency.

At the same moment, the robot’s assault abruptly ceased.

"What do you mean 'that'? Which one exactly? Without specifics, I can't comprehend."

Shrugging mockingly, deliberately exaggerated, I shook my head with a sigh.

Normally, I’d have dismissed such an attitude lightly. But this time, even through the speaker, the sound of gritted teeth was audible.

"That white one! What is it!?"

Exactly.

Yes, I knew.

Even while pretending not to understand, I knew full well.

Only Shiro could provoke such a reaction from Potimas.

Yet Potimas’s panic was unprecedented.

Hearing Potimas scream with such raw emotion—was this perhaps the first time I had ever heard it?

Potimas usually looked down on others, showing no emotion worth noting.

There was no need to endure insults from those beneath him.

It was beneath him to be moved by such people, so he considered it shameful.

Therefore, even if emotions stirred, he never let them show.

Yet now, this visible distress.

An event far beyond Potimas’s expectations had occurred.

Yes. Shiro could do something like this.

“What? Did Shiro do something?”

I asked, though I did not expect an answer.

“Who is questioning here!? Answer immediately! What is that thing!?”

Shouting now like a scream.

Hmm.

Well.

I would have preferred to make that sound myself.

Shiro got there first, huh.

“Don’t know what happened, but it feels like Shiro got the better of you. Too bad. Serves you right.”

A mocking laugh. The robot, which had been motionless, suddenly lunged.

Dodge the wide, angry strike with a backstep.

“Mad? Angry? Impulsive, aren’t you? Maybe you’re calcium deficient. That’s why recluses like you are such weaklings.”

Provoked, the robot charges forward without hesitation.

“Damn! Damn! Damn! Where did the calculations go wrong? That shouldn’t even make sense!”

The muttered curses echo emptily.

Weak.

Knew it all along. This man is weak.

Potimas was strong only because he’d always fought opponents weaker than himself.

Potimas was not strong. The opponent was simply weaker.

That is why they were able to remain strong.

That is why they were able to display composure.

But I know.

This man is, in truth, weaker than anyone else.

Weaker than anyone else, thus sought power more than anyone else.

The end of that familiarity is the current Potimas.

A man who mistook strength for having become strong—unchanged, still weak.

Facing a stronger existence than oneself—Shiro—was like peeling back the veneer to reveal the underlying weakness.

Weakness.

"What?"

Potimas, having heard the quiet muttering with sharp ears, replied in a low voice.

"Potimas, you're weak."

I hadn’t intended to share that thought, but since you’ve asked, I’ll state it clearly.

I have no interest in hearing that from someone content with the system’s provisional power.

Not about strength or weakness in that sense.

He wouldn’t understand even if I said it.

“That’s right—the system. What’s this nonsense about ascending to godhood? No one could become a god! But then—why? Ah, damn it! Damn it all!”

Potimas repeats incoherent, fragmented curses, no longer aware of what he’s saying.

His erratic movements, likely influenced by his master, are chaotic.

The drill advances toward my face.

I bite down on it.

A grating, unpleasant sound echoes—yet I ignore it, clamping my jaw shut and severing the drill.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait! Right—why? Why are you still alive?”

Huh?

Finally noticed?

“Why are your wounds healing? Why can you fight equally against Gloria Omega inside a magic suppression field? What’s going on!?!”

Too slow to realize.

I was torn apart by the robot’s drill.

My abdomen split open, my chest pierced through, my arm blown off, my leg torn away.

Yet those wounds are already healed.

“Impossible. Impossible—so you too? You think you’ve become a god!?”

Potimas screams.

I, whom he has long looked down upon, have ascended the staircase to divinity before him.

That must be his greatest humiliation.

“No.”

But unfortunately, that is not the case.

I have not become a god.

I cannot become a god.

If it were that easy, Potimas would have become a god long ago.

“I am not a god. But for a temporary period, I can match a god in combat. You know that method, don’t you?”

The robot steps back.

It appears as though Potimas hesitates.

“Impossible.”

“That’s exactly it.”

“Are you even sane?”

What a harsh thing to say.

To Potimas, it’s likely not rational.

That’s why you’re weak.

I’m not exactly strong either, but I believe I have the courage to risk my life for my purpose.

“Humility”

A newly acquired virtue skill.

Its effect grants me temporary abilities comparable to those of a god.

When Shiro’s soul fragment, the original body’s steward, and my soul merged, my soul’s capacity increased.

My soul had already become completely full—like a cracked vessel on the verge of bursting.

Shiro’s soul seeped in, repairing the cracks.

Thanks to that, I was able to acquire a new skill I had previously been unable to obtain.

I took skills I hadn’t needed before—like telepathy—until finally acquiring this one: Humility.

This skill, kept secret from everyone except Shiro, is my trump card.

No hesitation in playing this trump card.

Even if it consumes this soul completely.

[Humility: 100% of the power required to reach divinity. Temporarily grants power equal to that of a god through consumption of one's own soul. Also grants interference rights over the MA domain, surpassing the W system.]