I had been too careless about the current situation.
Sweetly, blissfully so—more so than chocolate.
Now that I'd become a god, the only one who could stand as my enemy was Black.
Even with Black, I figured that as long as I avoided a direct confrontation, I could handle things however I pleased.
In reality, that was true. Black was wary of me at present, but didn't recognize me as an enemy.
From the very start, I'd been operating under the assumption that everyone besides myself was a potential enemy, so there was a gap in our initial moves.
That time I spent setting up the surrounding situation would effectively close the gap in raw power.
Even if it came to a direct clash, I could devise a way to win by then.
That was why I believed no enemy existed for me in this world anymore.
I truly believed that.
I was too sweet about it.
Sweetly, blissfully so—more so than soft serve.
Becoming a god didn't make me omnipotent.
I was just a little stronger, nothing more.
That was proven by Black's very existence—someone who, despite everything, had been unable to do a thing about this world.
I should have thought about that more deeply.
Even if thinking about it wouldn't have changed anything.
Still, I regretted it.
I should have known.
The malice of people.
Just how vile the people of this world could be.
What truly demanded vigilance wasn't some crude measure of strength—it was the depth of cruelty people could sink to, the full weight of human emotion.
I should have known that, yet I dismissed it.
I was too sweet about it.
Sweetly, blissfully so—more so than eating sugar straight.
The Fourth Army, led by that punk, launched a surprise assault on the Seventh Army.
The Seventh Army, which had been the one planning the attack, found itself caught off guard instead, thrown into disarray as they scrambled to respond.
As a result, they barely managed to establish any real defensive perimeter, and the barrier walls surrounding the city were breached with ease.
At that point, most of the defenders' advantage evaporated, and the battle devolved into a brawl on equal footing.
When things reached that stage, morale differences showed clearly in the outcome.
The Fourth Army, with roughly equal forces, had prepared thoroughly and attacked with discipline. The Seventh Army, which had been preparing to attack, was now reeling from being attacked instead.
The difference was stark.
That said, this was only in the early phase. By the time the battle reached its middle stage, the Seventh Army had managed to regroup.
As expected of seasoned war professionals, you could say.
Well, even so, the initial losses had been substantial, so no matter how they reorganized, they were being ground down bit by bit.
The Fourth Army, for its part, didn't recklessly push for an all-out assault, instead shifting to a cautious fight aimed at minimizing attrition.
If the Seventh Army had continued pressing their offensive with momentum after regrouping, they might have suffered devastating losses.
The commander had managed to keep the heat of the battlefield in check and relayed orders effectively.
Not bad for a punk.
The outcome of this battle was already visible.
What remained to be seen was what the Seventh Army's corps commander, Warkis, would do.
If he chose total resistance, the Seventh Army would be annihilated.
If he surrendered, it would end right there.
Either way, Warkis as the ringleader wouldn't survive, but in terms of saving his soldiers, surrendering would be the better choice.
The problem was the masked man.
From what my clones had scouted, that man wasn't anywhere on this battlefield.
Had he detected the danger early and fled?
That prediction turned out to be half right and half wrong.
A group was attempting to break through the Fourth Army's encirclement.
Though small in number, they used skilled magic to punch holes in the encirclement, desperately trying to escape.
The defining characteristic of this group was that every member had their head concealed beneath a hood.
They were unmistakably a group of elves.
I made that judgment and dispatched a clone toward them.
I could have left it to the Fourth Army, but ideally I wanted to capture at least one of them myself.
I'd isolate one person into a pocket dimension without being noticed amid the chaos.
As I drew closer with that thought, I spotted a particular individual.
I found them.
It was someone who had no business being on a battlefield—a small child.
Even smaller than that Hero from a while back.
Smaller than the little vampire kid.
That tiny child was fighting desperately in the middle of the battlefield.
Strangely, it seemed the elves were rallying around this child as their center.
The child's skill was remarkably high for their appearance.
But among the surrounding elves, there were adults with even greater abilities.
Still, the child was the focal point.
They were shielding that child, fighting to protect them.
I heard voices.
"Don't give up! We have to run!"
"Yes!"
From my perspective, it was plainly obvious—they had zero chance of breaking through the encirclement.
Judging each person's abilities individually, unless they had some hidden ace, breaking out was impossible.
They had to know that too.
Yet they kept trying to break through on the faintest sliver of hope.
There was no trace of any intent to surrender.
They were charging headlong into their own deaths.
As if to prove it, one after another, they fell.
"Kinun!"
"Oka, go!"
"But—!"
"Go! I'm done for!"
"No!"
"You're supposed to save the students, right? Don't stop here! Go!"
A gravely wounded man, summoning his last ounce of strength, charged through.
Even that was met instantly—a blade of interception pierced him clean through, and he died.
No amount of resolve or conviction could be achieved without the power to back it up.
They were elves.
But they were different.
Different from the ones I'd been targeting.
Fools who knew nothing and were simply trying to live out the justice they believed in.
The ones the Demon King's faction called soft and despised.
But none of that mattered.
"Oka." "Students." That was what they'd said.
I immediately understood what those words meant.
Because the soul of the child at the center of those elves was utterly unlike anything in the other elves—a soul of a wholly different nature.
That soul felt similar to the little vampire kid's.
What that meant was one thing.
I used spatial magic to evacuate the group of elves.
While I was at it, I collected the bodies of the fallen as well.
The remaining Fourth Army voiced their bewilderment at the targets suddenly vanishing.
The elves I'd dropped at a random location were equally dazed, unable to process their situation.
But once they realized they'd been saved, cheers erupted.
I let out a breath of relief.
But in the next instant, an overwhelming surge of fury boiled up.
Damn it!
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
Ah, I get it.
I get it now—the enemy's scheme.
This coup didn't matter to them one way or another, whether it succeeded or failed.
All they needed was a single experiment.
What response would the Demon King's army take when they discovered a reincarnator?
They wanted to observe that reaction.
If there was surveillance in place, they already knew the Demon King was protecting the little vampire kid.
The enemy wanted to see what kind of response we'd show regarding the reincarnator.
Depending on what they saw, they'd decide whether to treat them as a hostage against the Demon King or discard them as expendable.
Originally, that group was probably meant to be sent directly against the Demon King.
That way, the Demon King would have been forced to respond whether he liked it or not.
But the Fourth Army's surprise attack had changed those plans.
If left alone, that group would have been wiped out there without achieving anything.
But I saved them.
How humiliating.
Why did I have to send someone I'd once held in my hand back under the enemy's control?
I could see it—a fragment of another soul, parasitic in nature, clinging to that person's soul.
The kind that could, at the slightest opportunity, seize control of their soul entirely.
If I had taken that person away right then, the enemy would have carried that out without hesitation.
That person had been held as a hostage.
By saving them, I had deliberately shown the enemy that this person still held value as a hostage.
Now the enemy wouldn't be able to act carelessly against them.
After all, a hostage is only valuable while alive.
As long as they remained useful, the enemy wouldn't dare lay a hand on them.
But if they did anything foolish, I would not show mercy.
I watched over the group I'd rescued.
That person was crying.
Vomiting, and crying.
I didn't know what the enemy had fed them.
Probably something about the students being kidnapped by the Demon King, or some variation of that.
And yet, they'd walked onto that battlefield to save them anyway.
I couldn't fathom how much resolve and inner conflict it had taken.
I couldn't fathom it, but looking at that person crying, vomiting, and suffering, I could tell the road to get here had been agonizingly hard.
There was nothing I could do for someone like that.
If I tried, the enemy would exploit it.
I'd become a god and thought I no longer had any enemies.
I was too sweet about it.
Sweetly, blissfully so—more so than the taste of blood spreading in my mouth.
Let me admit it.
And I'll make you realize just whose enemy you've provoked.
I won't forgive you.
I will absolutely never forgive you.
I'll kill you amidst regret and despair.
So, Sensei.
Wait for me.
I'll definitely save you.
Someday, I'll definitely save you.