What? I Actually Reincarnated As Stepping Stone In Another World?



As the man in golden armor drew near, the voice of the man in pitch-black armor reached his ears, eliciting a look of incredulity that swept across his features.

"Is the claim substantiated?" he inquired with rapidity, his tone edged with urgency.

Taking the scroll from the man in pitch-black armor, he proceeded to read its contents.

The information therein prompted a sharp intake of breath from the man in golden armor, his grip on the scroll tightening, the document now crumpled within his palm.

"This is preposterous!" he exclaimed, his voice imbued with a mix of anger and disbelief.

With a swift, vehement motion, he tore the scroll into shreds, then turned his attention to the soldier responsible for delivering the news.

"When did you become privy to this information? And why did you not convey it with utmost haste?" His rage peaked, manifesting in a surge of mid-level elemental saint pressure that he unleashed upon the soldier, effectively subduing them beneath its weight.

Bearing the weight of the overpowering aura, the soldier found himself forced to kneel, his ability to breathe hampered by the intensity of the pressure.

"I—" The soldier's voice faltered, the desire to explain stifled by the unrelenting force pinning him down.

"Speak swiftly!" The man adorned in golden armor dismounted, his steps punctuated by an undercurrent of anger.

Yet the soldier's words remained lodged within him, as the oppressive weight nullified any attempts to vocalize them.

"Enough of this! Do not aggravate the situation!" Abruptly, a hand clamped onto the man in golden armor's shoulder, arresting his impending action.

"Refrain from needless rashness. This soldier bears no blame, and squandering an elite member of our ranks would be a grievous loss," the man in pitch-black armor interjected, his voice a measured appeal aimed at pacifying his comrade.

Reluctantly yielding, the man in golden armor ceased his actions, gradually diminishing the suffocating aura and allowing the soldier to draw a beleaguered breath.

"Haah... haah..." The soldier drew in ragged breaths, his hands instinctively reaching for his neck as if the invisible constrictions had at last released their grip.

With the fervent outburst of the man in golden armor somewhat subsided, the man in pitch-black armor turned his focus to the soldier.

His gaze remained fixed, unwavering, and probing.

"Why did this intelligence arrive only now and not earlier?" The question carried a weighty tone, laden with seriousness, and its delivery was unswerving as it bore into the soldier.

While the passing of the second general, Don, stirred emotions within him, the man in pitch-black armor was adept at maintaining his emotional equilibrium, steering clear of rash decisions—except for the instances involving David and Noah, which temporarily unraveled his control.

In response to his question, the soldier hastened to rise from his knees, no longer willing to remain on the ground.

Meeting the unwavering gaze of the man in pitch-black armor, he addressed him promptly.

"General, the delay in conveying this news was not due to my tardiness but rather a consequence of the intelligence relayed by our spies. The information reached us only recently, and no aspect of chance was involved in its timing," the soldier explained, his voice a mixture of tension and urgency.

The pallor that had overtaken the soldier's visage due to his previous breathlessness was now a stark reminder of his struggle.

Upon absorbing the soldier's detailed account, the man in pitch-black armor's expression shifted into one of deep consternation.

His brow furrowed, and his gaze bore into the soldier with an intensity that could not be ignored.

"How could it be that our strategically positioned agents failed to relay the information until days after the date inscribed upon the scroll?" The man in pitch-black armor's eyes remained locked onto the soldier, his gaze piercing and unyielding.

Faced with the penetrating scrutiny of the first general, the soldier hastened to shake his head, a sense of urgency coloring his explanation.

"It was none other than the enemy, general. They identified and eliminated every one of our spy units, leaving only a sole survivor who managed to escape, delivering this message to us." The soldier's voice carried an undertone of grit, and his demeanor was marked by visible trepidation.

He couldn't fathom the capabilities of a force that could so deftly pinpoint the locations of their covert operatives, subsequently wiping them out.

The soldier's thoughts refused to venture into the realm of speculating about the nature of such a formidable power.

His primary concern now was convincing the assembled generals to retreat, sparing themselves from confronting these monstrous adversaries.

Yet the task of persuading these commanders, steeped in pride and authority, seemed to him an insurmountable challenge.

In a moment of realization, the soldier recognized the insurmountable challenge before him, prompting him to swallow the apprehension that weighed heavily on his intentions.

In this critical juncture, the most prudent course of action appeared to be disclosing the information to the generals and entrusting the decision to their judgment.

The man in pitch-black armor drew a deep breath, absorbing the gravity of the situation upon learning of David's resurgence.

The revelation incited a palpable jolt in his heart, and a cascade of questions surged forth.

How could David's strength be on the rise once again? On what levels does his power now reside, surpassing the level he reached decades ago?

His teeth clenched, and the man in pitch-black armor found himself grappling with the unfathomable nature of these events.

Turning his gaze toward his fellow generals, he noted the stark transformation that had come over their expressions.

"What are your thoughts on this matter?" he inquired, directing his attention toward the man in white armor.

The man in white armor hesitated for a brief moment, a reflective look clouding his eyes.

He then returned his gaze to the man in pitch-black armor, his tone conveying the utmost seriousness.

"You bear the mantle of the strongest general and lead us. We shall rally behind whatever decision you deem fit," the man in white armor responded, his demeanor resolute.

The man in pitch-black armor, faced with the weighty decision, fell into contemplation, torn between uncertainty and the magnitude of the impending choice.

Just as the crossroads of judgment loomed before him, an unexpected voice, infused with laughter, pierced the air from behind.

"Hahahaha! What's this fear that has seized you? Have you forgotten about our collective existence, or do you harbor such grandeur that you exclude us from deliberation?" A slightly raspy male voice reverberated through the air, causing the man in pitch-black armor's eyes to narrow.

Emerging from the shadows with his horse in tow was the very figure who had conversed with the man in pitch-black armor previously—a cloaked leader among the ten enigmatic figures.

His face remained concealed beneath the hood of his black cloak, rendering his expressions inscrutable.

The man in pitch-black armor's features contorted into a scowl, his countenance marked by a mix of disdain and displeasure.

"What do you mean?" he retorted with a tone that carried an undercurrent of irritation.

It wasn't that he dismissed the significance of these ten cloaked figures; rather, his hesitation was rooted in his reluctance to involve them too deeply in deliberations that could potentially jeopardize the lives of millions of his troops.

To him, these ten individuals were strangers, devoid of personal investment in his forces' well-being, and he was wary of taking undue risks by entrusting them with pivotal decisions.

In the face of the man in black armor's guarded response, the cloaked individual didn't escalate the confrontation.

Instead, he countered in a measured tone.

"As we communicated to the three of you earlier, your reluctance to engage us in discourse stems from your overbearing arrogance. Yet, have you forgotten that it was your very Emperor who beseeched our aid for your cause?" The cloaked man's words dripped with icy detachment, the aura surrounding him immediately growing oppressive.

Exasperated by the frosty response from the cloaked figure, the man in golden armor, who had been struggling to contain his anger, unleashed his potent aura in response.

"Don't spout unnecessary drivel!" A potent surge of pressure erupted from his being, causing the two distinct auras to clash violently and giving rise to substantial air distortions.

The man in white armor joined the confrontation, his gaze cold and his own elemental saint aura poised to be unleashed.

In the midst of escalating tensions and an imminent clash, the commanding voice of the man in pitch-black armor resounded, curtailing the brewing confrontation.

"Cease this at once! No brawls!" A more commanding aura enveloped the space, swiftly quelling the dissipating energies of the clash.

Observing this, the man in the black cloak registered a flicker of surprise, his gaze locking onto the man in pitch-black armor with increased scrutiny.

"High-level elemental saint?" Caution colored the cloaked figure's demeanor, the tides of wariness surging within him.

Meanwhile, the man in pitch-black armor turned his attention to the cloaked individual, his expression marked by seriousness.

"Do you possess the confidence, alongside your nine compatriots, to take on Noah in the North?" His gaze bore a depth of cold intent, probing for certainty.

In response, a low chuckle escaped the lips concealed by the cloak, followed by a slow shake of the head.

"As I've assured you, there is no need for concern. I possess the unwavering confidence to emerge triumphant in this confrontation," the cloaked individual declared with an air of unwavering conviction, his tone steeped in both confidence and an undeniable arrogance.

The utterance stirred the man in pitch-black armor's thoughts, prompting a recollection of the Emperor's directive to entrust faith in the words of this enigmatic figure before him.

Having seemingly reached a resolution, the man in pitch-black armor inhaled deeply, his affirmation conveyed through a slow nod.

"Very well, I shall place my trust in your declaration. We shall proceed with our march and launch a formidable offensive against the northern region with our most formidable forces," he stated resolutely, his gaze locked on the horizon where the northern territory awaited.

The two fellow generals made no move to contest the decision, their shared aspiration being to push forward rather than retreat.

With a nod of concurrence from the cloaked leader, he pivoted his horse toward his nine comrades, who followed suit.

Unbeknownst to the man in pitch-black armor, concealed beneath the hood of the cloak was a sly smile—an elusive manifestation of hidden intent.

"Hehehe!"

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