Let the Assassination Come More Fiercely

Black Box fell silent again. This time, for even longer. Then that intelligent voice rang out, carrying a trace of complicated, indescribable emotion.

"Yes, we can't kill you. You're the Primordial Demon God, an aggregate of a hundred Dimension Demon Gods, the Lord of All Demons. Bullets hitting you are lighter than mosquito bites. But your employees don't know that. Those reporters don't know that. The whole world doesn't know that. All they know is that someone wants to kill you, and they failed."

"You want to use an assassination attempt, and the fact that you don't die, to brand yourself as the chosen one, just like many politicians do."

It saw things very clearly.

"Yes. Trump taught me that." Ian set down his teacup, the cup making a soft clink against the tabletop. "Besides, they need to see with their own eyes that I'm not an ordinary person. The things I said—letting humanity evolve, step toward the stars, become the most powerful race in the universe—those words are too grand, so grand that no one can truly believe them. They're willing to wait because they have no other choice."

"But in their hearts, they still doubt. They need something, something that can turn 'willing to believe' into 'truly believe.'"

Ian's thinking was also very realistic.

Black Box picked up where he left off.

"An assassination. A failed, public assassination seen by everyone." There was a hint of emotion in its tone.

It was sounding more and more anthropomorphic.

"Right," Ian said. "Let them come. Let them make their move. Let them shoot me in front of the cameras of the whole world, stab me with knives, poison me with poison. Then let them see that nothing happens to me."

Black Box laughed. It was not a happy laugh, but