"Could I do better than Wizet...?" Voldemort slowly repeated the words. The hint of amusement on his face vanished abruptly, leaving only pure coldness.
"Very good... Herpo, your plan is very good." His voice lowered. "But within this plan, there is an... unpredictable variable that repeatedly ruins everything."
His eyes scrutinized Herpo unblinkingly. "I would not be like you, thinking I had devised a perfect plan and that victory was already assured... only to end up suffering a crushing defeat."
Herpo's face twisted abruptly, the muscles in his cheeks twitching violently.
Without question, Voldemort's words were like an icy dagger, precisely piercing the deepest wound in his heart and forcing him to face reality.
The plan so carefully constructed by Morgana le Fay had appeared flawless. Who could have imagined... that Wizet Lovegood would find a weakness in it and completely dismantle it?
And he had done so in a way Herpo could not even comprehend, leaving him without the slightest clue as to how he might counter it.
After all, the strongest countermeasure at his disposal had been an attack personally launched by "My Lord."
Even an attack launched by "My Lord" had failed, fundamentally shaking the foundations of the Isaiah Society.
Not long ago, those core members had already begun to question "My Lord's" might.
This forced Herpo to carry out a brutal purge, bringing resources that included the souls of core members before Voldemort to seek cooperation.
Not even when facing Alexander III, nor during the nearly century-long struggle against Selina Pendragon, had he ever suffered such a disastrous defeat.
It was precisely this unprecedented defeat that caused the most terrifying thought to surface in his mind once more—what if even "My Lord" could not defeat Wizet Lovegood?
Voldemort took a step forward, bearing down on Herpo