There were those who learned from history and their own experiences, and then there were the ones who were doomed to repeat them all. Spitamaneh squarely found himself in the former category. Over the ages, if he hadn't tried to better himself and watch out for every possibility, then he would have fallen many a time.
And yet, his enemies had been the ones who had bitten the dust without fail. Meanwhile, he still stood strong–stronger than ever, in fact. Of course, it was becoming increasingly harder to inch forward even further, but he had all the time in the world.
On this campaign to capture a Heaven's Chosen, he did not dare to make a single mistake, or overlook any variable whatsoever. The Naxsir's intelligence network was deeply entrenched in many areas, and it had not been difficult to gather everything that he could possibly want to know about the Sybillans. However, letting his own people take a direct, secretive look at the scene before charging towards a mission target was still of value.
Intelligence could be out of date, or manipulated. Their assets and contacts could be bribed, replaced or otherwise misled. Even the data itself could be corrupted or accidentally messed up due to manual error. To avoid such problems as much as he could, Spitamaneh would always send out scouting vessels first, which would stay in direct contact with him and the rest of the fleet.
This measure could ensure that they had done their utmost to assure that their intel was accurate. Yet, he knew that it would still be possible to walk into a trap despite being so careful. His gruesome past served as a grim reminder of this to him every day. If he hadn't advanced as far along the path of cultivation as he had, then his entire body would be riddled with ugly scars.
'... my right hand's ring finger is itching again. Something has to be wrong here.'
Even before he dispatched a few ships to investigate, he already felt uncomfortable, his instincts telling him to be careful. And he had no reason not to trust them, as they had only become more and more reliable over time. With his skin having been saved by them more than just once or twice, the track record spoke for itself.
Yet despite being convinced that this either had to be some sort of trap, or that they were overlooking something vital, everything that his eyes on the ground informed him of was pretty much as they had been expecting.
A group of powerful figures had appeared not long ago, led by a man by the name of Theodore Winter. This man had saved the Sybillans from certain doom, and then weeded out the corrupt, cancerous growths in their society with ruthless efficiency not long after. With the willing support of the last Oracle and with the populace having an overwhelmingly good impression of him, everything went smoothly.
'A 'saviour', huh? I wonder, was he the one responsible for their plight to begin with and merely put on a charade? Or did he just happen to be at the right place at the right time? Well, in either case, he's now got a whole civilization at his beck and call.'
Not putting too much stock in the reputation of this man, as he knew very well how too many of these powerful geniuses were–he was one of them, after all–he focused on Theodore's Subordinates next.
Every one of them was either extremely talented, or worthy of becoming a part of the Naxsir's great undertaking! And that was merely what he glimpsed from a cursory glance. They couldn't exactly get too close, else they might risk being discovered prematurely.
'This is a gold mine! But I can't allow myself to be fooled by this apparent treasure in front of me. Someone who is capable of turning all of these remarkable individuals into his own entourage... can't be simple. I'm afraid that I might not even be capable of detaining him. Perhaps... one or two of these Subordinates will have to do...'
Furrowing his brows, he contemplated asking for reinforcements before charging in, but then chose neither to ignore that thought completely nor to do exactly that. Instead, he did a bit of both.
Sending everything that they had on hand for now back to his people, he chose to become a vanguard for his nomadic civilization. On the off chance that he didn't make it back, they would at least know not to underestimate their target. And if nothing went awry, then he could save their great undertaking a lot of time!
'After knowing the truth, self-preservation has never been my goal. I'll be careful, for sure, but risking it all for the greater good is exactly what I live for.'
With a slight smile on his lips, he ordered his fleet to proceed onwards and surround Pytho, sealing any and all potential routes of escape. At one point, his instincts began to flare up even stronger, making him raise an eyebrow and inspect the area carefully, temporarily causing all of his troops to stop their advance.
Still, he found nothing noteworthy. Keeping what happened just now in mind, he let them continue onward again, guessing that the abnormality might be related to simply getting close enough to whatever was responsible for worrying his intuition. But of course, he couldn't be sure about that.
Contrary to what the state of his ring finger might suggest, everything went perfectly fine. The entire world of the Sybillans got systematically enclosed in their fleet's formation, then the troops began to disembark.
Being as close to the target as they were and utilizing some of their technological means, they managed to push back the Lesser True Void for a brief period of time. It was just long enough to allow the rank and file to remain unharmed as they stepped into Pytho's bounds.
Their pitch-black, resilient armours were covered in layer upon layer of furs and pelts, giving them a violent, dangerous air. Like an inexhaustible flood of darkness, they enveloped the entirety of the world. Despite the presence of the sun, it felt like night had fallen artificially, due to the huge number of bodies getting closer slowly but surely, step by step.
Yet before they could make it very far, more than a hundred figures shot up from a small but luxurious island, as well as various locations around the Sybillans' civilization. They were vanishingly few in comparison, and their cultivation didn't even surpass the Deiform Soma Stage.
Somehow, though, the power and Energy that they exuded made even some Gate Traversal Stage strongmen amongst the army feel uncomfortable. They were evidently far more than met the eye, and underestimating them would cost them dearly.
'Oh? The Sybillans' army hasn't been mobilized, although there are some figures amongst them who could perhaps withstand a blow from my weakest men. Is Theodore Winter this confident in his Subordinates? And where is he?'
His perception didn't give Spitamaneh anything to work with–not even an inkling of a trace. This only served to further convince him that he had to be extremely alert.
With his army and Theodore's Subordinates being in a silent stand-off, both sides were waiting for further instructions. If neither Spitamaneh nor their leader gave any commands, then it might turn into a battle of mental attrition.
'... this has to be a trap, I'm sure of it. Then let's see if you have what it takes, Heaven's Chosen!'
Resolving himself to see this through to the end–however it may eventually turn out–he portrayed a calm, steady expression and left the flagship. With composed, leisurely steps, he strolled through the Lesser True Void and towards Pytho, entirely immune to his surroundings' perils.
It was at this moment that he took note of a particular gaze. And it was a familiar one.
'That one over there's the woman who had a vision of me. So far, everything seems to be in order...'
Recognizing the Advanced Ascension Stage Oracle for who she was, he glanced at her for a moment, his automatically exuded might and the strength of his soul almost crushing her on the spot. But as he had no enmity with her, he looked away soon after, leaving her to fall to her knees bereft of breath.
As his eyes wandered across his target's direct Subordinates, he was surprised to see that none of them faltered much. Some of them were indeed a little bit scared of him, but nobody was outright shaken.
"... extraordinary. It appears that your Master has a good eye for people."
Although he was barely muttering these words, every living being in Pytho and beyond heard them clearly, without any effort on his part. And just like he had hoped, having cast himself as the bait and having provided an optimal opportunity to chime in... another voice responded.
"You're too kind! I was just a little lucky to have run across them, that's all."
A white-haired young man of nearly unfathomably dashing looks appeared somewhere between the two opposing sides out of nowhere, without Spitamaneh being able to discern any movement or Energy usage whatsoever. This, coupled with the unperturbed look in the newcomer's icy blue eyes, made the warning bells in his head ring even louder!
'Speak of the devil...'
And yet, a smirk stole itself on the Legate's lips. Everything was proceeding according to his plan. Whether or not it would succeed, though? That was a wholly different matter, and he knew it.
"Don't undersell yourself too much! You're quite the talent as well. Forgive us for the show of force, but we Naxsir are especially committed to gathering people such as yourself. Would you spare us all the hassle and come with us?"
Sporting a diplomatic smile, Spitamaneh decided to choose to attempt the peaceful route first. Most of the time, unless someone truly had their back to the wall, they wouldn't decide to face impossible odds. On this occasion, though, it was unknown who would come out on top–but it was still worth a try, at the very least.
"... you know, I'm almost tempted to play along. I could obtain the current location of your people, and much, much more. Truly, if circumstances were different, I would take you up on that offer."
The expression on Theodore's lips sent a cold shiver down Spitamaneh's spine, and the words that he spoke made him want to rip off his ring finger due to how powerful the itching sensation had become. Anybody–even the slowest, most average soldier present at the scene–could tell that something was profoundly amiss by now!
'... I'm glad that I informed the headquarters in advance.'
Clenching his fists with a hint of nervousness in his eyes, the Legate felt grateful to his past self, who had always gone above and beyond. Maybe, just maybe... he had bitten off more than he could chew this time.
"It's such a pity that I already have all of the most important intel, so there's no need to play these admittedly quite fun games with you."
Heaving a theatrical sigh, Theodore shook his head, then gave a polite bow, as if hailing a play's audience. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he locked gazes with the Naxsir fleet's commander.
"Greetings and salutations to you, friends from afar. It's my pleasure to receive you here, in my neck of the endless woods. Thank you for coming, I've been awaiting you."
His words being kind, tender and warm, they nonetheless made all of the addressed listeners feel their hair stand on end. And what turned it even worse was that–from one moment to the next–their friendly host's expression soured, as if he had been deeply hurt.
With faux tears at the corners of his eyes Theodore stared reproachfully at the Legate.
"Spitamaneh. Buddy. How come you've made me count the days for so long? Seriously, you're slow! Well, it's better to arrive late than not at all, I suppose..."
Having kept his composure all this while throughout the eerie show, for the first time, the Legate's eyes widened in horror, and he almost took a subconscious step backwards.
'How does he know my name?!'