Early in the morning, Nye awoke from his customary cultivation session, a deeply dissatisfied frown twisting his lips. Ever since a few minutes ago, a sense of restlessness had begun to sprout within him, which made it impossible for him to actually make any more meaningful progress. Most annoying of all, though, was that he couldn't pinpoint any particular sort of core issue that was causing this feeling.
'It's no use. No matter what I try to do, I cannot continue. For now... I should just clear my head and cool down a little. That way, I can approach this problem with a renewed perspective later.'
Sighing to himself, he opened his eyes and rose to his feet, spreading out his perception around him as usual. But that was when he finally noticed that something was amiss.
'Wait, was there always a vase in that corner of my 73rd mansion? And since when does my secretary's 3rd daughter's husband have a moustache?'
More and more slight details didn't match up with his recollections, making him come to a startling realization: At some point, he had fallen under the influence of a sort of illusion!
'Hmph! But if you think you can keep me here now that I've figured it out, then you'll experience a rude awakening soon enough!'
Focusing both his mind as well as a vast ocean worth of highly condensed Energy, he fashioned a gigantic hammer. Its mere presence threatened to rip apart space itself, even leading to temporal anomalies.
The worlds that were a part of the second round's event venue were far more resilient than those of the first. This was primarily due to having long been nurtured by a higher Energy concentration than their lesser kind. The 'stronger' a world became, the more capable its World's Will–and the more durable it was.
Because the lifeforms calling it home would be able to reach higher ceilings of power, the world itself couldn't fall too far behind. Else, not only the strongest beings, but also too many 'ordinary' individuals could utterly tear it apart. Such a status quo would never allow worlds–or their inhabitants–to live for long.
Manipulating the Energy hammer to slam down many times in quick succession, Nye destroyed his surroundings, over and over again. Then, eventually, it appeared as if some sort of limit had been surpassed and everything that he saw and perceived shattered like a broken mirror.
'Good, now let me find out who did thi–'
No sooner had the illusion given way to reality than an ice-cold shiver ran down his spine–both literally and figuratively. Instead of finding himself in his home, he had been locked into an incredibly large box made of Eternal Ice. Having witnessed Theodore make use of it before, he naturally recognized it immediately, and also understood that he was well and truly screwed.
"Mr. Winter, whatever I have done to displease you, I assure you that I never had any intention of turning you into my enemy! Can't we... talk this out?"
The one who responded to his desperate plea was not the young man who he had expected. Instead, it was someone who he only vaguely recalled–one of Theodore's Subordinates.
"My Master is a little busy at the moment, so I'll bring you up to speed. Basically, if you can defeat me in battle, then you'll be let out–it's that simple. But if you lose to me, then... well, you'll only have yourself to blame."
Trying to recall this muscular, reddish-brown haired youngster's name for a moment, Nye furrowed his brows, then shrugged helplessly. Putting on his most miserable, pitiful expression, he attempted to elicit sympathy.
"You're Mr. Saitou, I believe? Why don't we try to arrive at a more amicable compromise? There is no need to come to blows!"
Unfortunately, Satoru wanted to hear none of this, snorting coldly and shooting him a fiery gaze full of fighting spirit. Despite his pitiful cultivation stage, the danger which he exuded couldn't be disregarded, making Nye's expression grow a shade more pale.
"Just so you know, your punishment for refusing to fight, or for losing to me, is death. You'd better give this your all, because I won't be holding back!"
No sooner had these words left his mouth that he had kicked off the glacial ground and catapulted himself in front of his opponent, his fist bearing down on Nye's face with a jaw-dropping might that obliterated space in its wake.
'Shit! Don't say I didn't warn you!'
Narrowing his eyes, the Prime Magistrate's approachable demeanour vanished, replaced by coldness and ruthlessness. He hadn't been able to stay on top merely via political manoeuvres. Every once in a while, a talented, powerful upstart would have to be put down by him personally–although such occurrences were quite rare.
Dodging without much difficulty, he tried to sweep Satoru off his feet in passing, yet failed. With both of them having evaded, they soon engaged in more probing blows, which very quickly made it evident that Nye had the upper hand.
Although neither of them used their full power or means, many of the Sybillan's attacks connected, causing Satoru's complexion to grow a tiny bit worse. This emboldened Nye to press his advantage further.
Whether it be physical strikes or fashioning Energy into various weapons or destructive phenomena, with his Divine Will that had been honed throughout countless years backing him up, he turned the youngster into a blood-soaked mess.
Yet, the longer that their fight dragged on, the more solemn that he became. Initially, he had written off Satoru's ability to recover, as there should surely be a limit to it–all that he would need to do is to surpass it, then he could be slain, or at least incapacitated. But the young man didn't even appear to feel any exhaustion whatsoever!
Then, there was the creepy look in his eyes, almost as if he was longing for this suffering. Most perplexingly of all, he seemingly allowed some attacks to land on his body when he could have easily avoided them if he hadn't gone out of his way to 'experience' them.
'What is wrong with this pervert!?'
Highly displeased by the role that he was now stuck with, he tried to extricate himself from the situation, or to blow a hole into this arena-like prison of ice on multiple occasions. Unfortunately for him, though, he failed miserably. He could barely even scratch Theodore's creation, and by the time that he was capable of continuing his assault, all of the damage that he had done to it had already been repaired.
'His recovery appears endless, and his Energy reserves bottomless. All of the efforts that I've put in so far have barely put a dent into him at all!'
Gritting his teeth in rage and unwillingness, Nye shot a venomous glare at Satoru, who had only just healed from having his head shattered into small fragments. A bloody grin on his lips, he afforded the Prime Magistrate no opportunity to catch his breath, bearing down on him yet again.
Despite relishing in being a punching bag, he did manage to get in a few hits of his own, leaving Nye a bit worse for wear. Still, their confrontation wouldn't end anytime soon.
There were a few dozen similar Eternal Ice cubes that had appeared throughout Pytho, each one housing a remarkable, yet wicked expert of the Sybillans. They had been transformed into the perfect training dummies for Theodore's Subordinates, who could do pretty much all that they wanted with them, as long as everyone involved in these clashes remained alive.
Capturing all but the top few targets of their operation was so easy that it wasn't even worth mentioning. Only the most dangerous ones required the Winter Saint's personal involvement.
To avoid any potential damage to this world, he had fashioned stages out of Eternal Ice, which he then repaired as necessary. That way, everyone could fight to their hearts' extent. But getting them into these had been a tiny bit more challenging.
That was where his most advanced Illusion Arrays came into play. As long as he could infiltrate their minds for but a short while, he could put them into these fatal situations.
With how ridiculously high of a cultivation stage these experts had reached, however, Theodore felt it very difficult–if not currently impossible–to completely make them fall for the illusion.
The amount of Energy Veins in this world and its surroundings wasn't high enough to power a sufficiently strong Array, and his own incredible Standard Attributes couldn't bridge that gap–at least when it came to the field of Array Formations. Being restricted in both materials and Energy, it was no wonder that Advanced Ascension Stage strongmen couldn't be fully immersed in these phantasmal images.
Very often, Illusion Arrays utilized the memories and impressions of those caught within them to fashion the environments, people and stories that they displayed. Therefore, if one wasn't fully controlled, flaws could appear–which could be exploited in multiple ways to escape. Brute-forcing it all and shattering the false reality was merely the least sophisticated one of them all.
Nearly every single caught Sybillan 'evildoer' managed to escape the Illusion Array's grasp, forced into a battle with Theodore's people right afterwards. But of course, there were one or two exceptions. In those cases, the guards sent to give them a beating could only sigh in frustration at not having got an opportunity to get a nice workout.
With their Leader and his most capable Subordinates watching over them, ready to intervene should things spiral out of control, this was a rare chance indeed. Unfortunately, not everybody could make use of it.
Over the coming hours, one by one, the defeated filth got dragged before the one behind this operation and met their end. Unsurprisingly, Satoru was the one who took the longest to finish up.
"How pathetic, he barely lasted for half a day! I had hoped for way more than that from the Prime Magistrate of all people. I didn't improve by all too much, either."
Grumbling to himself, the resident self-harm enthusiast arrived next to Kjartan with an unconscious Nye slung over his shoulder. Nodding at his fly cloak-covered companion, he soon returned to his own training facility, eager to rise to greater heights.
'Looks like he's in a real hurry. As usual.'
Not taking the lack of prolonged communication to heart, as he preferred peace and quiet himself, Kjartan focused on Nye, who had yet to awaken. With practised movements, he implanted one of his Parasitic Flies into him, then turned the defenseless man into one of his Fly Slaves without much issue.
'That should be the last one. Phew, finally done!'
Stretching comfortably, Kjartan had Nye walk to a designated location, where Theodore was waiting for him. Whenever it was possible, 'double-dipping' by turning a foe into a Fly Slave was the best thing that could be done. This way, the Attribute Point gain would be maximized.
'I can't blame him for exploiting that loophole–anybody would. Still, it's a bit exhausting.'
Smiling a little weakly, Kjartan retreated to his own residence, where he then proceeded to meditate for a considerable number of hours. Although he had access to unfathomable Energy reserves due to Theodore's Coattail Ascension Talent, the mental drain of turning vastly more powerful existences than himself–in terms of cultivation stage, at least–into his minions repeatedly couldn't be understated.
Whilst some of his Subordinates were recovering and others were supporting Cristyn in dealing with the aftermath of the cleansing, the one responsible for all of this was counting his own gains in peace. Compared to how much he had harvested via the Fly Slave Breeding Project, today's income could barely even be considered peanuts. Still, it would be foolish to disregard it entirely.
Even more so because he had managed to discover a very useful Talent amongst the dross.