Aside from that, Atticus had only meditated and trained, sometimes sparring with Ozeroth to refine his battle strength.
Compared to Ozeroth, Atticus still fell short when it came to pure combat. Because they were basically one, his Aurethalian ability to see into the future was shared between them, making his advantage essentially obsolete.
In fact, it became Ozeroth's advantage instead. While no winner was ever recorded, Atticus always found himself getting pummeled.
It was always the face, as though the spirit was angry about how flawless it was.
Atticus approached the edge of the island, gazing downward before looking up. He observed the distinction.
There was a massive island above his, many times bigger than his own. It was also filled with imposing buildings, and airships roamed around it.
It hovered at the highest elevation, with his island positioned just below it. The other islands sprawled beneath his as though following an unseen ranking system.
'Looks like the higher the ranking, the higher the island,' Atticus thought.
'But does it mean the millions of recruits each get an island?'
That seemed highly unlikely and a massive waste of resources. Atticus was curious about the system the military used.
He sent a glance behind him, where Ozeroth, in his mini form, lounged on a recliner by the pool, wearing absurdly tiny sunglasses that barely covered his glowing eyes.
One leg was crossed over the other, and in his hand, he held a tall glass of… something neon green, with a tiny umbrella sticking out. Atticus had no idea where he got it from.
A large silver sun reflector, the kind used at beach resorts, was propped up next to him, catching absolutely nothing, yet positioned with an air of utmost importance.
Atticus blinked. "What… are you doing?" The distance meant nothing to beings of their level.
"Sunbathing," Ozeroth answered without opening his eyes.
"There is no sun."
"So?" He adjusted his sunglasses with a smug grin. "A king must bask in his own magnificence regardless of trivial details like 'reality.'"
Atticus pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't even have skin."
Ozeroth finally cracked one eye open, raising a brow. "And yet, I'm still getting tanned. A mystery of the ages."
Atticus let out a long sigh, turning back to the islands below. "I swear, you make less sense every day."
"And yet, you keep me around. Now, are you building that lava fountain or not?"
Atticus shook his head before jumping off the edge of the island.
'Aurora reached the top the same time I did. She should be the second…'
With that thought, his figure blurred before appearing in the skies above the second island.
It was the island just below his, and luckily, there were no barriers encompassing it, allowing him to enter uninterrupted.
Atticus's eyes glinted as he scanned the entire island, instantly sensing the numerous people currently on the move.
His gaze narrowed. 'They maintained the divisions.'
Just below him, sprawled across a massive area, were the figures of the White Omen division members, all engaged in an intense training session.
Multiple drill sergeants watched over them with stern expressions as they each faced off against faceless figures.
A single glance was all Atticus needed to see that they were losing, brutally.
'The weapons training, huh?'
The basic training he had first undergone with Viktor was what they were doing now, but at a much lower level. Each robot had been adjusted to their power levels, and each of the youths held their respective weapons as they battled without mana.
First was Aurora, locked in a brutal exchange, her fists clad in gauntlets as she weaved through the strikes of the faceless robot.
She was struggling, her attempts at reading her opponent often a second too slow, resulting in punishing blows that sent her stumbling.
Yet, even as she lost ground, her instincts always kicked in. Every failed attempt was followed by an adjustment, every mistake corrected in real time.
Her breathing evened out, her footwork sharpened, and soon, she was beginning to counter, still losing, but improving at a terrifying pace.
Atticus's gaze shifted, and a little distance away, Lucas stood with a spear gripped awkwardly in his hands.
'With no mana, he can't use his slates,' Atticus recalled that Lucas's main weapon was his rune engraving.
It was painfully clear this was not his weapon of choice. His stance was tense, his thrusts sluggish, and his footwork nonexistent.
The robot facing him capitalized on every mistake, smacking the shaft of his spear aside and sending him reeling with effortless counters.
He gritted his teeth, trying to adapt, but it was like watching a man fight in chains. The battle wasn't just difficult, it was embarrassing.
And then there was Nate.
The massive brute of the group stood at least a head taller than everyone else, his sheer size alone making it look like he should be the most dominant warrior in the field, especially considering the large broadsword he used.
Instead, he was currently getting folded like fresh laundry.
"You think you can defeat me?!" he roared, right before the training robot punched him so hard he spun midair. His body crashed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
He groaned, dragging himself up with shaky arms. "Th-That was just a warm-up," he coughed, blood dripping from his nose.
The robot didn't wait. It dashed forward and slammed a knee into his gut, making his entire massive frame lift off the ground.
"I'LL KILL YOU, I SWEAR—" Nate's booming voice turned into a wheezing cough as he was launched across the field again, his limbs flailing.
The drill sergeants nearby merely sighed, used to this scene playing out over and over again.
The other Ravenstein youths were not faring any better. They were each getting beaten to a pulp, and the other division members fared even worse.
Regardless, they were all working hard.
Atticus shook his head, smiling widely.
He had missed them.
He hovered high in the skies, unnoticed by the drill sergeants below. Moments passed, and when many of them were unable to lift even a single finger, the drill sergeants ended the training, and many of them started dragging themselves back toward their makeshift camp.
Seeing as they were done, Atticus decided to go down and finally meet them.