Vlad’s eyes immediately narrowed as he heard those words, but instead of asking for clarification in such an open setting, he simply gestured for Spartacus to follow him into his home.
The Space Master offered a small, knowing smile as he observed Vlad’s caution, and nodded respectfully. The duo took a single step forward, crossing dozens of kilometers in an instant, materializing inside Vlad’s residence without any delay.
"Please, Master Spartacus, elaborate on your words," Vlad said firmly, once he confirmed their privacy.
Only then did Spartacus continue, responding without hesitation, "The war is not going exactly well."
The opening line from Spartacus caused a deep frown to form on Vlad’s face. Yet the Depravita of Wrath remained silent, not jumping to conclusions, patiently listening to the man’s words, unwilling to interrupt.
"While on the frontline, Marshal Maximo and our greatest warriors are already striking the walls of the Void Heart Fortress," Spartacus explained grimly, "the situation on the other fronts is deteriorating rapidly. We have already lost four strongholds at the key choke points, allowing forces from the Vorometallic Legion to cut supply lines between the frontlines and the Golden Sky Fortress."
Vlad’s frown deepened, a meaningful glint appearing in his eyes as he realized just how dire the situation had become. No wonder Elder Damian had been unable to send reinforcements lately.
"If not for my evolution into a True Depravita," Vlad mused internally, "Korokor Stronghold might have suffered the same fate."
That thought crossed his mind alongside the knowledge he had gathered from Valeria, Scipius, and Cato’s investigations into the underworld. For a fleeting moment, Vlad considered sharing that information with Spartacus.
However, after a brief moment of contemplation, the Depravita of Wrath retracted the idea. What he possessed was little more than conjecture, hearsay at best. While the theory made sense, it was far from enough to take down such a powerful enemy as the hidden force operating from the shadows.
"Right now is not the time," Vlad thought firmly. "All the resources of the Golden Sky Fortress are focused on the battlefield. They don’t have the luxury to waste time chasing shadows. Besides, if I reveal what little I know, it could provoke the hidden enemy to make something drastic."
Spartacus noticed the fleeting flashes of thought coursing through Vlad’s eyes, but seeing the young man choose to remain silent, he did not pressure him further. Although secrecy made him uncomfortable, Spartacus trusted Vlad’s loyalty—trust built over many hard-won battles.
"In three weeks, all supplies for the front lines will be exhausted," Spartacus continued solemnly. "Meanwhile, the number of Vorometallic forces gathering in the rear will reach the point where they could execute a devastating pincer attack. Logic dictates that we should retreat before that happens."
At this point, a complicated smile crept onto Spartacus’s face as he went on, "However, Marshal Maximo has never been one to follow the path of logic."
Vlad’s smile mirrored Spartacus’s as he heard those words. Having come to know the Marshal well, he could already predict Maximo’s course of action.
"He intends to gather all the forces of the Golden Sky Fortress at the frontlines," Vlad said, his voice confident, "abandon the choke points, and focus all strength into a single, massive push forward. Am I right?"
Spartacus chuckled and nodded. "Exactly. Maximo is a madman—but a brilliant one. His plans defy convention, but they make sense in their own way. I’ve been tasked with bringing every available Sage and Half-Step Legend to the front lines. Together, we will use our combined might to breach the Void Heart Fortress and take control of it."
Vlad couldn’t help but clench his fists as the full danger of the plan set in. If they succeeded in capturing the Void Heart Fortress, it wouldn’t matter if the Vorometallic Legion severed their supply lines or assembled an army in their rear. However, if they failed, the outcome would be catastrophic. Thousands could perish, and the Golden Sky Fortress itself could fall.
His eyes soon glowed with determination and decisiveness. Any form of hesitation evaporated from his heart as he stared at Spartacus with renewed intensity.
"Go big or go home," Vlad said, his voice carrying absolute resolve.
Spartacus smiled at the True Depravita and nodded in agreement.
"When are we leaving?" Vlad asked, though he knew time was of the essence. Still, he could use a few days to prepare.
Spartacus understood immediately and, after a moment of thought, replied, "I can first visit the other strongholds, gather their warriors, and move them to the frontlines. Then, I’ll circle back here. That should give you about seven days before departure."
"That will be perfect," Vlad replied with a grateful nod, appreciating the extra time offered. Spartacus returned the smile, but then a sharp glint appeared in his eyes as he focused on Vlad’s chest.
"It seems you have already forged the Legendary Demon Cage, am I right?" Spartacus asked with an almost boyish eagerness.
Vlad chuckled slightly at the man’s intuition. "Yes. As promised, I will forge one for you as well. I can do it right now, if you wish."
Spartacus smiled broadly in return. Without wasting a second, he began removing his armor and clothes, standing firmly in just his undergarments.
Vlad moved swiftly, preparing the necessary runic reagents and instruments. Carefully, he placed the specialized pen onto Spartacus’s body and began the intricate process of carving the Runic Formation into his flesh.
Even for someone of Spartacus’s immense willpower, the pain was excruciating. Carving runes directly into one’s body was no trivial matter—it tested not only physical endurance but mental fortitude as well. Yet, Spartacus remained perfectly still, his discipline absolute, suppressing any involuntary twitches to the barest minimum.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, but finally, Vlad completed the final etching of the Legendary Demon Cage. The air hummed with residual energy as the formation spread into Spartacus’s body, covering his chest, shoulder, and legs with countless runic lines.