When it came to professional positioning, one had to have a clear understanding of oneself—know what one could do and what one was good at.
For example, if a detective spent every day thinking about making money selling roasted sweet potatoes, they definitely would not do their actual job well.
Although many people called him the Sorcerer Supreme, Su Ming knew perfectly well that he was not a Mage at all. He could not squat in the back row and watch the show like a Mage; when necessary, stepping on mines himself was also a tactical necessity.
As for why he had brought Bobo along to this Time Point, it was naturally because of his racial talent.
Since he had long anticipated that communications might be cut off, and the Adjutant might be unable to offer advice if they encountered some technological device, they would have to rely on Little Lucky Ape's "keen intuition."
"How deep is this hole, exactly?"
The ape simply lay flat on the Cloak, reducing the area exposed to wind resistance. Holding down his hat, he shouted at Deathstroke flying ahead.
The man in black-and-yellow armor had to clear the way while flying. Clone Supermen blocked their path from time to time, while clone Deathstrokes were as numerous as ants.
"Not sure yet, but I can say for certain that the deeper underground we go, the more likely that trap is a Planet Bomb."
"So Desaad is trapped at this Time Point along with us? Otherwise, he would have detonated the bomb already." Bobo sniffed, and ash flew from his pipe into his nostrils. An ape's nostrils were angled differently from a human's, opening forward.
"Heh. He probably studied me extensively beforehand—my abilities, my personality, and some of the tools I had on hand."
Deathstroke cut