My Talent's Name Is Generator

The others began to gather near Arkas. One by one, the five Grandmasters stepped out of the haze, their bodies marked by the battle, yet standing tall.

Cillian arrived first, pale breath still misting around his shoulders. Then Cassian, his golden blade now dimmed, trailed by the wind Grandmaster, who wiped blood off a torn sleeve.

The Earth Grandmaster followed, his steps heavy, quiet. Edgar came last, as always, like a shadow returning home.

I stood near Arkas, watching them draw close. No one spoke. Everyone realised the battle and the war against the Holt's was over.

Arkas looked up at them, eyes dim but steady. His robes were torn and stained red at the side, but he hadn't moved from where he sat.

Then, Dante's voice cut through the stillness. "It's done. Good."

He stepped forward, the faint shimmer of space still clinging to his body. His eyes moved over the gathered Grandmasters. Then to Arkas. Then to me. He was still in disguise, this time as a middle-aged man with oddly shaped eyebrows that arched outward and touched the tops of his ears.

He exhaled.

"Now go. Finish what we started. Make sure it ends properly," Dante said, tone calm, but heavy with purpose. "I'm heading to the palace."

I turned toward him. "What about Holt's leader?"

Dante's gaze didn't waver. "He'll be captured."

There was a short pause.

"The Emperor himself is handling that."

The words dropped like stone.

The others exchanged brief looks.

Dante gave me a faint nod, then vanished in a ripple of air. The space in front of us shimmered, and a rift opened where he had stood, leading back to the real world.

Cassian adjusted his long coat and looked at the rest of us. "Let's move," he said, his voice calm but tired.

One by one, everyone began walking toward the rift, stepping out of the broken pocket space and returning to the world where the larger battle still raged on.

Arkas rose to his feet slowly. His movements were stiff, his body clearly worn out from everything that had happened. He let out a heavy breath as he steadied himself.

I turned to look at him and saw the tension still etched into his face. His brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a firm line. When he noticed my gaze, he met my eyes and spoke.

"We won this battle," he said, voice quiet, "but we may have already lost the war. Half of our world's strength is gone. By now, Peanu and every nearby world will have heard the echoes of what happened here."

He straightened slightly, trying to regain a bit of his usual presence. "Hard days are coming," he said. Then, with a final nod in my direction, he turned and stepped through the rift.

I stood there a moment longer, my eyes scanning the shattered battlefield around me. Dust floated in the air. The ground was torn apart, scorched and broken by the battle that raged.

Thoughts swirled in my mind, about what we'd done, what we'd lost, and what still lay ahead. I understood the reason behind Arkas's words. This fight had shaken the balance of the world. And those who understood it… were all afraid of what might come next.

I closed my eyes, took a long breath, and stepped forward.

In the next instant, we emerged into the ruins above what was once the proud Holt Palace.

Cracked stone, destroyed buildings, toppled skyscrapers, splintered towers, and scorched ground stretched in every direction. My perception spread out around me like a wave, instantly mapping the battlefield.

The war was still going on but the tide had already turned.

It wasn't a fight anymore. It was a clean-up. Empire forces now vastly outnumbered the remaining Holt defenders.

Many of the enemy had begun to surrender, tossing away their weapons or dropping to their knees in defeat.

But others fought on in desperation—faces twisted with grief, rage, and the pain of loss. Some of them unleashed everything they had left in one final burst of power, but Empire soldiers, hardened by war and vengeance, struck them down without hesitation.

Amidst the chaos, General Cassian's voice cut through sharply.

"Pass the order. No more killing."

He vanished right after giving the command, his figure dissolving into streaks of wind. One by one, the other Grandmasters followed.

Edgar gave me a firm pat on the shoulder, silent but reassuring and melted into the shadows. Arkas disappeared with him.

The moment they were gone, I unfurled my wings and shot into the sky.

I soared over the fractured palace remains, heading straight toward a familiar cluster of auras. I had already sensed them, Steve, North, and a group of the Empire's freed Masters.

I landed beside them with a soft thud, dust rising around my boots.

They were gathered near a broken wall, their clothes torn and bodies marked by battle.

Steve stood at the center, gripping his sword tightly. It was stained deep red and drenched in blood. North was beside him, her hair wild and tangled, her clothes stained and torn in places.

Blood trailed down her arms, and bruises covered her legs and neck. But her eyes were sharp, alert.

Xin and Ming were there too, standing guard with several others we had freed from the Holt realm. Everyone looked up the moment I appeared.

Their faces lit up. Relief and recognition flooded their emotions.

Steve offered a crooked grin. North just gave me a nod, but her eyes were burning.

I quickly scanned them both, my Psynapse locking in on their status.

[Steve Harper – Level 177]

[North Winter – Level 184]

My eyebrows rose.

They had grown sharply. I could feel the difference even without reading the numbers. Their auras were heavier now. More focused. They no longer felt like promising talents, they felt like true Masters. The kind who had bled and clawed through the fire to stand taller on the other side.

"You've both changed," I said, voice low.

Steve laughed, a tired sound. "Guess war has that effect."