My Talent's Name Is Generator

A couple of minutes later, the group finally gathered right in front of the flame wall. All of them were standing on my staff, their expressions tight as they stared into the blazing tunnel I had carved.

“Well, I never thought your emperor would allow you to go first,” Sakar said, his forked tongue flicking slightly between his words.

Our emperor is a magnanimous man,” Roland shot back instantly, his tone calm but laced with pride.

“Sure he is,” Horun muttered, a smirk curling on his feline lips.

Roland scoffed but didn’t bother arguing further. Instead, he straightened himself and waved his hand as if brushing the words away.

“No need to waste time talking. Let’s go.”

Without another word, Roland’s body lifted slightly above the staff, Essence swirling naturally around him. Then, with a flash, he rushed into the tunnel I had carved through the flames.

“HAHAHAHAHAH!”

Horun’s laugh followed like a thunderclap. The tiger-headed Feran’s coat whipped around him as he leapt forward, charging in right behind Roland. The others followed quickly, one after another, none of them daring to linger too long.

I could see the reason for their haste. Fear. They were afraid the tunnel would close, or worse, that the flames themselves might come alive and strike at them. The way their bodies stiffened, the way they leaned forward as if racing against time, it was obvious.

Within seconds, they shot out of the black inferno and landed just beyond the wall. I stayed still, watching carefully.

And there it was again—that look. Surprise. Each one of their faces shifted, their mouths parting slightly as they stared at what lay beyond.

“What is that?” Gloria was the first to blurt out.

“That’s…” Sakar began, but his voice trailed off. His slit-pupil eyes flicked toward Horun, and the two shared a silent glance. Whatever he had wanted to say, he swallowed it.

“All this time, a palace was hidden behind the inferno,” Shinjo muttered, his voice unusually soft.

“And not just any palace,” Brutus added, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the structure. “Look closely. Can’t you see the bones woven into the earth? That statue of Ape placed in the center of the cemetery? This place is ancient. But why… why does it look completely burned?”

The group fell silent, the air heavy with unease. In front of them was a grave yard of bones. Then a completely charred black castle. Humongous in shape.

Horun was the first to move. He stepped forward, his cane tapping against the ground, and began walking toward the ruins without hesitation.

“No point standing around gawking,” he said. “Let’s go explore this place.”

The others quickly followed, some curious, some cautious. Their eyes darted across the strange land beyond the wall, rows of cratered earth, charred mounds, and what looked like a vast cemetery.

I stayed back, letting my gaze wander past the group. My eyes finally landed on Silver.

He was perched high above, sitting on the castle wall like a silent sentinel. His body was completely covered in dark wooden armor that merged with the wall itself, hiding his form so well he looked like nothing more than a strange decoration fixed to the fortress.

The only difference was in the color, slightly darker than the scorched stone but to the untrained eye, he blended in perfectly.

A perfect watcher, hidden in plain sight. That was Silver. I realized it had to be Lyrate who made him wear that armor, dark, wooden, completely hiding his form.

She was taking her duty seriously.

From where I stood, he looked like nothing more than a strange decoration on top of the castle wall. Different in color, yes, but still just another piece of the structure.

The group of grandmasters moved ahead, their steps slowing as they passed among the towering bones and weathered graves. Horun walked at the front, his cane tapping lightly against the ground as if he owned the place.

My eyes shifted to Ragnar. He sat right in the center of the cemetery, legs folded, eyes closed, his entire presence sunk into meditation. He hadn’t moved an inch since they arrived.

Horun stopped in front of him, the others following close behind. Then, without hesitation, Horun lifted his cane and poked at Ragnar like he was testing if the statue would crumble.

That was the moment Ragnar chose to react.

A crimson mist burst from his body like a sudden storm, and his aura exploded outward. The shockwave shoved Horun and the others back, their feet skidding against the cracked ground.

“What?!” Gloria shouted in alarm. Even Horun, steady as he was, let out a low growl as he resisted the push.

The mist settled, and Ragnar fell silent once more. The group immediately spread out, jumping back, their eyes locked on him in full alert.

Slowly, Ragnar opened his eyes. They glowed red, deep and merciless, sweeping over the group one by one until they finally settled on Horun. His voice came out calm, but heavy, like a decree.

“Only the worthy must pass.”

He rose to his feet, every motion deliberate, and lifted his hand. The crimson mist wrapped around his frame, condensing around his right arm before vanishing in a blink. In its place, a massive bone club formed, thick and jagged, resting naturally in his grasp.

“Is this a trial?” Sakar muttered.

“Maybe,” Horun replied, but his eyes never left Ragnar. He raised his cane and, with a sharp swing to the side, the outer layer dissolved like melting wax.

What remained was a thin white sword that gleamed under the dim light. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll crush him and move forward.”

“I suggest—” Roland started, but he never finished.

Ragnar vanished.

One instant he was standing still, the next he was right behind Roland.

“Watch out!” Shinjo shouted in warning.

Ragnar’s left fist glowed silver, pure and sharp, before it slammed straight into Roland’s back.

BOOM!

The sound shook the air as Roland’s body shot forward like a spear, crashing through massive bones until he smashed into the wall of a crater, dust and fragments flying everywhere.

“How dare you?!” Horun roared, fury twisting his face. He thrust his sword three times in rapid succession. Each swing unleashed a cone of compressed air, sharp enough to split mountains, aimed straight at Ragnar’s head.

But Ragnar only tilted his head—left, right, left—dodging each one as if he already knew where they would land.

Then he stepped forward, bone club resting lazily on his shoulder.

“A beast… using a sword?” His voice was laced with mockery. “You are a shame.”