My Talent's Name Is Generator

I heard faint sounds at first, as if they were reaching me through layers of water, muffled and broken, making it hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t. Slowly, those sounds began to sharpen, the dull noise separating into something more defined, until the clash of metal, the scrape of movement, and the weight of voices pressing into each other started to take shape around me.

A voice rose above the rest, clear enough to cut through the noise.

”With the blessing granted by my god, I have already used the Soul Extinguisher on your Prince,” it called out, carrying a strange mix of pride and certainty. ”Even your king will fall soon after. There is no future left for you. Join us, Baron, and accept what is inevitable. Stand with us, and you will have eternal glory.”

I kept my eyes closed, focusing instead on the unfamiliar weight of this body and the faint, lingering sensation of something being wrong deep within, like a wound that hadn’t settled yet.

Suddenly, hands grabbed onto me, rough and urgent, shaking me with force.

”Prince... Prince, wake up,” a voice said close to me, strained and desperate, the grip tightening as if refusing to accept what had already happened. ”You cannot fall here, not like this. Please, open your eyes.”

The shaking didn’t stop, but I stayed still, letting my body hang loose as if there was no strength left in it, while I quietly listened to everything happening around me without reacting.

Another voice broke through, louder, sharper, filled with anger.

”Mohr, you bastard!” the man shouted, his voice echoing with raw fury. ”He was your prince too. You stood under the same banner, took the same oath, and this is what you do? You turn your blade on him for some god that doesn’t even see you, doesn’t care whether you live or die, and only watches all of this like it’s some kind of game.”

The sound of weapons clashing followed immediately, close enough that I could feel the impact through the ground beneath me.

”You call this faith?” the voice continued, pushing forward without holding back. ”This isn’t devotion, it’s madness. You’re throwing away your people, your blood, your home...for something that wouldn’t even remember your name once you’re gone.”

’Damn... where did I end up?’ I thought, as the grip on my shoulder tightened, fingers pressing into me as if trying to hold me in place, and soon after I began to hear soft, broken sobs coming from close by, the sound uneven and filled with panic.

”No... this is not real... this is not happening,” a woman’s voice said, trembling as she shook me again, her hold refusing to loosen. ”Please... wake up, Ryan.”

Slowly, carefully, I began to open my eyes.

At first, everything was blurred, shapes and colors blending together as light pushed in too quickly, but as my vision adjusted, the figure in front of me became clear, a young woman leaning over me, her face streaked with tears, her hands still gripping my shoulders tightly as if she was afraid I would disappear the moment she let go.

The instant she saw my eyes open, she froze.

Her sobbing stopped mid-breath, her lips parting slightly as disbelief replaced everything else on her face.

For a second, she just stared at me. Then her grip tightened even more.

”R... Ryan?” she whispered, her voice shaking.

I didn’t respond, just looked at her, still gathering myself.

Her expression broke into something closer to relief as she turned her head and shouted at the top of her voice.

”Baron Ryan! The prince... he’s alright! He’s alive.....he just woke up!”

The reaction was immediate.

The man who had been shouting earlier stopped mid-motion, his body turning sharply toward us, disbelief written all over his face as he took a step forward, then another, pushing past the clash of battle as if nothing else mattered in that moment.

”Move!” he barked at those in his way, forcing a path through until he reached us, his eyes scanning me quickly, searching for confirmation.

”You... you’re awake?” he said, his voice still rough from shouting.

On the other side, the battlefield didn’t pause.

But one man did.

Mohr.

I didn’t need to see him directly to feel the shift.

”What?” his voice came, sharp and filled with disbelief as it cut across the distance. ”That’s not possible.”

There was movement, aggressive, unsteady, as if he had stepped forward without thinking.

”I used the Soul Extinguisher,” he continued, his tone rising, losing its earlier confidence. ”I felt it... I saw it take effect. He should be dead.”

No one responded to him immediately.

Because right now, all eyes were on me.

I let out a sigh internally. Both the man and the girl looked at me, waiting for something, anything. The problem was simple, I had no idea who this Prince Ryan was, and whatever life he had lived before this moment was completely out of my reach.

Still, hesitation would only make things worse.

”Baron... where are we?” I asked, keeping my voice low, letting it come out as a strained whisper.

The man’s face lit up immediately, relief washing over his features as if that one question was enough to reassure him.

”We were ambushed on our way back,” he said, his jaw tightening as anger returned just as quickly. ”Mohr is a traitor, Prince.”

”Is that so...” I murmured, lifting my head slightly despite the heaviness in my body, letting my gaze move across the battlefield.

There weren’t many of us.

Five, maybe six on our side, struggling to hold their ground against a larger group of seven or eight, all of them dressed in black. The clash of weapons continued around us, but the outcome wasn’t hard to read.

We were losing.

I lowered my gaze again, then looked back at the Baron.

”Then what are you waiting for?” I said, my voice gaining a slight edge. ”Get us out of here. Kill that traitor.”

I pushed myself up as I spoke, forcing my body to move despite the resistance, but the moment I straightened even slightly, a sharp pain tore through my side, making me glance down instinctively. Blood had already soaked through the fabric, a deep cut running along my side that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

”Prince, please be careful,” the girl said quickly, her hands hovering near me as if ready to catch me if I fell. ”You’ve been injured.”

I gave a small nod, not bothering to respond, and forced myself to stand fully upright, ignoring the discomfort settling into my body.

The Baron stepped closer, his eyes scanning me again, still unsure.

”Are you really alright?” he asked.

I looked at him briefly, then shifted my gaze back toward the battlefield.

”This isn’t the time to worry about that,” I said. ”Focus on getting us out.”

As I spoke, my attention settled on the one person who stood out immediately.

Mohr.

He was easy to spot.

The only one without a hood, his head completely bald, his body covered in armor, a sword held firmly in one hand while the other gripped a crystal orb that seemed to pulse faintly.

His stance had changed the moment I stood up, and now he was staring directly at me, his eyes wide, the earlier confidence gone, replaced with something closer to disbelief.

He had expected me to be dead.

And now he didn’t understand why I wasn’t.