My Talent's Name Is Generator

Chapter 738: Rune Master Irelith

Saleos led me through a side passage cut directly into the obsidian wall of the hall. The sound of the celebration dulled almost immediately, the heavy doors sealing behind us with a low, resonant thrum.

The room beyond was smaller, but no less deliberate.

A long stone table occupied the center, its surface polished smooth, set with plates of still-steaming food and vessels carved from glass. The heat here was controlled, contained, meant for conversation rather than spectacle.

All four generals were already present.

Kharzun stood at the head of the table, arms resting loosely at his sides. The other three occupied positions around it, their auras muted. Saleos moved to my left, and gestured toward an open seat.

"Please," Kharzun said. "Sit."

I did.

For a few moments, no one spoke. The pause wasn’t awkward. It was respectful, the kind of silence that allowed everyone to measure the weight of the room before filling it.

Kharzun was the first to break it.

"Did you enjoy the celebration?" he asked, tone casual, almost warm. "Dragos doesn’t often open its halls to this many outsiders."

"It was... thorough," I replied. "And honest."

A low chuckle rippled around the table.

"We prefer it that way," one of the other generals said. "Food, noise, heat. It reminds us we’re alive."

Kharzun inclined his head. "If you remain here longer, you should visit the wild half of the planet. No cities. No structure. Just survival and excess. If you enjoy unrestrained places, you’ll like it."

"I’ll keep that in mind," I said.

Another general lifted a drink. "And the food?"

I glanced at the plate in front of me. "Aggressive."

That earned a few quiet laughs.

The tone held for another minute, deliberately light, before Kharzun’s expression shifted.

"Saleos told us about something you did during the rift operation," he said. "Something beyond combat."

I met his gaze.

"The anchors," he said. "The deathmist teleportation anchors embedded within our own forces."

"They weren’t easy to hide," I said. "But they were subtle enough to evade normal detection."

Kharzun nodded. "We’ve lost entire units to ambushes enabled by those anchors. Not once or twice. Repeatedly. We knew they existed. We knew traitors were involved. But identifying them... extracting the anchors... that’s where we failed."

Another general leaned forward. "There are specialists who can do it. But they’re rare. Expensive. And they don’t travel easily between active rifts."

Kharzun folded his arms. "So we have a proposal."

I waited.

"We have a rune master," he continued. "One of the best Dragos has produced in the last several centuries. If you are willing to demonstrate how you extracted the anchors, she can work with you. Together, you would develop artifacts capable of identifying and removing them."

I narrowed my eyes slightly. "And then?"

"And then," he said evenly, "those artifacts would be distributed across our fronts. Used by commanders. Used by strike teams. Used wherever rifts open."

The implications were clear.

It would save lives.

"Does your rune master agree to this?" I asked.

Saleos turned and moved toward the door without a word.

Moments later, it opened again.

The demon who entered was older than most I had seen on Dragos. Her hair was white, pulled back neatly, her horns worn smooth with age. She walked without assistance, back straight, steps measured.

She took a seat across from me without being prompted.

Saleos inclined his head. "This is her."

She studied me openly for several seconds, then looked at Saleos. "So this is the man. I had assumed you to be quite old but I was wrong. Very wrong."

"Yes," Saleos replied.

She turned back to me. "Rune Master Irelith," she said. "I specialize in structural runes. Anchors. Transference arrays."

I studied her properly then. Beneath the age and restraint, her presence was dense and settled.

Upper transcendent.

"Rune master?" I said. "Where I come from, that isn’t an occupation."

That drew a few reactions around the table. Subtle shifts. Mild surprise.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Irelith inclined her head slightly. "You fought at the rift," she said. "You saw the weaponry. The defenses. Those weren’t forged by brute force or law alone. Rune masters are responsible for their creation."

She rested her hands on the table as she spoke.

"In simple terms, we build machines that can use Essence the way a person does, then apply it with precision. The more complex the application, the more layered the runes must be. And because runes require soul energy to activate and stabilize, anyone below transcendent cannot even begin."

She looked at me directly. "As you rise in rank, you encounter runes more frequently. Not because they appear suddenly, but because you finally gain the capacity to perceive and interact with them."

I considered that.

"So runes are fundamental," I said slowly. "It’s just that our ability to perceive them begins late."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"They are," she replied without hesitation. "Runes are the grammar of Essence. Laws may dictate what is possible, but runes decide how efficiently reality listens."

That caught my attention.

She continued. "Artifacts are simply runes given permanence. With the correct framework, extracting those anchors is not only possible, it is repeatable."

I went silent.

For several seconds, no one interrupted me. Many thoughts rushed through my head.

Then I spoke.

"I have a proposal of my own."

Kharzun’s brow lifted slightly. "Go on."

"Instead of us working together on artifact development," I said slowly, "I want her to teach me how these runes work. Fully. Properly."

The room stilled.

I continued. "Then we will develop the artifacts. I will supply them to Dragos."

One of the generals let out a low breath. Another frowned openly.

Kharzun studied me for a long moment. "Are you certain?" he asked. "Runes are not easily learned. They take decades. Centuries. You are... young. Your path should be strength."

"No issue," I replied. "I’m a fast learner."

His gaze sharpened. "Fast learning does not replace experience."

I turned my attention to Irelith. "I’m not asking to replace you. I’m asking to learn from you."

She looked amused. "Do you know what you’re asking?"

"Yes."

"You’re asking me to hand over knowledge that demons guard more fiercely than territory."

"I’m offering something in return," I said. "Direct alignment. Reliable tools. And a deeper bond between Dragos and the Order of Absolute."

Her eyes flicked briefly to Kharzun, then back to me.

"You intend to bind us this way," she said.

"I intend to make betrayal more difficult," I replied. "For everyone."

Silence stretched.

Finally, Irelith leaned back slightly. "You won’t go back on your word after learning the craft, will you?"

"I gain nothing from that," I said. "I’m interested in....more power. Not more enemies."

That did it.

She smiled, just a little.

"If I teach you," she said, "you won’t stop at anchors."

"No," I agreed. "I won’t."

She looked at Kharzun. He closed his eyes and I felt some fluctuation around him. He was communicating.

After a few seconds he opened his eyes. "Very well. We’ll consider your proposal."

Irelith’s gaze remained fixed on me.

"Fast learner," she said thoughtfully. "We’ll see."

I chuckled. "I won’t disappoint you."