My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 658: In The Thick Of It

The Valley of Warriors remained hushed beneath my feet. Suspended high above, I was tucked away within a fold of space, my presence completely erased. With eyes closed, I waited, listening to the stillness of the air, the vibration of the fractured earth, and the subtle hum of Essence that had yet to be disturbed.

Then... the initial ripple manifested.

A tremor pulsed through the fabric of space. My eyes snapped open.

Upon the eastern flank of the battlefield, a tear resembling a jagged scar manifested in the air. Space warped, runes ignited, and a colossal portal surged outward. The very ground trembled under its sheer power.

The Bloodreavers had made their entrance.

Armored demons marched through the gateway one by one, rank upon rank, line after line. Under the dim, pre-dawn sky, their armor shimmered a dark crimson. Their weapons were already manifested and gripped firmly in their hands.

Leading the way, two massive figures emerged first.

Orobas.

Dorian.

For the first time since our meeting, both were clad in their full war armor. Their auras surged outward like tidal waves of pressure, immediately overshadowing the presence of everyone standing behind them.

However, Primus was missing. I sensed it instantly.

That indicated he would be making his entrance right on schedule.

As the stream of Bloodreavers continued to pour in, they began to construct a massive runic array on the earth—another teleportation gate. Squads of grandmasters operated with lethal precision. Moments later, a second scarlet gate roared to life, and an even greater number of warriors stepped through.

The eastern horizon was slowly overtaken by a sea of red metal and rigid discipline.

I remained in silent observation as the minutes ticked by.

Soon, a different spatial disturbance vibrated at the far end of the valley.

The Ronics.

A violet portal blossomed on the western side. Their military emerged fully armored, their segmented plates dyed purple and etched with sharp silver lines. Ronic soldiers were famous for their clean, methodical fighting style. Their gear reflected this: sleek surfaces, narrow visors, and blades fastened neatly to their backs.

Floating at their head was Platius.

His armor shone more brilliantly than the rest. With a raise of his hand, the Ronics behind him fanned out rapidly, setting up their own teleportation gate—smaller, yet highly efficient. Within minutes, a flood of violet-clad warriors marched through, forming orderly rows.

With two armies now on the field, the atmosphere in the valley grew heavy.

Then, the third ripple arrived.

The Del Reys.

On the northern edge of the valley, space fractured with a thunderous roar. A massive azure portal expanded, with lightning dancing across its perimeter. Their army marched out, their armor painted a deep blue and polished to a mirror shine.

Standing at their front was Herald.

Lana’s father. The current head of the family.

He was dressed in elaborate blue armor, decorated with overlapping plates crafted like dragon scales. He stood with the air of a man who believed the world revolved around him, convinced that reinforcements from Dragos were already en route.

His soldiers fanned out and began building their base with experienced efficiency. They moved with a sense of urgency. It wasn't the same vibe I had witnessed last night. Today, there was intent in their movements—uncertainty, perhaps, but also a reliance on the envoy and the backup Lana had promised.

The moment Herald’s aura stabilized, two streaks of light shot into the heavens.

Orobas and Platius.

They soared from the east and west, intercepting Herald in the center of the valley. A silence thick with tension followed before the deep, enraged voice of Orobas thundered across the plains.

"Where is Romothese, Herald? The coward fled the moment his plots were exposed."

Herald did not waver.

"He will appear when the time is right," he answered smoothly. "This ’accusation’ you are using to justify this war is without merit. The envoy has already verified that the soul flame incident had nothing to do with him."

Platius’ voice entered the fray, his tone much more frigid.

"Your ancestor has vanished. Your envoy feigns ignorance. You stand there with such poise while our kin are slaughtered in our own territories. And you still claim this is baseless?"

Herald’s jaw tightened, yet his expression remained neutral.

"Play whatever games you wish. But we both understand this war is only happening because you seek a pretext."

Orobas let out a loud scoff.

"Enough. Talk will not alter the inevitable. The Bloodreavers and Ronics stand as one. If the Del Reys wish to hide behind excuses, then so be it."

The three figures floated in a vacuum of silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Finally, Herald let out a long breath.

"Very well. If it is war you desire... then war is what you shall receive."

They retreated to their respective camps—one fueled by simmering fury, another by cold strategy, and the last by a quiet arrogance that was destined to shatter shortly.

I allowed my vision to sweep across the valley floor.

Two armies on one flank... a single army on the other.

Nearly a million demons in total were gathered on each side.

This was the most massive assembly of warriors I had ever laid eyes upon. Red and violet legions stretched endlessly to the east and west. Their formations were compact and disciplined, their collective auras vibrating through the earth.

The Del Reys were clearly outclassed. Their lines were thinner and smaller, and they possessed fewer grandmasters.

While fear wasn't displayed openly, a current of unease flowed through them like a hidden tide. I hovered in silence, anticipating the next move.

It arrived suddenly.

A massive spatial explosion tore through the atmosphere directly in front of the Bloodreaver legion.

BOOOOOOM!

Clouds of dust surged upward. Shockwaves rocked the ground. Demons from all three factions flinched or threw up defensive shields. Thousands of gazes locked onto the center of the blast.

As the dust cleared...

A lone armored figure stood before the Bloodreaver host.

Primus.

He was fully encased in dark crimson armor, resembling his clan’s style but far more sophisticated. The Bloodreaver army broke into thunderous cheers and roars, their spirit soaring. But that wasn't the source of the sudden tension. Behind Primus stood six figures draped in cloaks.

Tall. Mute. Their faces hidden behind black masks. Their cloaks were a void-like black, and upon the back of each was a single emblem: Two interlocking gears.

Steve, North, Aurora, Ragnar, Lyrate, and Silver. All in disguise. All emitting a silent, deadly power.

Only Knight was elsewhere, busy sabotaging the incoming reinforcements.

The mood in the valley shifted in an instant. The Bloodreaver side bellowed in triumph. The Ronic army stood taller, their eyes narrowing with focus.

The Del Reys turned rigid with extreme tension. And from my hidden vantage point in space, I smiled. The players of this war had finally gathered.