My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 665: Army From Dragos

Knight and I maintained our hidden positions while Silver, Aurora, and Ragnar traversed the remaining encampments. Under Primus’s guidance, they assisted in organizing affairs and allowed their auras to emanate. Any demon sensing their presence either regarded them with profound respect or froze in terror, precisely as Primus intended.

Steve and North had already returned to the Del Rey capital, accompanied by several Bloodreaver commanders, to secure the city.

Approximately half an hour later, Lyrate materialized beside us, a radiant smile gracing her features.

“How did it go?” Knight immediately inquired.

“It was enjoyable,” she responded, her tone reflecting self-satisfaction. “You should have witnessed it. Initially, he attempted to menace me with the entirety of the Dragos demon army, brandishing his title like a banner. Then, he began pleading merely to ascertain my identity. However, all he could perceive was that wooden puppet relentlessly thrashing him, then healing him, and then thrashing him once more. I thoroughly healed him in the end and deposited him back in the Del Rey capital.”

“Sounds good,” Knight affirmed with a nod.

Lyrate huffed. “But he wasn’t entirely broken. I still observed anger flickering in his eyes. I truly wished to eliminate him.”

“It’s fine,” I stated. “He’ll be back here shortly.”

The instant those words escaped my lips, a colossal tremor reverberated through space. A violent spatial fluctuation tore open the sky, and a massive red portal bloomed into existence high above the valley.

Knight’s tail flicked once. “They’re here,” he murmured.

An intense transcendent aura surged from the portal, sweeping across the entire battlefield like a living wave. Even from my concealed position, hovering in space, I felt the pressure impact my skin. The armies below ceased their movements.

The first figure emerged.

A demon, towering, broad-chested, despite the searing heat surrounding him. Two enormous horns curled from his skull, both wreathed in flames that hissed and spat with each breath he drew. A greatsword rested casually on his shoulder, as if devoid of weight.

His mere presence could have been mistaken for an entire army.

Immediately behind him, two additional transcendents stepped through the glowing red gateway. Their auras merged with his, pressing the entire valley further into silence.

Then, the true force arrived.

Row by row, formation by formation, an army marched forth, exhibiting a discipline Armus’s demons could never emulate. Black armor, polished and uniform, clung to each soldier like carved obsidian. The insignia of Dragos, a horned crown encircled by fire, blazed on their chestplates.

Every single one of them... every single one... was a grandmaster.

A thousand-strong grandmaster regiment.

They marched without producing a sound. No boasting, no roaring, no flexing of aura. Only the steady, synchronized thud of armored boots impacting the air as if it were solid ground.

Nothing was visible through their armor except the red glow in their visors, thousands of identical, unblinking eyes scrutinizing the battlefield like predators evaluating prey.

Knight emitted a low whistle beside me.

“So Lana dispatched some truly powerful reinforcements,” he muttered. “This is going to be intriguing.”

I exhaled slowly as the final row exited the portal, their presence eclipsing the remaining armies. However, the last individual to emerge was none other than the envoy.

“Hey Lyrate, are you certain you tortured him?” Knight asked, half-joking.

“Don’t worry,” she responded with a bright, satisfied smile. “You’ll soon witness the imprint I left on him.”

Primus paused mid-command, his head snapping sharply toward the portal. The moment he sensed the incoming auras, even he became serious. The battlefield, already quiet, grew heavier as the three transcendents fully came into view.

I narrowed my eyes and meticulously scanned the three demons.

[Dravon Emberlord - Level 355]

[Korvath Emberlord - Level 327]

[Mazikeen Golas - Level 323]

The strongest of the trio, Dravon, led from the front. The other two followed a half-step behind, clearly his subordinates. Two demons and a demoness.

The demoness was the first to capture my attention. She possessed deep red skin and a fit, toned physique, every muscle line visible, particularly across her bare mid-section. No armor, merely a black wrap around her chest and loose battle pants tied at the waist.

Her expression was sharp and serious, devoid of any hint of playfulness in her eyes. Long, dark hair cascaded down her back, and a pair of short horns jutted forward from her temples.

All three appeared young for transcendents, their bodies etched with battle scars, each mark faintly humming with wild energy. Their auras were not refined like the envoy’s... they were violent, raw, the kind forged only on the frontlines of perpetual war.

These were demons who engaged in combat daily, who lived and breathed slaughter.

“Who is the head of the Bloodreaver family?” Dravon’s voice boomed across the battlefield.

Primus did not hesitate. He ascended slowly and deliberately from the ground, flames subtly flickering around his feet. My summons remained on the ground.

“I am Primus Bloodreaver,” he declared, meeting Dravon’s gaze without fear.

Dravon’s eyes swept over him. His nose flared as if he were assessing the very scent of Primus’s strength. A faint, approving grunt escaped his throat.

“You appear strong,” Dravon stated. “Good. Strong enough to face judgment.”

The air grew taut.

“We were informed your families have aligned yourselves with the filthy Eternals,” he continued, his voice cutting through the valley. “That you are betraying the Demon Monarch. That you dared to plunge Armus into chaos for your own gain.”

Primus’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent for the moment.

“So,” Dravon growled, spreading his arms slightly as if welcoming an execution, “gather everyone. Bloodreavers... all of you. It is time for your punishment.”

A ripple passed through the armies.

The message was unequivocal. This was not diplomacy. This was the descent of a hammer.

“And what proof do you possess of us colluding with the Eternals or rebelling against the Monarch?” Primus inquired.

Dravon did not even glance at him.

His gaze shifted toward where the envoy, Gyros, stood. Gyros flinched when the transcendent’s eyes locked onto him.

“A formal submission was made by Envoy Gyros,” Dravon announced, pointing his sword at the trembling demon. “A written declaration stating that Armus’s leading families have succumbed to corruption.”

Primus’s flames flared.

“That submission,” Dravon continued, “was stamped with the envoy’s seal, marked urgent, and dispatched directly to Dragos.”

Finally, his attention returned to Primus.

“It is not our duty to provide proof after that. We do not waste time debating with traitors. It is YOU who must prove you are not guilty.”

Primus chuckled softly.