My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 690: Involvement

“Is this a universal occurrence across every rift?” I inquired.

Dravon gave a firm nod. “Indeed. This pattern isn't exclusive to Grade 4; Grade 3 rifts exhibit the same behavior. It appears as though they are intentionally preserving a state of equilibrium. For individuals of my standing, the underlying motives remain obscure. We are left only with conjecture, though I am certain the Council possesses the truth.”

I responded with a slow, thoughtful nod.

Dravon’s eyes scanned our group, shifting between each of us. “So... is your organization comprised of only these five members?”

“Our numbers are greater,” I answered, keeping my voice steady. “The rest shall arrive at a later time.”

It was a deception, albeit a vital one. There was no benefit in disclosing the nature of my summoning powers.

“Is that so?” Dravon remarked, showing a hint of surprise. “Would you like me to detail someone here to welcome them upon arrival?”

“No,” I replied. “That won’t be necessary. We employ our own private methods.”

He chose not to pry further. Instead, I posed a question, “Who currently commands the demon legions at this specific rift?”

Dravon’s features tightened slightly. “A kinsman of mine. Saleos Emberlord. He is a man of great strength, discipline, and skill. He has already attained the rank of Upper-Transcendent.”

The term Upper-Transcendent was used for any individual who had surpassed the level 400 milestone.

I nodded, shifting my position slightly to the side.

“Before we proceed,” I stated, “allow me to introduce my companions properly.”

I first indicated Primus. “You are already acquainted with Primus.”

I then gestured toward Aurora. “And you have met Aurora as well.”

Turning to the two figures positioned behind me, I said, “These are Steve Harper and North Winter.”

Steve had been anticipating this exact moment. Stepping forward with a confident smirk, he smoothly took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said with warmth. “I am Steve Harper. You certainly make this void appear far less desolate.”

Mazikeen was momentarily paralyzed, clearly blindsided by the gesture. She blinked, a look of bafflement passing over her features.

North let out a faint, weary sigh, while Aurora didn't bother to hide her laughter.

Completely unperturbed, Steve stood tall and carried on as if his behavior were perfectly ordinary.

“Aurora has informed me of your prowess. To a Grandmaster such as myself, you are truly an inspiration. I have a profound fondness for combat, so if you are amenable, perhaps we could trade pointers some day.”

Mazikeen regained her composure swiftly, her face returning to a mask of professional calm. “Yes. We can arrange that.”

Steve’s smile grew wider. “I shall look forward to it, then.”

Having finished his display, he retreated to his place, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Ignoring the brief interaction, I kept my face expressionless and looked back at Dravon. “How do we enter the fray? Is there a formal protocol to follow?”

Dravon hummed in thought and began to pace. “There is. Mercenary bands, training cohorts, and even independent parties from other races are permitted to join for set durations. Typically, they are placed under the command of an officer and merged into an existing battalion.”

He paused, looking first at me and then at Aurora. “However, your strength is too significant to be subordinated to another.”

“I suggest we be permitted to function as an autonomous unit,” Aurora proposed immediately.

I gave a nod of agreement.

“View us as a specialized strike force. As I mentioned before, I intend for this rift to be where our renown begins. That goal won't be realized if we are hampered by standard battlefield regulations. We require the liberty to go all out.”

Dravon listened in silence. After a brief pause, he shook his head. “I can petition for independent status. That is within the realm of possibility. However, ‘letting loose’ is something that exceeds my rank.”

His voice took on a more serious edge. “This battlefield is a matter of life and death. Every person has a specific duty. Directives are issued from Demon Headquarters. The only individual capable of altering them is Commander Saleos, and he is a strict leader. He has no patience for interference.”

“In that case, we simply replace him,” Aurora remarked nonchalantly, glancing my way. “We remove him, and you assume his command, boss.”

Dravon stared at Aurora for a long time, his expression hovering between shock and anxiety. It was evident he couldn't determine if she was joking, being serious, or merely testing his limits.

“Replace him by what means?” Steve questioned.

Aurora’s response was a casual gesture of a finger sliding across her throat. Her expression remained relaxed, as if she were suggesting a minor adjustment to a seating plan rather than an assassination.

Steve blinked once and then gave a dry chuckle. “Wouldn’t that turn the demons against us?” He shrugged. “Not that I mind particularly. I’m just stating the obvious.”

Dravon’s eyes moved slowly from Aurora to Steve, finally resting on me. There was no masking his thoughts; he was clearly questioning if partnering with us was the most disastrous decision of his career.

“They are only playing with you,” I said, letting out a breath to diffuse the tension. “For the most part.”

I took a step forward. “But the reality is that we need your commander’s cooperation. If we don't have it... I will have to enter the war zone uninvited and begin a direct assault on the enemy.”

“Uninvited?” Dravon echoed.

For a fleeting second, he seemed almost intrigued by the prospect. Then, he shook his head resolutely. “That might sound appealing, but it is impractical.”

He held up a hand, ticking off points on his fingers. “First, our battalions are almost constantly locked in combat. If you charge in without any coordination, you will cause as much damage to our allies as to the foe. In a void battlefield, friendly fire is not a mistake one easily recovers from.”

He raised a second finger. “Second—and this is far more critical—if your intent is to seal the rift, chaos and raw power alone won't suffice. A calculated strike is required. We need to surprise the Eternals, not our own side.”

Dravon exhaled slowly, his voice dropping to a low tone. “I told you before. Even when Saints were deployed as a hidden trump card, the Eternals were prepared. They countered with an equivalent force every single time.”

His gaze grew stern. “It has been at least two decades since the demon race successfully closed a rift. That is twenty years of relentless attrition. This is no simple war, regardless of your personal power.”

He looked me in the eye. “And with all due respect, you are not a Saint. That necessitates strategy. Precision. Unity.”

A heavy silence filled the room after his words. It was then that North spoke up.

“What if we just kidnap him?”

Every person in the room turned to look at her.

Dravon let out an awkward cough. “That... would not work.”

“We are capable of kidnapping him,” North stated calmly, her voice flat and pragmatic. “Once that is done, we can convince him.”

Dravon stared at her blankly. “Convince him of what?”

Rather than providing an answer, North asked a question of her own. “How long has he held command over this rift?”

Dravon paused. “The previous commander perished in battle. Saleos took command following that event. He has been in charge for a very long duration.”

North nodded slowly. “That is ideal.”

Dravon knit his brows. “Ideal?”

“Yes,” she went on. “It means he has witnessed the price of this war. The casualties. The endless stalemate. He understands better than anyone how much demon blood is being spilled just to keep this rift at bay.”