My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 696: Movement In The Star of Origin

I reached the vicinity of the second layer's structure, a place designated as the Arx-9 base.

Even from a distance, the uniqueness of this location was obvious.

The concentration of security forces here far exceeded anything else on the second layer, with patrol frequencies significantly higher than in other sectors. More tellingly, a spatial shield enveloped the entire complex; though thin, its construction was incredibly precise. It lacked flashiness, yet it possessed a high degree of sophistication.

Throughout both the second and third layers, this was the first facility I had encountered that went to the trouble of completely isolating itself from the surrounding space.

That fact alone provided all the information I needed.

Restraining the urge to rush, I first allowed my perception to glide along the shield's perimeter, sensing the specific ways space was warped and folded to repel intruders. The designer of this system clearly understood the immense value of what they were guarding.

Then, I forced my perception through the barrier.

The internal dimensions of the structure were massive, reaching much deeper than the exterior suggested. Level upon level was stacked vertically, with every floor dedicated to containment, recovery, or medical treatment. The Essence permeating the air was thick, saturated with the heavy weight of healing laws.

Locating my target didn't take long.

I found Left Commander Rael on the 37th floor.

His presence was immediately identifiable—not due to its strength, but because of its instability. His Essence was fluctuating wildly. With half of his body bound in bandages, a team of specialized healers worked on him with methodical precision.

He remained among the living.

However, he was barely holding on, exactly as the reports had indicated.

As my scan continued, I realized that Rael was not an isolated case.

Numerous Transcendent demons were housed within the building, spread across various floors, each receiving different treatments. These were not recent wounds; they were the results of chronic exposure to the rift. Law erosion and Essence backlash had left them with damage that refused to heal cleanly, regardless of the healer’s prowess.

This was a specialized medical installation. It served as a final gathering point where the war's elite survivors were patched up just enough to be sent back to the front lines.

My primary reason for coming was to gauge the true significance of Left Commander Rael.

My scan revealed he was level 391.

That detail alone was sufficient. A person standing so close to the peak of the Transcendent rank was utterly irreplaceable. The level of protection surrounding him only served to confirm this. Even nestled deep within the defensive zones, Arx-9 was guarded like a fortress inside a fortress. Between the spatial shields, multi-layered detection arrays, and relentless patrols, it was clear that Saleos was not being negligent. He protected his vital pieces with extreme care.

I bypassed the spatial shield without any resistance and materialized directly on the thirty-seventh floor.

I waited patiently.

Healers entered and exited the room in silence, wasting no words or gestures. Once the final practitioner had departed, I moved inside.

Rael was lying on the medical bed, unconscious.

His frame was massive, yet it was scarred and broken in a way that told a grim tale of endless warfare. However, it wasn't the physical trauma that drew my focus. It was what lingered beneath the surface.

Deathmist.

The amount present was staggering.

It clung to his internal organs, saturated his blood, and entwined itself around his muscles like a lingering toxin. Even worse, the laws woven into the injuries were alien. They were similar enough to our own to interact, yet different enough to fight against natural rejection. This wasn't an accidental wound; it was a calculated strike.

I tilted my head, weighing my choices.

Abducting him for interrogation would have been simple and likely beneficial, but that wasn't my purpose for this visit.

Instead, I rested my hand upon his chest.

Deep within my dawn core, the Star of Origin began to vibrate gently.

The deathmist reacted at once.

As if yanked by an unseen power, it tore away from Rael’s body, flowing toward me in dark strands. I regulated the intake with care, pulling the mist into my own body and allowing the dawn core to consume it bit by bit. I halted the process once approximately half of it had been drained.

It was just enough to pull him back from death's door.

I pulled my hand away and stepped back.

Moving through the rest of the base, floor by floor, I examined the other injured demons. The same pattern appeared everywhere: traumatic injuries compounded by deathmist and law-based wounds that defied treatment. On this battlefield, physical damage wasn't the primary threat.

The conflict was designed to cause the defenders to rot from within. Now, I understood perfectly why their lines were struggling to hold.

I spent a few more minutes surveying the Arx-9 base, slowing my perception to ensure no detail went unnoticed. Aside from the high density of wounded Transcendents and the traces of deathmist, nothing was out of order. The security was formidable, the healers were skilled, and the movement of personnel was strictly controlled.

So, I departed.

Leaving the Arx-9 medical facility behind, I made my way toward the command headquarters of the second layer.

Even from afar, it was obvious that this building was distinct from its surroundings.

While the infirmaries and barracks were wide and functional, the command base shot upward like a spear of black stone thrust into the void.

It consisted of 99 floors, each reinforced with thick Essence plating and fortified by layers of laws, all protected by a spatial shield.

I slipped through the barrier effortlessly and entered the interior.

The initial floors were dedicated solely to logistics. Countless projections filled the air—shifting maps of the war zone, moving troop formations, and casualty indicators glowing in a faint red.

Groups of demons gathered, speaking in hushed tones as they debated supply lines, the timing of reinforcements, and the management of reserves. I watched as requests were dispatched to headquarters in real-time. These "requests" alone proved how thin their resources had become.

Higher up, the purpose of the floors changed.

The middle levels were for coordination. Floating command tables crafted from solidified light sat in the centers of great halls. Projections flickered every few seconds as fresh data arrived—ambush points, broken formations, and the movements of Phantoms that appeared and disappeared like spirits.

I continued my ascent.

On the upper levels, I discovered the archives. They were extensive, with logs going back several decades. Records of failed campaigns, the deployment and countering of Saints, and entire fleets lost in calculated trades were all documented there.

And then, I felt it.

A slight tremor within the Star of Origin.

I slowed down, extending my perception with great care to investigate the cause.

One presence appeared, then a second, followed by two more.

Four demons, located on different floors, all bore the same residue. It was subtle, hidden beneath their disciplined Essence, but I recognized it instantly. It was the same distorted fluctuation I had encountered during the fight on Peanu—the law-scarred echo that did not belong to this universe.

My eyes narrowed.

Though I had arrived late to the conflict on Peanu, the memory remained vivid.

Following the death of Saturn Max, the space surrounding his remains had warped, and a portal had been forced open. Phantoms had emerged from that rift. I hadn't witnessed the portal's creation, but I had felt the mark it left behind. The residue of its presence had clung to the space like a scar that refused to fade.

That exact same fluctuation was present right here.