My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 706: Worth The Gamble

Saleos’s expression froze.

A heavy silence stretched between us. His eyes drifted across the runes, scanning each shape repeatedly as if he expected them to transform into something else if he concentrated hard enough.

“...Infiltration runes,” he muttered eventually. “Anchors.”

“Yes,” I answered.

I offered no further explanation. In truth, their complex mechanics were still a mystery to me. I only understood what my senses had revealed. These were no ordinary runes; they functioned as gateways. They weren't active portals yet, but rather seeds. These seeds were planted to establish pathways, allowing Phantoms to manifest or permitting even darker things to reach through from the void when the timing was right.

Saleos slowly clenched his fists at his sides.

“Such things are not placed by accident,” he remarked, his tone growing frigid. “Only Eternals possess the power to forge and embed something of this nature.”

That statement caught me off guard.

Only Eternals.

My mind raced for a second. I turned my attention back to the shimmering runes, pushing my perception to its limit to analyze every curve and line. Despite my mastery over space and my history of fashioning portals and pocket dimensions, I couldn't fathom how these had been woven into living tissue so seamlessly and deeply without causing a fatal rupture. Compared to this, my methods were primitive. This was surgical. Intimate. It was invasive in a way that felt truly repulsive.

“So... he had a meeting with that Eternal?” I questioned.

Saleos exhaled slowly, his face returning to a mask of disciplined composure.

“It is highly probable,” he replied. “Though I cannot fathom when such an encounter took place.”

That uncertainty gave me pause as well. For nearly a thousand demons to be branded with these marks, a specific process must have been used. A system. Some method of contact must have existed that bypassed all security. That realization was more disturbing than the existence of the runes themselves.

“Thinking back,” Saleos added, his voice dropping to a whisper, “many events are starting to align. It explains how Rael was ambushed so perfectly.” He shifted his focus toward me. “How many of these individuals have you identified?”

“973,” I stated.

Saleos shut his eyes for a moment, letting out a long, measured breath.

“I see,” he said. When his eyes snapped open, all doubt had vanished. “I am prepared to collaborate with you. I will not be a mere observer; I demand an active role in this operation.”

He adjusted his posture, standing taller.

“I will give you my trust,” he went on. “However, to solidify that bond, I require the names of all 973. Furthermore, I want to meet every faction within your organization.”

He stopped, then continued in a low, sharp voice, “Dravon mentioned your desire to make a name for yourself through this rift. I will assist you in that endeavor.”

His eyes turned cold.

“But in exchange, I want my vengeance.”

I released a slow breath, a faint smile touching my lips as I stepped forward and held out my hand.

“Then I look forward to our partnership, Commander Saleos.”

For a heartbeat, he stared at my hand as if making one final calculation. Then, with a nod, he grasped it. His handshake was powerful, disciplined, and weighed down by heavy resolve.

******* [Saleos’s PoV] *******

As I wrapped my fingers around his hand, the surrounding world seemed to vanish.

The dull roar of the distant war grew quiet, the suffocating pressure of the rift retreated, and even the burdens of my rank felt lighter. Instead, my mind was flooded with vivid, painful memories.

The face of my son was the first to appear.

He was so young. Far too young. He had been desperate to prove his worth, standing alongside demons who possessed centuries more strength and experience. I didn't stop him. I convinced myself that this conflict required sacrifice and that his bravery deserved respect. He perished during the rift's early years, back when we foolishly thought that sheer numbers and willpower could drive the Eternals back.

Then my brother was taken. He was struck down during a retreat that should have been safe. A tactical error. A late command. A split second where the laws of reality warped without warning, and he was gone before I could reach his side.

Next was my friend. A man who had fought by my side for decades, a constant presence as reliable as the rift itself. He disappeared when an Eternal interfered and the battlefield turned lethal in an instant, wiping him away so thoroughly that nothing remained to be buried.

So many names.

So much lost.

I had suppressed all that grief beneath the weight of duty.

I stayed at my post. I obeyed my orders. I maintained the front lines while witnessing the same cycle of tragedy repeat endlessly. We would advance, suffer casualties, retreat, and label it a balance. We called it a stalemate, as if giving it a title made the losses tolerable.

And then this human arrived.

I did not trust him; of that, I was certain.

Yet, I could not ignore the evidence of my own experiences.

During the abduction, there was a terrifying moment where my body refused to obey my mind. I hadn't been defeated by superior force. I hadn't been crushed by raw power.

I had been controlled.

Time, space, and motion had all been locked down around me without the activation of a domain. That feat alone contradicted everything I understood about Cultivation. That alone proved he was a threat.

Then there were the runes.

I had seen Saints struggle merely to detect infiltration anchors, let alone extract them without causing a disaster. Yet, this human had located them inside my commander and purged them like rot from a wound. It was done cleanly. Precisely. Without a hint of doubt.

But his aura was what truly disturbed me.

Standing before Billion Ironhart, every instinct I had screamed a warning. He was holding back. He was making a conscious choice not to kill. If that self-control ever snapped, what was left behind would be a force we could never hope to manage.

That realization sat heavy in my gut.

I didn't shake his hand because I believed in him.

I shook it because, for the first time in centuries, I was facing someone who might actually alter the fate of this rift. Someone who could either break the Eternal’s hold on this world or incinerate everything in the attempt.

If there was even a sliver of a chance that this gamble could wipe out the Eternal, topple the tower, and finally close this rift, then I was prepared to take it.

Even if it meant my own destruction.

Even if this human proved to be a greater terror than the foe we currently face.

At the very least, the stalemate would be over.

After everything I have surrendered, that prospect alone made the risk worthwhile.