My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 711: Silenced

Silence was a stranger to the infirmary.

Activity persisted even when the frontline combat dipped into a temporary lull. Guided rails carried floating stretchers through the corridors. Healers operated with mechanical efficiency. A rhythmic hum of Essence vibrated through the reinforced walls like a steady heartbeat. Though agony saturated the air, it was a structured, managed, and processed form of suffering.

Its very orderliness made it the ideal environment.

I remained concealed just outside the spatial fold I’d anchored previously, keeping my senses sharp and focused. From this vantage point, I could observe every detail without detection: every wounded demon, every wisp of deathmist, and every shimmering rune.

Lyrate navigated the chaos as if she had always been part of it.

Disguised as a standard medical officer with a suppressed aura, she appeared to be nothing more than another healer tending to the relentless tide of injured troops.

In reality, she was a hidden blade weaving through the throngs.

The initial group arrived in a single wave.

Two captains accompanied dozens of soldiers, many of whom bore the marks. I sensed their runes immediately—faintly pulsing signatures buried deep within their forms, tethered to a distant source.

Under the guise of stabilizing them, Lyrate steered the group into a recovery hall. Once the doors were sealed, she gave a slight lift of her hand.

There were no grand gestures or audible incantations. Crimson mist simply flowed from her palm, altering the very composition of the air. A gentle toxin, infused with her Law of Creation, permeated the room. It wasn't designed to kill or damage; it merely induced a swift, clean loss of consciousness.

The traitors were the first to drop.

Seconds later, the rest of the soldiers followed.

’Clear,’ her voice echoed in my mind.

Folding space, I manifested at her side amidst rows of slumbering demons. The heavy scent of blood and charred skin filled the room.

Without hesitation, I raised my hands.

Reaching deep into my Dawn Core, I tapped into the Star of Origin. It reacted instantly, exerting a profound pull that harmonized with the foreign mechanisms inside the bodies before me. I pinpointed the runes one by one.

I refrained from extracting or obliterating the runes, as such a move would be too loud and reckless for our purposes. Instead, I dismantled them from within, severing the invisible threads that allowed them to operate as a synchronized network.

I manipulated their internal circuits and broke the links connecting them to their external master, leaving nothing but empty shells behind. To any outside observer, the runes would appear untouched. They continued their faint pulsing, their structures seemingly intact as if no sabotage had occurred.

However, their ability to receive signals was gone.

Should the Eternal be watching its anchors like a predator monitoring a snare, it would find no red flags. No alarms would trigger, and no sudden failures would occur to warrant a reaction.

Everything looked normal on the surface, but the connection had been completely neutralized. The anchors remained in place, yet they were now blind and mute, incapable of acting as a gateway or responding to a summons.

This was the only acceptable result.

I retreated as Lyrate opened the hall and summoned transport. The unconscious demons were ferried away alongside actual casualties, mixed so thoroughly that no suspicious pattern could be discerned.

This cycle repeated tirelessly.

Whenever Ragnar sent injured traitors back from the front, Lyrate was there to receive them. Every time, I would appear for a few brief moments to disable the runes before vanishing once more.

Hours slipped by in this fashion.

Finally, Knight’s voice broke through the mental link.

’We are ready to start.’

I turned and instantly flashed toward the new coordinates.

The second infirmary was a smaller facility hidden deeper in the second layer. I arrived to see Primus resting on a medical platform; his breathing was rhythmic, and his faked injuries were realistic enough to deceive any professional healer.

Beside him lay two unconscious demons, their breathing shallow and still. The runes inside them were immediately apparent to my senses—marked, just like the others. Knight stood nearby, his shadows retracted and his presence so thoroughly masked that he was invisible even to local sensors.

Lyrate appeared a moment later, moving into her role silently, already aware of the requirements.

I performed the same meticulous process again. It required the same precision and the same calculated restraint. I left no scars and no traces that might invite scrutiny. By only disrupting the vital connections while leaving the external shells intact, I ensured they appeared exactly as they were supposed to.

Once finished, Primus opened his eyes and sat up, mimicking the smooth movements of someone waking from natural sedation.

The healers paid him no mind. To them, it was just another routine discharge of a soldier returning to his post.

He was cleared within minutes, and not a single question was asked.

The third layer proved more time-consuming.

The remaining traitors weren't on the frontlines. Instead, they were embedded in the war's infrastructure—logistics centers, coordination hubs, and transport lines where they could cause subtle but effective damage. Approaching them directly would have been suspicious, and we could not afford any inquiries.

So, we manufactured our own opportunities.

Primus used calculated precision to goad them into conflicts. Small arguments were escalated into believable accidents. In the middle of the chaotic war zone, moments of friction were pushed until they became physical. At the perfect moment, Knight would emerge from the darkness to strike with silent efficiency, rendering them unconscious before they could realize what was happening.

They were then delivered straight to Lyrate.

And I was never far behind.

With every set of runes I neutralized, the Star of Origin in my Dawn Core grew steadier. Resistance became thinner, and the patterns became easier to deconstruct.

My understanding of the runes' architecture was evolving. The synchronization that once united them was now shattered. By the time I dealt with the final anchor, the shift was unmistakable.

The bond was severed.

Across the various layers of the battlefield, 973 anchors still resided within living hosts. Yet, not one could open a portal. Not one could answer a command. They could no longer serve as a bridge for the entity waiting on the other side.

I stepped back into the void above the battlefield, my awareness expanding as the brutal rhythm of war resumed. Eternal forces pushed forward once more, with abominations advancing in massive waves under the guidance of Phantoms.

But the atmosphere had shifted.

The invisible, looming threat had been neutralized for the time being.

The battlefield remained a cacophony of violence and ruin.

But beneath the noise, a profound silence had finally taken root.

The first phase was over.