My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 738: Rune Master Irelith

Saleos guided me along a narrow corridor carved right into the obsidian walls of the hall. The clamor from the festivities faded swiftly, while the thick doors shut behind us with a deep, echoing rumble.

The chamber ahead felt more compact, yet just as intentionally designed.

A lengthy stone slab dominated the middle, its top buffed to a gleam, arranged with trays of piping-hot dishes and containers shaped from crystal. The warmth in this space was regulated, restrained, suited for talks instead of displays.

All four commanders had gathered there already.

Kharzun positioned himself at the table's end, his arms hanging relaxed by his body. The remaining three claimed spots nearby, their presences subdued. Saleos stepped to my left side and indicated an empty chair.

"Please," Kharzun said. "Sit."

I took the seat.

A brief hush fell over the group, with no words exchanged. The quiet carried no discomfort. It showed deference, the sort of stillness that let each person gauge the room's gravity prior to breaking it.

Kharzun shattered the silence first.

"Did you enjoy the celebration?" he inquired, his voice relaxed, nearly friendly. "Dragos rarely throws open its chambers to so many foreigners."

"It was... thorough," I answered. "And honest."

A soft murmur of laughter spread across the table.

"We like it straightforward," one of the other commanders remarked. "Food, racket, fire. It keeps us feeling truly alive."

Kharzun nodded slightly. "Should you stay on longer, you ought to explore the untamed side of the world. No settlements. No order. Pure endurance and indulgence. If wild spots appeal to you, it might suit."

"I’ll keep that in mind," I said.

Another commander raised his cup. "What about the meal?"

I eyed the dish before me. "Aggressive."

A handful of subdued chuckles followed.

The mood lingered for another moment, kept airy on purpose, until Kharzun's face grew serious.

"Saleos mentioned an action you took amid the rift mission," he noted. "Something more than fighting."

I locked eyes with him.

"The anchors," he stated. "The deathmist teleportation anchors planted inside our ranks."

"They weren’t easy to hide," I said. "But they were subtle enough to evade normal detection."

Kharzun gave a nod. "We’ve seen whole squads wiped out by traps set off through those anchors. Not just once or twice. Over and over. We suspected their presence. We knew turncoats played a part. But pinpointing them... pulling out the anchors... there we fell short."

One of the other commanders leaned in. "Experts exist who could handle it. But they’re scarce. Costly. And they don’t shift readily across live rifts."

Kharzun crossed his arms. "Thus, we offer a suggestion."

I held steady.

"We possess a rune master," he went on. "Among the finest Dragos has seen in recent centuries. Should you agree to show how you removed the anchors, she’ll collaborate with you. Jointly, you’d craft devices to spot and extract them."

I squinted a bit. "And then?"

"And then," he replied steadily, "those devices would spread to our battle lines. Employed by leaders. Used by assault groups. Deployed anywhere rifts tear open."

The consequences stood obvious.

It would preserve lives.

"Does your rune master consent to this?" I questioned.

Saleos pivoted and headed for the entrance silently.

Soon after, the door swung open once more.

The demoness who stepped in appeared older than most I’d encountered on Dragos. Her locks gleamed silver, tied back tidily, her horns polished sleek by years. She strode unaided, posture upright, pace deliberate.

She claimed a chair opposite mine without invitation.

Saleos dipped his head. "This is her."

She examined me candidly for a few beats, then glanced at Saleos. "So this is the man. I had assumed you to be quite old but I was wrong. Very wrong."

"Yes," Saleos replied.

She shifted her focus to me. "Rune Master Irelith," she introduced. "I specialize in structural runes. Anchors. Transference arrays."

I appraised her in turn. Under the years and composure, her aura felt thick and grounded.

Upper transcendent.

"Rune master?" I said. "Where I come from, that isn’t an occupation."

That sparked a few responses at the table. Faint adjustments. Gentle astonishment.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Irelith tilted her head a touch. "You battled at the rift," she observed. "You witnessed the arms. The barriers. Those weren’t shaped by raw might or laws by themselves. Rune masters handle their making."

She placed her palms on the slab while she explained.

"In basic words, we construct devices that wield Essence like a living being, then direct it accurately. The trickier the use, the more intricate the runes become. And since runes demand soul force to ignite and hold steady, none below transcendent can even start."

She fixed her stare on me. "As you advance in level, you run into runes more often. Not due to their sudden emergence, but because you at last acquire the means to sense and engage them."

I pondered that.

"So runes are fundamental," I said slowly. "It’s just that our ability to perceive them begins late."

A subtle grin curved her mouth.

"They are," she affirmed promptly. "Runes form the grammar of Essence. Laws might set what’s feasible, but runes determine how smoothly reality obeys."

That snagged my interest.

She pressed on. "Artifacts merely grant runes lasting form. With the right setup, drawing out those anchors isn’t just feasible, it’s replicable."

I fell quiet.

For a handful of moments, nobody disturbed me. A rush of ideas flooded my thoughts.

At last, I voiced it.

"I have a proposal of my own."

Kharzun’s eyebrow arched faintly. "Go on."

"Instead of us working together on artifact development," I said slowly, "I want her to teach me how these runes work. Fully. Properly."

The space grew utterly still.

I went on. "Then we will develop the artifacts. I will supply them to Dragos."

One commander exhaled softly. Another scowled visibly.

Kharzun regarded me for an extended beat. "Are you certain?" he asked. "Runes are not easily learned. They take decades. Centuries. You are... young. Your path should be strength."

"No issue," I replied. "I’m a fast learner."

His look intensified. "Fast learning does not replace experience."

I directed my focus to Irelith. "I’m not asking to replace you. I’m asking to learn from you."

She appeared entertained. "Do you know what you’re asking?"

"Yes."

"You’re asking me to hand over knowledge that demons guard more fiercely than territory."

"I’m offering something in return," I said. "Direct alignment. Reliable tools. And a deeper bond between Dragos and the Order of Absolute."

Her gaze darted to Kharzun for an instant, then returned to me.

"You intend to bind us this way," she said.

"I intend to make betrayal more difficult," I replied. "For everyone."

Silence dragged on.

At length, Irelith eased back a fraction. "You won’t go back on your word after learning the craft, will you?"

"I gain nothing from that," I said. "I’m interested in....more power. Not more enemies."

That sealed it.

She grinned, ever so slightly.

"If I teach you," she said, "you won’t stop at anchors."

"No," I agreed. "I won’t."

She glanced at Kharzun. He shut his eyes and I sensed a ripple near him. He was linking minds.

After some moments he opened his eyes. "Very well. We’ll consider your proposal."

Irelith’s stare stayed on me.

"Fast learner," she mused. "We’ll see."

I chuckled. "I won’t disappoint you."