My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 742: Runic Theory

The dawn of the next day came without any word spreading about the chaos on Dragos's untamed frontier. Lana remained by Primus's side, trembling still from the ordeal she had endured.

In the simple room provided for me, which held only a plain stone slab, I sat alone. The festivities of the previous evening had at last faded away, plunging the remainder of Dragos into silence as its inhabitants slept or healed in their private manners. My summoned allies had been dispatched back to the central hub already.

A modest stone slab positioned itself before me.

At the table's heart lay four memory crystals, glowing softly, their exteriors carved with slender, exact runes. Next to them sat a pile of ancient scrolls, well-maintained despite their age, sealed with demonic emblems.

Steve had passed the crystals to me once his mission concluded. Primus, however, had yet to obtain his own.

This fact troubled me deeply.

His level hovered at 299, seeming almost intentional in its proximity. I found myself pondering what held the System back. Was some scheme brewing? Did this delay tie into my defiance of its advice by slaying the Eternal regardless? Or did deeper motives lurk?

Such notions clung to my mind far beyond comfort.

Did the System adhere to strict protocols for missions, or might it arbitrarily deny one forever? Could it hinder advancement through neglect rather than direct interference?

With a gradual breath out, I allowed my mind to steady itself.

Guessing wildly served no purpose at this moment.

I grasped the initial crystal, channeling a measured strand of my Essence into its core.

It burst apart in an instant.

No burst of light appeared. No noise echoed.

Only the force struck.

A torrent of pure, unrefined data crashed into my awareness, visions and frameworks overlapping chaotically until my Psynapse adapted and started organizing. I reclined a bit, permitting the deluge to flow over me rather than fighting it back.

Anchors.

Beyond mere presence, their very design revealed itself.

They appeared integrated deeply, not simply affixed to tissue, but interlaced within, positioned amid muscle strands, aligned parallel to Essence pathways without interrupting their rhythm. Such positioning proved intentional, capitalizing on the body's inherent duplicates, concealed under familiar bodily designs.

Deathmist held the secret.

Rather than quelling ripples directly, it overwhelmed them completely.

Then it clicked why standard scanning techniques fell short. Deathmist didn't hide the anchor through disguise. It blended it seamlessly, refining the nearby Essence to such a degree that anomalies dissolved into the norm. Akin to burying a cry amid thunderous gales.

The anchor stood not as an intruder.

It had merged fully.

I extended my hand to the second crystal.

Dimensions and inscriptions.

This piece delivered its contents in a more orderly fashion, gentler in delivery yet equally intricate. Runes of space extended past mere relocation markers. They imposed limits. They set boundaries. Directives dictating permissible behaviors for space within certain scenarios.

Bend at this point. Secure over there. Disregard separation when conditions align.

Anchors evaded typical spatial barriers, not through brute strength, but by altering nearby principles for the briefest instant. Insufficient to upset bodily equilibrium. Merely adequate for transit.

Both refined and perilous in equal measure.

The third crystal delved into form and substances.

Inscribed metals. Materials responsive to Essence. Substances fused with bone. It guided me equally through mishaps and triumphs, revealing what splintered from pressure, what eroded over time, what clashed harmfully with mismatched principles.

Every detail I recorded mentally.

Upon taking in the fourth crystal, a weight already pressed on my skull.

Deathmist once more.

Yet now, the fusion aspect.

Beyond tissue alone, but entwined with the runes proper.

Deathmist integrated into runes not as an icon. It functioned as a prerequisite. An ongoing atmospheric alterant that muted outside scrutiny, warped cause-effect tracking, and disrupted foresight abilities.

This explained anchors' endurance under examination.

They evaded sensing not through opposition.

They nullified the very basis of sensing.

As the crystal at last disintegrated into powder within my grip, I remained motionless through deep inhalations, allowing the insights to integrate, permitting my Essence to balance anew.

"So that’s how they did it."

Afterward, my focus shifted to the parchments bestowed by the Demon rune expert.

The opening collection outlined core principles of rune lore.

Under Dragos's system, runes divided into three main groups.

The simplest formed structural runes. They shaped outline, firmness, enclosure, and circulation. On their own, they seemed basic, nearly rough, yet they permeated all. Artifacts, formations, protective setups all depended on them. They formed the grammar of inscription dialect.

Lacking structure, all collapsed.

Operational runes comprised the next group.

Greater in intricacy, adaptable, open to adaptation. Ignition, enhancement, transformation, ordering. They directed Essence's actions post-containment. Such runes linked in series, stacked, or made dependent. Here skill truly emerged, where purpose and accuracy distinguished ordinary items from masterpieces.

Operational runes offered versatility. And risk.

Conceptual runes marked the last group.

Rarity defined them.

Actions evaded their description. Essence they captured.

Self. End. Command. Ruin. Safeguard.

Conceptual runes engaged laws head-on, not imposing them, but crafting scaffolds for their expression via items or setups. Instability plagued them without backing from structural and operational bases, and even supported, they required soul force for endurance.

Rune masters gained fame here.

Here, errors claimed the maker's life.

Progressing through the documents, analogies arose effortlessly.

Runes transcended enchanted rings or arcane icons.

Code they embodied.

Tongues inscribed upon existence, assembled via Essence, run through determination and spirit. Structural runes equated to grammar. Operational ones to procedures. Conceptual to accesses.

Laws served as the core engine.

A slight recline followed my exhalation, tension easing from my frame. Rather than selecting another scroll, I delved inside myself.

Recollections of all rune encounters surfaced, particularly those in my personal realm. Prior to grasping Absolute completely, before Right to Insight solidified into an official power, identical motifs persisted. Runes. Far from vague marks, but organized directives heeding purpose.

Absolute's invocation, Insight's expansion yielding solutions sans rationale—it surpassed mere might in isolation. Runic reasoning operated hidden, interpreting existence on my behalf.

Impressions I separated individually, etching them firmly into recall. Pattern by pattern, reaction by reaction, framework by framework. Subsequently, I aligned them with scroll categories, aligning intuitive applications to official rune classes.

Bases of structure laid unconsciously by me.

Chains of operation fired unknowingly named.

And, disturbingly more so, hints of conceptual runes self-emerging, heeding power over blueprint.