My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 763 Shameless

Shera maintained his steady pace while escorting me further into the vast hall. Discussions flowed around him with a gentle curve, persisting without pause but adapting nonetheless. I caught none of it slipping by, however. Every word reached my ears clearly. Still, the gathering stayed courteous and guarded in their words.

He came to a halt next to two Ferans positioned closely by one of the central supports.

The pair shared no resemblances.

The first bore a wide, powerful frame, his form radiating the solid, rooted essence of the bull tribes. Horns arched ahead and outward, buffed yet bearing marks of conflict, with an aura that pressed down solidly instead of slicing keenly. His companion positioned himself a touch behind, slimmer in build, with plumage covering his limbs and upper back, bird-like traits fused into a near-human silhouette. His vigilant eyes scanned tirelessly, overlooking nothing.

"General Korvath of the Stonehorns," Shera announced initially, indicating the bull-tribe Feran. "And General Sareth of the Skyrock."

Korvath dipped his head briefly. "Billion Ironhart," he rumbled, his voice deep and echoing. "We've received accounts. Sealing a grade four rift alongside demon aid is... no minor feat."

"Nor a frequent one," Sareth chimed in, his voice brighter yet equally sharp. "Especially not from someone who seems like he ought to still be picking his first weapon."

I held their stares steadily. "I decided on that long ago."

The remark drew a quiet snort of laughter from Korvath and a keener grin from Sareth.

"It caught us off guard to learn an outfit like yours even operates," Sareth remarked, musing. "Totally concealed from every species. It's like you materialized from thin air."

Korvath kept his eyes fixed on me while he noted, "Whispers also suggest you received aid from the Nagas."

I let out a light laugh. "Whispers remain whispers," I stated. "I've struck no bargains with the Nagas."

I hesitated, then let a subtle grin appear.

"Yet."

Before Korvath could respond further, Shera steered me ahead.

The following general waited by himself.

Yet another from the tiger-tribe Ferans, though while Shera exuded relaxation and Varka bore the weight of years, this figure embodied keenness. His coat gleamed darker, etched with bold charcoal stripes, his stance rigid and watchful. The title Shera uttered matched that vibe perfectly.

"General Kael Sharka," he declared. "Leader of the swift reaction units."

Sharka's gaze tightened a fraction upon locking with mine. "You're more youthful than anticipated," he stated directly.

"That's a frequent comment," I answered.

"Hm." His attention darted momentarily beyond me to my companions, then snapped back. "Power at your level usually carves marks. Or breeds overconfidence."

"What if it does neither?" I inquired.

Sharka's lips twitched, almost forming a grin. "Then it sparks inquiries."

I examined the general with greater focus. He hailed from Anjee's clan. The Sharka formed a separate line of the tiger tribes. Their sway had been curbed for ages, their reach intentionally curbed by the Ranthors.

Questions filled my mind.

Shera pressed on before I could voice any.

We paused afterward in front of an Elemental who kept distance from the Ferans yet avoided solitude. At a glance, he resembled a human, lofty and lithe, with skin so fair it neared see-through. Frost danced lazily over his shoulders and arms in subdued designs, and his locks cascaded in icy blue waves.

"Arch Elementalist Eryndor," Shera introduced. "Ice alignment."

Eryndor regarded me with serene focus. "It's an honor to encounter you," he expressed. "I notice an elemental among your companions. That pleases me."

I gave a small nod. "Pleasure's mine too. She's called Aurora. Her power runs deep."

One side of his lips rose. "She looks formidable. If opportunity allows, seek me out. I'm lodged in your same quarters."

I nodded. "I'll make time."

The Aqua followed next.

She lingered by a modest basin mirroring the hall's glow, her lower half dissolving into a rippling, ever-changing shape that refused to hold still.

"Lady Thalassa of the Deep Current," Shera named her.

Her gaze rested on me, intrigued more than cautious. "Outsiders seldom wander so boldly into Feradros," she observed. "Even less do they etch a mark before setting foot here."

"Deeds often trail impressions," I countered.

She offered a soft smile. "Then we'll observe your deeds intently, from what came before. And what's to come after too."

Once Shera wrapped up the presentations, the burden of scrutiny had become palpable.

That's when motion caught my eye near my allies.

A duo of Griffins had peeled off from the bunch at the hall's distant side. They advanced with calm assurance, wings tucked tight, amber eyes aimed not at me but at Lyrate.

They halted before her directly.

One tilted his head. "You're an elf," he noted, voice courteous yet plainly inquisitive. "How did you reach the Blue Spiral Galaxy?"

Lyrate beamed, friendly and completely at ease. "I enjoy journeying."

The other Griffin's stare intensified. "Across galaxies?"

"Whenever the urge hits."

Silence hung briefly. Then the initial one spoke once more. "Our lineage keeps homes fitted for visitors of... unusual backgrounds. Should you desire Griffin welcome—"

"No," Lyrate replied breezily.

The denial struck firm, sans regret.

The Griffin blinked, then composed himself. "You haven't heard the offer yet."

"I know plenty," she answered. "And I'm right where I belong."

A hint of mirth sparked in the Griffin's gaze. He nodded again.

"Very well."

They retreated without friction, gliding back to their group as effortlessly as they'd approached.

I returned to my team shortly after. North tilted toward me a bit. "They stayed mannerly," she commented.

"Politeness signals the real threat," Steve grumbled.

Before further events could stir, a quiet wave passed through the chamber.

A single Griffin advanced.

He towered over the others, his aura more commanding without crushing weight. As he cleared his throat, the tone echoed wide. Talks dwindled. Tunes hushed. Focus gathered.

"Esteemed visitors," he intoned, voice booming. "Gratitude for your presence."

He motioned lightly, drawing the younger Griffin beside him forward.

"Tonight heralds the new year for our young master, Caelum."

Murmurs of recognition swept the room.

"Yet festivities gain true worth when paired with triumphs," the senior went on. "This day, we honor those who struck boldly against the rift peril."

His eyes turned.

"Aided by us and our young master," he declared, "the Order of Absolute aided in shutting a Grade Four rift."

The assembly buzzed.

Gazes swiveled.

Assessments recalibrated.

The Griffin nodded toward me once. "For this, accept our gratitude."