My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 769 Absolute Humiliation

The chamber bore no resemblance to a proper council hall.

It resembled the aftermath of a devastating calamity.

Near the distant wall, a sturdy table rested upside down, its leg broken right off. Chairs lay strewn in chaos, some lodged into the stone, the rest turned to mere fragments. Lingering Essence sparked softly through the air, intense and restless, declining to fade.

At the heart of the destruction stood Ryn Goldwing, his wings spread broadly, breaths coming in heavy gasps.

"What the hell was that?" he bellowed.

A sudden surge of Essence erupted from him once more, crashing into the leftover furnishings and hurling pieces sliding over the floor. A crystal fixture exploded against the wall, scattering light that sputtered out before it could fully spread.

"I lost," he went on, his tone rough with rage and shock. "I came to terms with it. But that—" he pointed fiercely at the ceiling, like the heavens above were still bearing down, "—that wasn't right. Why hold back from striking him? Why did we all freeze in place?"

Torace Goldwing stayed upright by the room's far edge, arms crossed, wings folded snugly at his back. His face remained composed, yet the strain underneath was clear.

"Because going after him would've meant certain death," Torace stated calmly.

Ryn whirled to face him. "That's dodging the question."

"It's the truth," Torace countered. "Just not the one you want to hear."

Another Griffin advanced, an elder female with silver along her wing tips. "Ryn," she spoke steadily, "you sensed it too. No use denying that."

Ryn balled his hands into fists. "I sensed the weight. I felt his power surging. That doesn't prove—"

"It proves just that," Shera cut in.

The Feran leader slouched against the wall, arms folded, his typical ease completely absent. "I attempted to call up my domain. It wouldn't come. Not even a bit. Not delayed. It just wouldn't work."

The other Feran officer, a huge bull-clan fighter who normally filled any space with his aura, gave a somber nod. "I experienced the same. The second he lifted his arm, Essence ignored our commands entirely."

Ryn's gaze darted among them. "That's not possible. Only Saints—"

"—or someone right on the edge," Torace completed.

Quiet settled over the space.

Torace moved ahead, his steps crunching lightly on the rubble. "Want the reason we held off? The Feran Patriarch and House Goldwing's leader aren't present."

Ryn's brow furrowed.

"They're both in the Crimson Zone," Torace explained. "Right now. This isn't random. We're short on power."

A younger Griffin swore quietly.

"Think I ignored the urge to strike?" Torace pressed on. "I started summoning my domain the moment his hand rose. You witnessed the result. The Essence got yanked from me as if it had never been mine."

He stopped, then murmured softly, "I've never felt anything like it."

That at last gave Ryn pause.

"You're telling me," Ryn said deliberately, "that attempting it would've—"

"Led us into a clash we couldn't handle," Shera finished. "Right in Feradros. At a summit with representatives from various races."

The bull officer huffed. "The whole island could've been lost."

The hush deepened.

Ryn dragged a hand over his hair, his restlessness shifting toward raw irritation. "He's no Saint. How does he disrupt domains this way?"

"Exactly," Torace concurred. "And that's our issue. We underestimated this unknown factor. I'll have to consult the Patriarch."

Ryn pivoted abruptly. "So we swallow this? Let him leave triumphant?"

Torace held his stare firmly. "No. We adjust."

"Adjust how?" Ryn pressed.

"By gaining time," Torace answered. "By making sure that next time he acts, we're not scrambling—we're ready. Or we strike first and take him off guard. Regardless, this shame isn't yours alone. It's shared."

"Can we keep this from reaching Prime Galaxy?" Ryn questioned, eyes locked on Torace.

Torace let out a sigh and shook his head.

"What's our move now?" Ryn asked at last.

Torace scanned the room, connecting with every gaze. "Now we uphold the agreement. Out in the open. Without flaws."

"And behind closed doors?" Ryn inquired.

Torace's eyes sharpened. "Behind closed doors, we dig up all we can. On him. On his Order. On how a figure like this slipped through our galaxy unnoticed."

The silver-winged Griffin inclined her head gradually. "And ensure he never ascends to Saint."

Torace held back his response.

Instead, he stated, "Because if he succeeds, the Blue Spiral Galaxy changes forever."

Ryn glanced at the cracked ground, then lifted his eyes, wings drawing close behind him.

"…I never saw my birthday wrapping up this way," he grumbled.

Shera released a brief exhale. "None of us saw it coming."

With a flick of Torace's hand, the broken pieces of furniture were swept away, reassembling as though the rage had never erupted. The chamber restored itself, though the strain lingered.

Torace faced Shera, his look stern. "Can we keep this under wraps?"

Shera denied it at once with a headshake. "No way. Impossible."

Torace's jaw clenched. "Not even a little?"

"Too many watchers," Shera responded. "Too many groups. Elementals, Aquas, traders, impartial witnesses. Spies from no fewer than four outside powers were in that assembly. Anything we bury here gets twisted into wild tales out there."

A Griffin whispered an oath.

Shera went on. "Come morning, every key player in the Blue Spiral will hear how the Order of Absolute appeared in Feradros, confronted House Goldwing openly, and departed unscathed."

Torace breathed out steadily. "What does that imply?"

"It implies we've turned into their platform," Shera said directly. "A launchpad. Their reputation will grow quicker thanks to our involvement."

The quiet lasted a heartbeat.

Torace spoke once more. "If word gets out, we can't stay in the dark. What intel do we have on this Order?"

"Not much," Shera confessed. "No home planet. No open headquarters. No verified allies. Only signs: rift sealings, swift victories, few casualties."

Torace gave a single nod. "Then we shift tactics."

Shera stood taller. "I'll approach them."

This drew multiple stares.

"You mean… those ones?" a Griffin queried.

"Yes," Shera affirmed promptly. "The group that handles secrets even the Nagas overlook. They have to have details on the Order already."

Torace pondered briefly, then approved with a nod. "But keep our involvement concealed."

Torace shifted to the window, gazing across the island where festivities carried on, oblivious to the burden now settling on Feradros.

"Move quickly," he instructed.