My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 774 Rudy's Bar

The darkness above Goldwing Island failed to find any calm that evening.

We slipped across it devoid of alerts, devoid of talks on righteousness or equilibrium. Verbal exchanges proved pointless. The verdict was sealed right when Ryn favored haughtiness instead of repercussions.

I wasn't at the forefront.

Knight took the lead.

Reality warped gently in his wake, insufficient to rouse guards or trigger warnings. His mastery had grown precise, honed through endless contact with my spatial principles.

The initial Griffin caught no glimpse of him.

In one instant, the Transcendent lingered at the balcony's rim, wings tucked away, awareness extending lazily with bold assurance. In the next, Knight's tail pierced his neck from front to back in a fluid, expert sweep. Only a faint whisper of displaced air marked the corpse's collapse.

We pressed onward without halting. He advanced once more, and I trailed behind.

We posed no inquiries. We ignored begs for mercy. We dismissed tales of allegiance, kin, or support from the Prime Galaxy. Each Griffin encountered shared guilt merely by being there.

The next one attempted a response.

Gilded radiance burst from his arms, plumage stiffening as he spun around, yet Knight had already invaded his domain. Darkness coiled around the Griffin's limbs, rooting him in place for a mere heartbeat. That sufficed. Knight's talons drove directly into the larynx, slicing through vertebrae and silencing him in a single swift curve.

The following Griffin resisted with greater ferocity.

Talons ripped at the gloom, wings flapping with force enough to crack rock underfoot. I observed idly, holding back, as Knight adjusted during the clash, switching from chase to dominance, folding the area behind the Griffin until each escape turned into a lurch ahead. The concluding blow stabbed the torso and fixed the heart to the opposite barrier.

With the fourth, dread started to circulate.

By the fifth, sirens attempted to sound but malfunctioned.

By the sixth, the surviving Griffins grasped the full horror unfolding.

One of them sought to bolt from the island altogether, soaring upward with frantic velocity. Knight refrained from pursuit. He lifted a palm, shaped obscurity into a lance, and hurled it slicing skyward. The Griffin plummeted earthward, his cry cut short before it fully formed.

The seventh perished on bended knees.

The eighth met his end upright.

A single one lingered.

The final Goldwing Transcendent held his position, wings drawn in closely, presence dimmed to near invisibility. He chose not to escape. He lingered in anticipation.

I halted Knight with a simple motion.

"Leave him," I said.

We departed the island just as silently as our arrival: without a trace. The ocean mirrored none of the chaos that transpired. When the evening gusts changed, Goldwing Island had already lost its core pillar.

The metropolis stretched before us.

Feradros under cover of night pulsed with a distinct vitality. Unlike the demonic world, discipline held firm even in the shadows. I extended my senses as we drew near.

I detected numerous Upper Transcendents.

Groups of influence overlapped governance zones, armed bases, trade zones.

Knight shot me a sidelong look while we floated over the fringes.

"You're thinking," he said.

"I am," I replied.

"About killing more?"

I touched my jaw briefly, weighing the urge.

"No," I said at last. "Not tonight."

Knight arched a brow. "Why stop now?"

I said. "What we need are bargaining chips."

He dipped his head once, grasping it right away.

Rudy's Bar proved simple to locate.

It occupied the perfect spot for such an establishment, near enough to influence to count, distant enough from oversight to thrive. The structure appeared ordinary, built of rock and shadowed timber, lacking flashy signs. Its sole identifier was a faint emblem over the entrance, barely noticeable without prior knowledge.

We materialized opposite the road and strolled the final distance.

Upon stepping inside, the noise softened.

A mere subtle hush, as if all had drawn a partial inhale and held it. Chats picked up again shortly, but subdued. More guarded.

They knew who we were.

The Order of Absolute had gained notoriety.

We navigated the throng unhindered. Chairs vacated. Room parted. None confronted us, and none truly bolted.

A Feran of bird descent manned the counter, plumage shadowy and neatly groomed, stance casual to the edge of feigned apathy. His gaze rose as we neared, absorbing every aspect without showing awareness.

I came to a halt by the bar.

"Rudy," I said offhandedly.

The Feran's motions faltered for a brief instant.

Then he grinned.

"Drinks?" he asked, tone steady.

"For both of us," I replied. "Something strong."

He inclined his head and pivoted, actions fluid. The tavern gradually regained its pulse around us, though patrons kept their distance.

Knight rested against the surface.

"They're making a real effort not to gawk," he whispered.

"They should," I said.

Rudy placed the tumblers before us, golden fluid gleaming under the glow. He avoided eyeing the emblem when I set it on the surface between us, yet I sensed his subtle reaction shift regardless.

So I questioned him outright.

Rudy polished the bar leisurely, intentionally, as though the token lying there held zero significance.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said gently. "People pass strange trinkets around all the time. Ferans especially. They like theatrics."

I took another swallow from my tumbler, allowing the quiet to linger until it grew uneasy.

"That badge came from Shera Ranthor," I said. "He told me you were the person to see if I wanted answers."

Rudy's hands kept their rhythm. "Shera Ranthor speaks to many people. I serve drinks. That's where my involvement usually ends."

"I'll ask you once more," I said evenly. "Who do you contact for Hollow Star?"

Rudy finally locked eyes with me, arches rising in courteous bewilderment. "You're mistaken. I've never heard of—"

I breathed out.

And snapped my fingers.

Everything halted.

Noise faded first. Then movement. Drinkers paused mid-gulp, vessels suspended mere inches from mouths. A Feran chuckling at a distant booth hung trapped mid-exhale. Even the dance of flames over the bar ceased, blazes frozen like crafted mirages.

Rudy stiffened as well, rag midway over the bar, gaze widening as truth dawned. Knight and I alone could still act.

I grasped my tumbler and raised it, studying how the rays twisted through the brew.

"You see," I said quietly, "I don't enjoy repeating myself."

I rapped the edge of the tumbler once with my digit.

It shattered at once, crumbling into tiny grains of Essence that vanished into oblivion before touching the bar.

Rudy's eyes contracted.

"That was reinforced crystal," I went on. "Meant to survive Grandmaster pressure. It didn't. You are a grandmaster too."

I bent nearer a touch.

"Now," I said, tone remaining serene, "you're going to tell me who you contact, how you contact them."

I offered a slight smile.

"Or I'll start tapping things that matter more."

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