My Talent's Name Is Generator

Malcolm leaned forward, his eyes sharp and cold. "And if he doesn't believe? If he sees through you?"

Roland's voice dropped, hard and certain. "Then I'll die. But at least I'll die trying to free us, not rotting away under his shadow."

Theodore chuckled. "You've grown teeth, Roland. I didn't think you had it in you."

Malcolm finally stood, the old wood of his chair groaning under his weight. His gaze swept over both men, then toward the door. "Then it's decided."

Roland's lips pulled into a wide smile, his eyes burning with a strange mix of relief and madness. "Good. Then I know exactly who can help me slip back into that place and steal what I need without being caught by those monsters."

Theodore narrowed his eyes. "You mean… him?"

Roland nodded firmly. "Yes."

Theodore closed his eyes, thinking for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Yes, he's the perfect man for it. But be careful. If he slips your leash, he could run straight into the Emperor's arms. Then all of us are finished."

Roland grinned again. "Don't worry. He won't escape. I'll make sure of it."

Theodore gave a short grunt of agreement. "Then so be it."

"Great," Roland said, already turning toward the door. "I'll begin immediately."

From where I stood in the shadows, listening to every word, my lips curled into a smile of my own. These fools thought they were weaving some grand plan, but they had no idea how thin their web truly was.

Roland spun on his heel and strode toward the exit. I shifted slightly, suppressing every trace of my presence until even the faintest breath of air would hide me. He opened the chamber doors and stepped into the corridor.

I stayed behind, pressed into the cool shadow of a stone pillar, watching Roland disappear down the corridor. His steps were long, urgent, each one echoing faintly against the walls before he suddenly pushed off the ground and took to the air. He didn't look back even once.

I waited a moment, letting him gain some distance.

Then I slipped into motion. I activated [Phantom Dive]. My body folded into the veil of shadow, and the next instant I reappeared outside, dropping onto a narrow street with barely a sound.

I moved slowly, careful not to draw attention. My presence was faint, almost invisible, as if I were no more than a ripple of air passing through the crowd.

As I walked, I bent my body's form piece by piece. My shoulders hunched, my face sagged, and my hair thinned to strands of white. By the time I crossed two streets, I looked as old and tired as Theodore himself, complete with the same wrinkled features and drooping eyes.

Of course, I knew that if a Grandmaster scanned me directly, my disguise would shatter. My true name would shine through no matter what mask I wore. But Grandmasters weren't exactly strolling around every corner, and for now, the risk was small.

Roland stayed above, flying swiftly through the sky. I followed him from below, weaving through the streets, always keeping him within reach of my perception.

He covered a long distance before finally slowing. I felt his aura settle before I saw him descend. He landed quietly in front of a building tucked behind heavy walls and guarded gates.

I stopped in the shadows, sinking deeper into cover, and studied him. Roland stood, his expression grim, eyes locked on the structure ahead as though weighing something heavy.

I spread my perception across the place, letting the invisible waves of my awareness seep through walls and doors. The first thing I noticed made me pause.

It was a prison.

Right here, inside the palace grounds.

That alone was shocking enough, but as I dug deeper with my perception, I realized this wasn't an ordinary prison. This place wasn't built to hold thieves or petty criminals, it was built to cage really strong people.

I scanned cell after cell, and what I saw tightened my chest. The people trapped inside weren't weak. Some radiated the aura of Masters, and a few burned even brighter—Grandmasters, locked away like dangerous beasts.

Then I noticed the conversations drifting from deep within. Low voices carried through the halls.

"…another mission… outside the borders…"

"…they want us to kill again…"

"…better than rotting in here… I'll take the air, even if it stinks of blood…"

Roland took a step forward, then another, and finally walked to the gates. He spoke to the guards in a low tone I couldn't catch, and the great iron doors slowly creaked open. Layers of runes peeled back like eyelids opening, and the air grew heavier.

He walked straight inside.

I slipped after him, using [Phantom Dive] once more to melt into the darkness of the corridor beyond the gate. The air changed instantly. Thick. Heavy. The scent of damp stone mixed with iron and old blood.

I followed in silence, my perception spread wide ahead of me, mapping every step Roland took. He moved down the stairs, passing level after level, each one darker and heavier than the last.

By the time he reached the sixth level, I had already memorized the layout of the prison above.

The deeper we went, the colder it became. My eyes moved from cell to cell. Some of the prisoners were in terrible shape—skin hanging off bones, wounds that looked fresh even though they were old, marks of torture etched deep into their flesh.

Others sat quietly, old men and women whose eyes had dulled after years of being locked away, their bodies wasting while their minds slowly rotted.

I noticed something else too. The faces belonged to all three factions. Yet most of the prisoners didn't wear any faction mark at all. Factionless.

When we reached the sixth level, I immediately sensed the difference. It wasn't like the others.

The number of cells was small, barely twelve in total, and each one radiated a terrifying presence. I slowed, my steps careful, my perception locking on each of them one by one.

And then my eyes fell on three particular cells.

My eyes widened before I caught myself.

They were Grandmasters.

But what shocked me most wasn't their strength. It was what they were.

They weren't human.