My Talent's Name Is Generator

The seven level-199 Holt Masters stood firm at the frontlines, their attention locked on me. Their auras flared like miniature suns, flashing with elemental energy. They weren’t hiding, nor backing away.

They wanted me.

Good.

But I had others to care for first.

I glanced toward the battlefield. The Masters under me, dozens were already clashing blades with the enemy, and while many fought like unleashed beasts, a few were quickly being overwhelmed by coordinated Holt groups.

I lifted my hand and whispered, "Form."

Above the battlefield, a large sphere of glowing light materialized—spinning slowly at first, then faster, growing in size until it hovered like a mini-sun. My Essence flowed into it continuously, anchoring it in space. Threads of light extended downward like invisible webs, connecting to each Master under my command.

And then the light struck.

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The moment one of my soldiers was knocked off his feet and about to be run through, a sharp beam of yellow light burst downward from the orb and pierced the enemy clean through the chest.

Another soldier, surrounded by three opponents—one light beam seared through their weapons, giving her a window to retaliate.

Again and again, I fired with ruthless precision, my attention dancing across the battlefield while I stood still. Each blast saved a life or shifted the momentum.

Then the seven moved.