My Talent's Name Is Generator Chapter 110 110: The Cave of a Thousand Scars

I picked up the next infusion crystal, the one containing a defensive skill.

My curiosity peaked.

Arkas had assured he would get skills compatible with my talent. But what kind of defensive ability would work with Generator? Sothing that reinforced my body? Or maybe sothing that manipulated Essence itself?

There was only one way to find out.

I crushed the crystal in my palm.

In an instant, my vision blurred, and I was pulled into another vision.

Then, slowly, I opened my eyes, not in the training hall, but sowhere else.

I stood inside a cave, its walls rough and uneven.

The air slled of iron and decay, thick with the scent of blood. It wasn't just the sll. Blood covered the ground, dark and dried in so places, fresh and glistening in others.

Sothing terrible had happened here.

And in the center of it all, a man sat cross-legged.

He was massive, ten feet tall, his muscles packed so tightly that his veins looked like they might burst through his grey skin.

His black hair ran down his back, wild and unkempt. His red eyes burned with sothing primal, sothing ancient. His mouth was slightly open, revealing sharp fangs.

He was completely naked, but he didn't seem to care. His focus was locked onto the cave wall in front of him, where a carving had been made.

I followed his gaze.

The carving was simple but precise, etched deep into the rough stone as if soone had spent years perfecting every detail.

It depicted a naked man, his figure outlined with thick, bold strokes.

But what made it striking were the lines, intricate, branching pathways that ran across his entire body, starting from his fingertips and toes, weaving their way inward, converging at key points before splitting apart once more.

Each channel was marked differently, so were thin and sharp, etched like the delicate veins of a leaf, while others were thicker, carved deeply into the figure's stone flesh.

The lines followed the curves of muscles, wrapping around the arms and legs, crossing over the chest and abdon, splitting at the shoulders and hips, and twisting up the neck like vines reaching toward the head.

Around the carving, additional symbols had been scratched into the stone.

So were simple, resembling arrows or flowing currents, while others were more complex, resembling ancient letters or runes from a language.

If my guess was right, the man at the center of the cave was trying to recreate, or perhaps even invent, this carving, and the blood was his own.

The man took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Then, it began.

A pulse of Essence rippled out from his body, and his skin twitched. His fingers curled, then slowly straightened. A sharp line of red appeared on his fingertips, thin, almost like a scratch.

But then the cut deepened, and blood spilled out.

The man did not flinch.

The Essence inside him carved into his flesh, creating a channel that started from his fingertips and began spreading. His arms trembled as the lines etched deeper, carving their way through his muscles.

Blood poured from the wounds, pooling on the cave floor.

I compared what he was doing to his body to the carving on the cave wall and the man followed the image perfectly.

I clenched my jaw.

This wasn't normal training. This wasn't sothing anyone could endure. The pain, it had to be beyond anything I could imagine. He was carving his own body from the inside.

But he did not stop.

He moved to his palms, carving through them, then his wrists, his forearms. His shoulders shuddered as the lines spread through his chest, cutting deeper and deeper, connecting together.

Hour after hour, the process continued.

His thighs split open next, then his calves, then his feet. Blood dripped from every part of him. His breathing grew heavier, his skin twitching and shifting, like his own body was resisting the process.

Then, finally, he stopped.

The lines had been ford. The Essence Channels had been carved into his entire body.

For a mont, he remained still, his head bowed, his body drenched in blood and sweat.

Then, slowly, he stood.

A wave passed through his body.

His grey skin began to shift, the color draining from his body and moving toward his right arm. The change started from his shoulder, spreading down through his biceps, his forearm, his wrist.

His hand turned dark grey.

Then it grew darker.

Darker.

Until it was completely black.

He raised his fist.

And then, he punched the cave wall.

The mont his fist connected, there was no sound. No explosion. No impact.

The entire cave wall simply vanished.

One mont it was there. The next, it was gone, evaporated into nothing.

I stared at where the wall had been.

Beyond it was an endless sky.

I was standing at the peak of a mountain, so high that the clouds surrounded . Mountains stretched out in every direction, their peaks sharp and jagged, disappearing into the mist.

I turned back to the man.

He looked down at his blackened fist. The color was already fading, the grey returning to his body.

The vision ended.

I blinked, and the training hall ca back into view.

My heart pounded from the scene I had just witnessed. The amount of blood the grey-skinned man had spilled, if I had to guess, was enough to make three of .

He was ruthless.

I only saw the final result, but how many tis had he gone through that process to carve those channels in a single sitting? How much pain had he endured to perfect it?

"Where was the defensive skill?"

All I had seen was his strange attack at the end, raising his fist, turning it black, and obliterating the cave wall in one strike. Was that it? Just pure offense?

I frowned. That didn't seem right. A defensive skill wasn't supposed to be just hitting harder. There had to be sothing else.

I shook my head and replayed the vision in my mind.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

I stood silently for almost half an hour, going through every detail again and again.

The first ti, I simply observed.

The second ti, sothing clicked.

By the third, my eyes lit up.

And by the fourth, I was too excited to stand still.

I hurriedly sat down, crossing my legs, and emptied my entire Essence into Psynapse.

If my guess was right, I needed to confirm it now.

Closing my eyes, I traced back through everything that had happened since I got my talent.

The day my heart changed.

The way it crystallized into sothing more than just an organ.

Every single skill I gained after that—[Essence Manipulation], [Psynapse Boost], and all the others.

I focused on how my talent evolved with each level-up, how it reshaped my body, how it refined itself without even realizing. The changes weren't random. Each step had a purpose, leading toward sothing.

Then my class.

I recalled every detail, every effect it had on my generated Essence. The way it influenced my abilities, the way it made my control sharper, my will stronger.

Piece by piece, everything started coming together.

My heart thrumd, a deep, steady pulse, each beat confirming the thoughts racing through my mind.

Finally, I grinned.

I realized the path forward.

Who cared what the defensive skill was? I got sothing else from that vision, sothing I was sure even Arkas hadn't thought of.

I stood up, rolling my shoulders, and pulled out my staff.

If I was going to work on this crazy plan forming in my head, I needed to tie up a few loose ends first.

First, I had to get my staff skill down. Then, I needed to work on my movent skill. Only after that would I start working on my idea.

I channeled Essence into the staff, feeling it respond instantly. The short rod in my hands stretched, expanding to its full height in an instant. The familiar weight settled in my grip, steady and firm.

Taking a deep breath, I shifted into my stance.

This ti, I was going to train the staff's blocking techniques.