My Talent's Name Is Generator
Chapter 334: Sword In Motion

Chapter 334: Sword In Motion

The underground tunnel shuddered with the tremors of the chaos above, but that didn’t slow the three advancing figures.

North led the charge, twin blades flashing as wind swirled around her feet. Steve moved to her left, lightning arcing from his body, while Lyrate floated behind the two.

The long hall ahead split into multiple corridors, but they didn’t hesitate. North pointed her blade down the widest path, where she sensed the highest concentration of enemy signatures.

"Let’s go," she said, and vanished in a gust of wind.

She reappeared like a storm, spinning in midair as she activated Cyclone Cleave. A howling spiral of wind followed her blades, cutting through the first wave of Holt soldiers. Blood sprayed the walls as screams echoed down the stone corridors.

Steve blurred next to her with Burst Flash, his sword trailing blue lightning. His strike hit like a meteor, severing two men in half before they could even raise their weapons. The corridor erupted into chaos, shouts and alarm calls ringing through the halls.

More soldiers poured in from the adjoining tunnels.

Lyrate raised her hand. The stone beneath their feet cracked, and thorned roots burst upward, wrapping around ankles and knees. She flicked her wrist, and the roots yanked back, dragging men to the floor as she calmly walked forward.

From the left, a blade-wielding soldier lunged at her with a roar. She stepped sideways, drew her blade, and with one slash of her crimson sword , opened his chest from collar to hip. He fell without a word, vines already crawling over his corpse.

North activated Dual Cleave, her body a blur between two groups. She carved through the enemy line with a brutal X-slash, forcing them to backpedal. But she didn’t let up, Blade Rush launched her forward again, driving her twin blades into two more soldiers.

Steve gripped his sword tightly, eyes locked on the nearest enemies.

He darted forward.

The first man barely saw him coming. One smooth slice, and his throat opened in a spray of red. Steve twisted his body mid-motion, pivoted, and drove his blade into the gut of the next, ripping upward to split the torso clean open.

The third tried to raise a shield. Steve stepped inside the man’s stance, grabbed his wrist, and brought his sword across his neck in one clean, ruthless sweep.

He kept moving.

His body weaved through panicked strikes and wild bursts of Essence. Steel flashed. Heads fell. Blood painted the stone floor. Every movement was efficient and surgical.

And when five more surged at him from all sides—

He inhaled.

Lightning danced up his arm, across his shoulders, and down his spine.

"[Storm Laceration]"

A crack of thunder tore through the underground corridor as Steve blurred into motion. His sword became a streak of blue light, body twisting and spinning in a violent arc. He moved like lightning itself.....cutting through armor, bone, and muscle as if they were nothing.

When he finally stopped, the only thing left standing was him.

"Keep moving!" North shouted, blades dripping blood.

They were making ground, but the enemy was starting to organize. Stronger auras appeared deeper in the corridor, more Masters. A wall of reinforced guards began forming ahead of them.

The deeper they pushed into the underground halls, the tighter the resistance grew.

Gone were the casual guards and untrained brutes. Now, the corridors echoed with the sharp clash of steel against steel, spells lighting up the stone walls in bursts of red, silver, and blue. These weren’t just soldiers, they were elites. Handpicked Masters, all loyal to the Holt family.

And they were ready to kill.

Steve dashed through the next passage, shoulder slamming into an incoming fighter and sending him flying into the wall with a crunch. Sparks danced around his frame as [Lightning Mantle] surged again, the air around him hissing with static.

From behind Steve, North moved like a whisper on the breeze. Her body blurred, wind wrapping around her limbs, carrying her with silent speed. Her twin blades shimmered faintly, so sharp they left glowing trails of air in their wake.

She darted forward, eyes cold and focused.

With a burst of speed, she weaved between the first two enemies. Her left blade slashed low across one’s heart while the right carved clean through the other’s neck, so fast neither of them had time to scream. Their bodies dropped behind her, lifeless.

Pivoting mid-step, she leapt into the air and twisted, slicing down diagonally with both blades. A razor-thin gust followed the strike, enhanced by her affinity and severed the limbs of the third and fourth enemy in one graceful arc. Blood misted behind her as she landed in a crouch.

Then lunged toward another two.

Her blades spun in her hands, and with a flick of her foot she kicked off the stone wall, angling between them. Her body bent low, slicing their throats in a mirrored motion as she shot through the gap like a leaf caught in a cyclone.

But more kept coming.

A coordinated group of eight Masters stormed out of a side chamber, two of them chanting in unison. The stone under the group’s feet began to twist and rise, forming jagged barriers. Arrows of light shot toward Steve and North from the soldiers in the back.

Lyrate raised her hand.

Roots burst through the floor in a thundering crack, shattering the formation and ripping two of the soldiers upward like prey caught in a web.

She spun her sword once, then let it fly. The blade spun like a disc, carving through the wall of enemies before she called it back with a gesture.

North whispered.

"The prison is close by let’s move."

And the group charged ahead . Another batch of soldiers moved to block them.

Steve stepped forward, calm and quiet, his sword held in a relaxed grip by his side. Sparks of lightning still flickered faintly across the floor from earlier clashes, but his eyes were clear, cold, focused.

Then, in a swift motion, he slashed his sword horizontally through the air. A wave of sword force exploded outward, invisible at first, until the results followed.

A clean, whistling crack filled the room and one soldier in front fell backward, split open from waist. His body hit the ground in two parts.

The others hesitated, fear creeping in.

Steve stepped to the side, then raised his sword in a perfect line, pointing it forward. With a slow breath, he thrust it forward, not toward any one man, but toward open space.

Boom.

A soldier twenty feet away suddenly screamed as his skull caved in, blood and bone spraying behind him. The force of the thrust had exploded his head like it had been struck by a cannon.

Silence fell for a beat.

Steve stood still. His sword now rested against his shoulder, angled just slightly.

Then he whispered.

"Cut."

The word barely left his lips before the blade in his hand trembled.

A pulse rippled through the air—silent, but deadly.

Four soldiers in front of him blinked. Then their bodies jerked violently as deep cuts opened across their torsos, necks, and legs. Blood sprayed out as they fell in twitching, ruined heaps, carved into pieces by a force they never even saw coming.

North, still some distance away, gave a low whistle. Steve grinned in response.