Cultivating Talents [LitRPG Mana-cultivation]

"He came out of nowhere," Emela muttered, glancing toward Hector and gesturing at the old man.

Hector's brow dropped, his lips pulling into a tight frown. How could he pop up out of nowhere? People didn't do that. The man's long white robes shifted subtly, his eyes moving from Hector to Emela, and finally resting on Nyx.

Stroking his beard, the old man shook his head. "Young ones these days really have no respect. You scream and then demand to know who I am without even stating who you are first. Have you no shame?" he said, stepping closer. His long robes fluttered behind him as he moved. On top of his head was a simple bun ornamented with several bird-shaped pieces of jewellery.

"We meant no offence, Senior," Emela bowed slightly, with Nyx doing the same.

Hector frowned. Was such an action necessary? It was just a random old geezer.

The old man waved them off dismissively, his large sleeve falling to his elbow. "None taken. It's good to see that some of you young folks still remember how to act." He levelled a pointed gaze at Hector.

Oh, crap.

Bowing low, Hector struggled to process what was happening. Where had this man come from, and why was he suddenly demanding respect? Did he have something to do with the door, and if so, what?

"Good, good. I'm glad you know. Now, would you young ones mind telling me what year it is?" the old man said, his gaze shifting past Hector.

From behind, Jodie stepped forward. "Wow, who's the old man?" Jodie asked, turning to Hector. Her blue eyes shifted back to the old man an instant later as she raised a brow.

Hector shrugged. How was he supposed to know? The man just came out of nowhere and began lecturing them on how to treat an elder. Hector's hands dropped to his side, his fingers drumming against his leg, the static from [Volt Runner] slowly coming to a stop.

"Sorry, sir, but are you perhaps a spirit?" Emela asked hesitantly, glancing at Nyx as if for reassurance.

The man plucked a single hair from his beard, flicking it to the side before beginning to stroke his beard again. His foot tapped on the stone, making no sound, as he tilted his head up, a thoughtful look passing through his eyes.

"Back in my day, such low-level Gifted would hold their tongues," the man said, turning his head to Jodie. "They would speak when spoken to and show an ounce of decorum. My, how times have changed."

Gifted? Is he talking about the Talents?

Footsteps echoed off the stone, Lincoln coming to a stop at Hector's side. "Is everything alright over here—who's this guy?" he asked, several beads of dark blood slipping off the knife in his grip and splashing on the stone.

"We don't know," Hector said, lowering his voice. The old man surveyed them and started pacing back and forth. A breath slipped past Hector's lips. "So far, he's just lectured us and not told us who he is."

The old man came to a stop. The door behind him emanated a faint light—he didn't have a shadow. Perhaps Emela was right; the man was a ghost. Stepping closer, the old man squinted at Hector. "The trace of mana inside you feels oddly familiar. Strange. Is it—no, it can't be. A family such as that wouldn't come to this part—wait a minute."

He stepped away, moving back over to Emela. "Girl, what year did you say it was again?"

"I didn't. But by my recollection, 753 Founding Year," Emela said. She took a step back from the man, her gaze flickering to Hector and the others by her side.

"Founding Year? Do you not know the Standard Galactic Year, girl?" the old man grumbled, stepping back towards the door. "Of course not; why would they? This place was nothing but a tribe-infested backwater when I landed."

"Galactic Year?" Jodie muttered at Hector's side.

The scent of blood and charred Earthen Mole flesh drifted up Hector's nose. The old man had said that his mana seemed familiar. Did he perhaps know his true identity? Did he know his mother's family?

"Sorry, sir," Hector said, formality and as much respect as he could muster dripping in his tone. "But what did you mean when you said I had familiar mana?"

"Familiar? Did I say something like that? You must have misheard me." The old man stroked his white beard, tapping his foot as his eyes ran along the five of them.

"You did, sir," Hector said, raising his hand slightly.

Emela's gaze shifted to him, her lips parted briefly and then closed. Her fingers picked at her breeches. She shifted her focus back to the old man, eyeing him.

"Sorry, young man, I don't think that I did. But never mind that. Are you not here to open the trial realm and seek your fortunes? Surely, you small tribes seek to ascend to using the greater magical arts. It should have been at least two thousand—or so—years by now. You can't want to live in your mud huts forever."

At Hector's side, Lincoln coughed, grabbing at his chest. "Two thousand years? That's older than Middlec. No way you've been down here that long. You would have died of old age."

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"Sir, please, I need to know. It's important." Hector stepped forward, his hands shaking at his side. His heart hammered in his chest like a caged animal. This was the first clue he'd gotten since finding out about his mother. He couldn't let it slip away.

The old man sighed, his hand dropping from his beard and falling to his waist. "If you would like my thoughts, boy, you will find them inside. I don't have the answers you seek, as I'm just an introductory mana message, though if my creator still lives, I'm sure you can find him—or at least his messages if he's dead."

A pop and a fizzle came from behind, wet meat slumping deeper into a carcass. Hector's gaze shifted to his friends. "Do you guys think we should do it?" he asked, desperation hopefully not filling his eyes.

He raised a hand, gesturing to the corpse of the earthen mole leader. "We still have to take its core out and process its materials. I think if we just take a quick look inside, it should be all right."

"Yes," Lincoln said, stepping forward a little. "I think we should open the trial realm. If the inside has as much mana as this door is giving off, perhaps it could even function as a base once we see what the inside is like."

Hector's gaze shifted to Jodie. She would have some reservations about going in.

But as Jodie went to speak, the old man let out a chuckle. "You've made the right decision. I look forward to seeing how you and your tribe perform." With that, his form flickered away, and a light gathered at the top of the door, slowly forming into a ball.

The mana density in the air pressed against them, growing in weight. Staggering back, Hector looked between his friends before locking onto the door. A moment later, light ripped from the ball straight up. Static danced around the door, small waves of electricity zapping the stone.

They stepped back farther, while above the door, a set of numbers appeared and began counting down.

"By the Great Lake, Lincoln," Jodie yelled, stomping over to the boy. She jabbed him in the arm, hissing at him as she spoke. "Don't you think before you open that trap of yours? You're a damn fool, you know that?"

Lightning crackled from the door, blackening the surrounding stone. Waves thrummed through its metal surface, pulsing up to the beam of light radiating into the ceiling of the cave.

"Why has it given us seven days to wait?" Nyx asked, raising her voice over the crackling of power filling the room.

They all turned toward the door. If they tracked the numbers, Nyx was right. It was counting down in minutes and hours, with a large seven at the end signifying days. It had given them seven days until the door opened.

"That's not too bad either," Emela said, raising her voice. "It will give us time to process the Earthen Moles and prepare to enter the trial realm. We don't know what dangers are in there, so this should be a good thing."

Hector nodded. They would need the time, and it wouldn't hurt to have some preparation. Gravity Forging Three was but a few more meditations away; he'd breach it before entering the trial realm. Whatever was found in there would no doubt help him take down the Collar Gang.

Besides, seven days isn't too long. It's not like anyone else from the city will even notice something like this deep underground and come and snatch it away.

—- —- —-

Acella's head snapped up. In the distance, a light exploded in the sky, lighting up the night as if it were an early dawn. There were no scheduled festivals yet. Had someone launched something? But this pressure—it wasn't something a firework would cause.

Mana gathered tightly, flowing into a growing ball as it pulsed. Even over here, the density of the mana increased, pressing against her. Acella's hands clenched at her side, her eyes unable to blink. This was no mere firework; the mana ball was drawing energy, strengthening itself.

Has Todawn launched an offensive? No, they wouldn't dare. The sect's laws protect us. The idea of the southern tribes is laughable, but then who? Goblins? Could they have really recovered in just fifty years after a purge?

She clenched her jaw, her hand absentmindedly moving to the hilt of the sword at her waist. The damp grass beneath her shifted in the light wind that was slowly picking up. Panicked yet distant screams echoed in her ears. Whatever it was, the populace was not taking it well.

Hurried footsteps beat along the stone further inside the dojo. Several others jostled past those steps, and these steps were familiar to her, allowing her to pick them out. A sharp click slipped past her lips as her mana pulsed.

The orb somehow had power above the Core Formation Realm. A weak orbit domain of nature mana expanded around her, pushing back the pressure. Mana motes drifted into her surroundings.

"By the Great Lake, what is happening in the city?" Acella muttered, the grip on her blade hilt tightening. "I must return to the headquarters. The commander should be back by now. He should know what's going on. Silkmon, get my things now!"

Her gaze snapped across the training field to the grey-robed woman running towards her from its edge. A tight bun shook as she ran, her breath ragged. Heavy. Was the situation that serious? Silkmon would never panic this much, even during the festival almost a month ago.

Acella padded across the training field grass, the wind brushing gently against her hair as she met Silkmon halfway. The sounds of shouts and strained orders emanated from the dojo behind the girl.

"Mistress, the slums are in chaos," Silkmon said, her eyes drifting past Acella to the growing mana ball in the distant sky. It had doubled in size, the pressure from it increasing further.

Where was this thing drawing this much mana from? Acella's mana core pulsed again, mana motes buzzing, the domain becoming firmer.

"If we leave now, the dojo may not get through this alone," Silkmon continued, resting a hand on her chest. "At the very least, they would have to hurt some of the slum dwellers, and that could hurt our respect within the slum."

Why would the students have to attack the mortals? A quick display of their superiority should suffice, shouldn't it?

"Are you sure it must come to such actions? Surely the head instructor can just form a defensive line. These students aren't pushovers." Crossing her arms, Acella used a finger to push a strand of green hair behind her ear. The ball had grown larger now. It was growing far too quickly.

"Mistress, the people believe the city to be coming to an apocalyptic end," Silkmon said with some exasperation, her chest rising and falling. "Something like that is beyond their simple minds. A Core Formation powerhouse being present should put their minds at ease."

"Fine."

Acella sighed, her gaze hovering on the growing ball of mana in the distance. "I will navigate this situation with the dojo. To lose a key supply line of young talent would be more than a blow to the organisation and leave certain elements to run rampant."

Through the dojo window across the training field, movement flickered—students of the dojo rushed about. Some tripped over each other but were up in moments, while others stood against the wall, confusion colouring their features as they looked around before rushing off with their fellows.

Were these really the same students Instructor Opal was so proud of?

"Right. Go find the instructor. I shall be out with you in a moment," she commanded.

Silkmon nodded before sprinting off across the field and ducking inside the dojo. Acella levelled a last gaze at the growing mana ball before turning and following Silkmon, grass crunching underfoot and a soft, sweet scent filling her nose.

What did this all mean, and what was going on in the city?