Cultivating Talents [LitRPG Mana-cultivation]

"You mean to tell me the gangs that were tearing each other apart not but a day ago are working together now?" Hector said. Delworth had to be joking. Footsteps scuffed on the stone behind him as he turned to Marcus.

Marcus nodded, straightening his back and gripping the edges of his blazer. "Exactly that, Hector. The gangs are calming down. The violence in the slums should stop. Well, at least return to normal."

Hector glanced to the side of the hideout, where Mrs. Strongmail worked at the butchering bench. She raised the knife she'd been using moments before and brought a ragged cloth to its edge, cleaning away the blood.

A sense of unease wormed its way into Hector's chest, gnawing at him. Much like with the Hairless Rats and their rapidly decaying skin, this was more than it seemed. Gangs rarely formed truces. At most, one would beat the other into the ground, forcing them into submission. That was how the laws of the slums worked.

This was not natural. There had to be something else at play. Hector crossed his arms, the slight scent of stone slithering up his nose as he sniffed.

He shifted his feet, his gaze moving to Jodie, who stepped over, nodding at the two cousins. "What's up?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Hector gestured with a hand for Marcus to continue. There had to be more to the story than just the gangs calling a truce. They wouldn't do so for no reason. They weren't so friendly—especially the Collar Gang.

"The slums have been in an uproar recently. The killings, Hector," Marcus said, nodding at Jodie, his greeting smile strained. "Bodies left in the street. The cleaners won't even pick them up. The Collar Gang has forbidden it. And with the doors appearing and that sphere of mana looming over the city, the people feel the end times are near, and the nobles are doing nothing to stop it."

Hector nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets. That was great, but what did any of that have to do with the truce between Scoda and Collar? It's not like the two gangs had any more power when it came to the Trial Realm than the nobles did.

He glanced at Jodie, and the girl frowned at him. Her fingers tapped against her forearm, inches from the tree tattoo formed by the pact. From the look on her face, she thought the same. Still, she no doubt worried how bad things were actually getting between the gangs for a random truce to be needed; after all, her parents were still up in the slums.

Marcus continued, "People are attacking small bands of the Collar Gang in the slums. Slum dwellers—usually happy enough to sit and starve—now chase people with wood planks and anything else they can find, claiming the gangs have brought destruction with their endless killing." He reached a hand into his blazer pocket and pulled out a small handkerchief, dabbing his forehead.

"The Collar Gang could deal with it, but to do so would step on the nobles' toes," Delworth finished. "It would be an insult for the Collar Gang to do something that the nobles deem only they can do. Killing and maiming and putting the lower class in their place—that's for them to do, not the gangs."

Hector nodded. "If the gangs were to do so," he said, "that could lead to them gaining more power than the nobles are comfortable letting them have, even in the slums."

"Exactly," Delworth said, letting out a breath. His gaze moved across the cavern as he scanned the surroundings before settling back on Hector. He reached a hand up, took the handkerchief from Marcus, and dabbed his own forehead before slipping it into his blazer pocket.

Did Delworth not own a handkerchief? Hector didn't either, but it seemed like something a boy like Delworth would have.

Frowning, Hector brought a hand to his mouth and let out a breath. This truce wasn't about stopping bloodshed between the gangs. No, it was to make sure that the people wouldn't get any more riled up and force the gangs to take action against them—which would force the nobles to act.

This was a problem. Scratching at his cheek, Hector's gaze drifted to Mirae. His sister and the two others continued to throw jabs at the air. Focus. It marked all their faces as they trained with purpose. He shook his head.

With the gangs no longer at each other's throats, exposure of any future activities their Clear Sky mercenary group undertook would be easy. If the Scoda Gang wasn't making trouble in Collar Gang territory, then who else would?

The Collar Gang had already put a leash on everyone else, and they kept the northern slum's conflict to the north. Large gangs rarely made deep pushes into others' territory—too much risk.

Hector turned to Jodie. The light from the [Gentle Sanctuary] Talent dappled her hair as the torch, positioned near the dome's edge, crackled with soft flames behind her.

"Do you think we can halt this somehow? Maybe interfere with what's going on?" Hector asked.

Jodie shook her head, her ginger locks falling over her shoulders.

"Of course not, not if we want to go to the Trial Realm in time," she said. "It'd take too much work. We'd not only have to find out when they're meeting, but who's meeting. That could take donkey's years, and we don't exactly have time to waste."

Hector nodded. She was right. In a way, focusing on the Trial Realm was also the simplest solution: focus on getting stronger, and when you have enough power, anything that would have stopped you before becomes something you can walk over.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

He moved his hands in front of him, curling them into fists before releasing them and letting out a breath.

It wasn't his problem now, but in the future, they'd have to be prepared. They'd have to account for the fact that their mercenary group's actions would be highly visible. The mask would be more important—and the clothes they wore that much more protective of both their identity and health. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad thing, though.

He turned to Marcus, raising a brow at his friend.

"Do you think that you'd be able to supply us with some masks? Maybe a few talismans?" Hector asked, noting the three explosion talismans poking out of his friend's blazer breast pocket. He'd asked Marcus to get more; they should be useful in the Trial Realm, depending on what they faced.

"What for?" Marcus asked.

"Well, we can't keep using these," Hector said, gesturing towards the wooden mask tied to his hip. "They'll break at some point. If we can use a few talismans to enhance their structure, that would add a layer of protection to keep our identities hidden and not exposed just because our masks shatter."

Marcus nodded. "I see your point. I'll look into it after the Trial Realm is over and dealt with."

"So you guys are coming with us?" Jodie asked, her lips peeling into a smile. Hector also raised a brow. Neither of the boys had cultivation, and the Trial Realm would hardly be a simple stroll in the park.

Both Delworth and Marcus nodded.

"I don't see a reason not to," Delworth said. "This could be quite the adventure, and with everything going on, it's probably time cultivating becomes a priority." He raised an arm, the one Hammond and his Farmhands had broken, and stared at it.

Jodie raised a hand and rested it on Hector's shoulder. With a bright smile, she chuckled. "Well, it seems like we're going to have to teach him the ways of the Mono-fist Dojo."

"It looks like it," Hector said. His brow furrowed as he added, "I won't be able to guide you guys through meditation with the [Shared Soulscape] Talent just yet. Mirae and I are too close to a breakthrough. I'll be reaching Gravity Forging-Three, and I'd like to shore up our vanguard—that being Jodie and Lincoln—before moving on to new integration."

Marcus nodded. "That's fine. We aren't exactly hoping to make it to Gravity Forging in a few days. That would be ridiculous." He smiled, humming softly. "Is there anything else?"

Hector shook his head. "Alright, well, if you need me, I'll be inside my tent. In about—" he raised a hand. There was no watch there, but the action somehow felt right. "Call me in a few hours, perhaps when the fire dies down. We'll need to head out again for our next meditation session."

With that, he nodded and turned away, moving towards his tent.

They'd have to become bolder in the future with their group's actions, but when that time came, they'd sweep the entire slums clean of the Collar Gang filth.

—- —- —- —-

Hector lowered himself into his soul waters, the liquid splashing at his thigh as he rested his hands in his lap. He could have waited until later, but the sensation of breakthrough was too great.

He was mere motes away from ascending to Gravity Forging-Three, and to let that go simply because he wasn't in the proper environment would be a waste.

And so, he calmed his breath and pulled the mana towards him. The tree, as usual, showered him in waves of it. He cycled the motes the best he could, aligning them with his affinity, before funnelling them up and sending them to the Lagrange point where they formed with his core.

And in moments, it hit like an explosive force. His core shook, and power seeped from it in waves. Mana reinforced his entire being, power surging through his cells, enhancing them. The mana flooded through him like a storm, washing away the old and bringing the new.

Giddy, he clenched and released his fists. This was it. This was Gravity Forging-Three.

Hector breathed. It had been so easy. So easy.

In the past, it had taken him years—four, to be exact—just to get to Gravity Forging-One. All those cultivation sessions, the trickles of mana that he got, saving up each one just to go up a single realm. Had it all been a waste? He could have saved all that time, all that effort, simply by having what he had now, what he was supposed to have from the very beginning.

But could he really judge his father for keeping this from him? Even now, did he really know what was going on? Perhaps his father had seen it as a form of protection. Misguided or not. But whatever the case, his mother had expected it. But then why did she put him in that position? There had to be a reason.

He sighed, focusing on his breath. Air slipped past his lips—fast and cool—seeping into his lungs, before he released it in a steady stream. Power packed his body, cramming more of itself in, the density of it building, static playing within his very being. He was now in Gravity Forging-Three, and it was time to settle his foundation.

He continued cycling, allowing the mana to slowly trickle to the Lagrange point above him. But as his core solidified, the motes jostling within, slowing down a little, something strange happened. The tree, its purple leaves shimmering and swaying in the unfelt wind, spoke to him. Not with words, not with any form of language, but with a meaning.

His eyes snapped open, his gaze travelling over its brown, crystal-like bark and moving up, scrutinising each leaf with a new clarity provided by Gravity Forging-Three.

What was that? Why can I understand it, yet barely even put it into words?

Deep within his mind, ideas bubbled to the surface—ways of using mana he'd never considered before, ways that filled him with possible new horizons. Mana shouldn't be able to act in this way. But from this growing understanding, it could.

"What is this?" he muttered, images of Kamble and his teachings jostling for his attention. Hector shook his head. "I can't allow my thoughts to get distracted. Whatever this is, whatever it means, I have to comprehend it."

Readjusting himself, he sat up and followed the teachings the tree was providing. He couldn't turn away power just because he didn't understand it, especially when that power seemed almost instinctual to who he was as a person.

Comprehension resonated within him. The pull of mana towards his neck, towards his shoulders, the form it would take, the change it would bring. All of it fell before him like a map in his mind.

As he followed the technique, small bubbles of purple mana seeped from his neck and shoulders. Leaves sprouted from them, first small, dangling things, and then, as his mana continued to concentrate, they burst out into a thick mantle, a bush covering the back of his neck and his shoulders.

"This… this…" he muttered, the small bush of leaves shaking at his shoulders.

He raised a hand out to the side, levelling it into the void. Then, with a thought, several leaves burst from his mantle, ripping free and slicing through the void faster than he could blink. They shot off into the distance.

It was unreal. Hector lowered his hand, resting it against his knee, the fabric prickling against his palm.

Gravity Forging cultivators couldn't use mana—or at least they couldn't use it outside their bodies. Typically, it strengthened the user, but that was all. Tougher skin, more stamina. But nothing external.

"Though with this," Hector raised a hand, brushing it against the purple bush that wrapped around his shoulders. It was almost like fur—yet it gave the same prickle as if you'd shoved your hand into a hedge. Strange.