Cultivating Talents [LitRPG Mana-cultivation]

"If I had to guess, insects," Hector said. He slipped his hands into his pockets as he watched the swarm move about outside the dome. Chaotic. Like a horde of locusts itching to get in.

Mrs. Strongmail blanched, the red draining almost instantly from her cheeks. Pippa, eyes going wide, squeaked out a scream and recoiled. She moved closer to her mother, even as she grabbed Mirae's sleeve and tried to pull her back.

"Those seem a bit too big to be insects," Pippa said, whispering and glancing at her mother.

Hector met the young girl's eyes. She looked at him as if reconsidering her words, mouth opening and closing.

After all, since she hadn't broken through to Gravity Forging-One, her eyesight was nowhere near as strong as his. But there was nothing to be offended by in her statement. If she didn't think they were insects, she'd find out soon enough.

"I'm going to trust Hector on this one. He's got better eyes than I do," Harry added, stepping forward. "And they definitely aren't Hairless Rats, that's for sure. They can't fly."

Hector nodded and went to reply, but before he could, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. Across the hall, faint illusory doors appeared. People, confused, some looking as if they were about to spill their guts, stepped out of the doorways.

The other doors across the city of Middlec had to have opened as well. Although they started it, it was naïve to assume they would get a head start.

The old man could have at least given us a private orientation. Is there no reward for being the ones to discover this? We had to fight through a nest of Earthen Moles just to activate this place.

Frustration mingled with a sense of anxiety within Hector. His fist tightened as he eyed a peculiarly well-dressed man who had just stepped through a door, flanked by four others. Red dominated the man's robes, with black accessories, such as belts and rings, adding to his look. Wealth radiated from his entire character—a noble.

With people like them here, there would be stiff competition. Their training alone would give them quite an advantage.

That also meant that there was a possibility they could get to the information that he needed before he could—the ghost-like old man never said where they could find the original, after all.

His eyes moved to the circular array of doors in the centre of the grand hall, even as more nobles and commoners continued to trickle in.

If those doors offered something—knowledge, tools, strength—then they needed to reach them before anyone else could.

The insects outside the walls would have to wait until they'd figured out what was going on.

"Let's get moving, guys," Hector said, the sweet scent of flowers slipping up his nose as his eyes locked on the flow of people arriving. "We should get a spot closer to the door before this place becomes packed."

—- —- —- —-

Nonami's sandals pounded against the cobblestone, each step vibrating through him. He ducked around the right corner, narrowly avoiding slamming his shoulder into the stone wall. Nonami slipped across loose rocks and splashed through wet black puddles as he sprinted down the alleyway. Otter ran at his side, panting, legs pumping as his hands flailed through the air.

"Do you think we've lost them?" Otter asked. The boy's chubby cheeks were red with exertion, sweat pouring down his brow. The only thing that even kept him close was his Gravity Forging-Two cultivation.

Nonami bit back a curse, stumbling forward across the stone, and leaping over a wayward crate. He doubted they'd lost them; the entire warehouse had to be chasing them. He glanced over his shoulder, his stomach dropping. Why did he have to be right?

Behind, what looked to be at least ten men ran through the tight, moonlit alleyway, pumping their arms as they chased him and Otter, large wooden sticks in hand. And that was only the men he could see.

"I don't think we'll lose them that easily, Otter," Nonami said, his lungs burning. The cold, dank air slipped into them with every breath.

A shiver ran down his spine, the pack on his back providing little warmth. But then again, was that the cold or fear? He beat the feeling down, clenching his fist as the wind whipped into his eyes. The urge to squint was almost painful.

Those Collar Gang idiots wouldn't give up. How could they? He had several gold coins' worth of supplies he'd stolen from them—pills, manuals, all stashed away in his bag. They'd be fools not to be chasing him.

Nonami turned another right, sprinting down the alleyway. His hand whipped out, dragging Otter behind him as he sprinted across the stone, his sandals beating rhythmically against the ground.

"Just keep going. These big lugs can't chase us forever. They've got to get lost at some point," Nonami said. Though that might not be entirely true. Some of those guys were mana-cultivators as well. Stronger than him to boot.

"Are you sure?" Otter asked, heaving. It sounded like he'd collapse at any moment, and when he did, they would be screwed. Two Gravity Forging-Two fighters against a horde of angry, ham-pilled-up Collar Gang idiots. Their chances wouldn't look too good.

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But thankfully, Otter was quite fast for his size. His heavy-set build, usually great for taking hits, didn't slow the boy down at all. It was one of the strange quirks about him. And now, with the added incentive of not being beaten to death, Otter was keeping up well.

"I'm more than sure," Nonami said, searching for the next turn to take.

The slums were like a maze—rows and rows of houses, windows, and doors stuck onto leaning, rotting buildings that time had decayed. It was a miracle that the place was still standing. It was as if the pain of those hollowed individuals and their suffering somehow wanted this place to exist, needed it.

"Here," Nonami said, leaning hard left this time and pulling Otter behind him.

"Oi, if you stop right now, we promise not to hurt you," a man said from behind, a large stick in hand. "At least not too bad. We've got to discipline ya, it's policy—you know how it is."

"I swear if these idiots make me run anymore, I'm gonna… I'll do something," another man said, his voice raspy and dry. He was obviously unsuited for the chase.

Nonami clicked his tongue, then shook his head. If he were to stop, they'd sweep his legs from under him, break his kneecaps, and then hang him from some old, dingy lamppost on Hallford Street to bleed from his ears—then beat him to death like some hanging bag of rice. He couldn't stop.

To stop was to die.

"Come on, Otter, we—"

He paused mid-sentence as the glowing sight ahead of him almost made him stumble.

There, wide open, was one of the strange teleporting doors he'd heard so much about in the slums. People said that there was a calamity behind them, that the end times were near, that the gangs' fighting had brought death to Middlec.

That was a load of crap. People who said that were one of two things: naïve or stupid, probably both. These were misguided thoughts of those with low intelligence. Because if it were truly a calamity, the nobles would have acted.

They would have fled the city in their fancy wagons—or some other formation array-equipped vehicles—and left the slums to rot and the city to be destroyed by whatever this was.

No, nobles instead guarded these doors, scrambling when they appeared and when they left. The nobles searched for information, trying to locate a pattern, hoping to figure out a way to make sure they got access. So much so that many even dared to come to the slums.

They wanted whatever was behind those doors.

"This is an opportunity. We're going in, Otter," Nonami yelled over the panting of his heavy-set friend.

"Are you sure?" Otter asked. "It could be dangerous."

"No more dangerous than what's waiting for us out here. Besides, as I said, this is an opportunity—and by the Great Lake, I ain't gonna miss it," Nonami said. Excitement rattled free of the chains of anxiety that gripped his body. Perhaps behind those doors, they could lose these guys.

Otter nodded vigorously, sweat slicking free and splashing onto the back of Nonami's hand. Judging from the relief spreading across his features, he believed the same.

And so with that, they pushed forward, their muscles screaming for them to stop, and leapt through the doorway.

A veil of what could only be described as oil passed over them, and a moment later, they slapped onto the ground with a hard thud, rolling to a stop on what had to be the slickest stone Nonami had ever felt.

The scent of rosemary mixed with grasses mingled as it slipped up his nose. Nonami's eyes peeled open, pain aching and spreading out from where he'd landed on his shoulder. His hand, damp with sweat, fell to his side, landing on the cool tile.

Grunting, he rolled onto his front, pushing up and squinting at the clean squares beneath him. Perfect. That was the only way to describe them. How in the world were these tiles so neat?

Nonami reached up with a shaky hand and rubbed at his eyes. Craning his neck up, a thin smile spread across his lips. Otter, still on his back, his chest rising and falling as he heaved, seemed to be fine. He had let go of his hand when they jumped through that door. The thought of leaving him behind was sickening.

"Did we lose them?" Otter asked, resting a hand on his stomach and tilting his head back against the tile to meet Nonami's eyes.

Nonami frowned, turned his head to where they had jumped from, and then scowled. It was no longer there. They had jumped through the door just a moment ago, but now the thing had vanished. It was as if it had never been there to begin with.

He pushed off the ground and got to his feet. Voices mingled in various conversations around him. How had he not noticed them before?

His eyes flickered over the people around him and Otter as he took in the surroundings. They had landed in what appeared to be a giant hall, larger than anything he'd ever seen in his life. It had to at least cover all of Hallford Street and a little more—that's how big it was.

Surrounding it were pillars—humongous pillars—taller than any house he'd ever seen. Maybe fifteen to eighteen stories high. But that was impossible, not without some serious mana infusion. Beyond the pillars was a wall, perhaps one-third of the height of the pillars.

"Ugh, what are those slum things doing here?" said a female voice, cutting clean through his awe.

Nonami turned his head, mild annoyance sparking in his heart. A young woman dressed in fairly nice clothing—nicer than he had, anyway—looked at him with a disgusted scowl, hand clenched against her chest as if he would spread something to her.

"Oh, by the Great Lake, the slum rat is looking at me," she said, backing up and moving closer to a group, like a scared sheep. The rest of the group of five or six scowled at him and stepped away. From the looks of their clothes, they seemed to be nobles, just lower-class ones.

"Otter, I think you might wanna get up," Nonami said, scrambling across the tile to his friend, who still lay flat on his back, catching his breath.

"Huh? What do you mean? Can't I rest a little—"

"Look up. We might have arrived somewhere we shouldn't be, or at least a little too close to people we shouldn't be near."

"What do you mean?" Otter said, rolling over with a grunt. He clambered to one knee, frowning as he scanned the crowd.

Nonami reached down, grabbing his friend's hand with a crisp clap and helping him up, heaving as his strained muscles ached. The exhaustion from the run still slowly slugged through his body. He let out a heavy breath. At least on the bright side, they'd lost those guys from the—

An illusory door appeared, and two figures stumbled out, a look of confusion overtaking their features. Thick arms, ripped-up pants, and tank tops. The two bald men surveyed the area, and before any realisation could set in, their eyes landed on Nonami.

"Oi, you. You'd better come with us before things get a little painful for you both," the lead bald man said. He was familiar—though, then again, a bald head wasn't really a unique look in the Collar Gang. According to the rumours, even Bobbie, the gang leader, was bald.

"Umm, Derek, there may be a bit of a problem," the bald man's equally bald companion said, resting a thick hand on his shoulder.

The man who'd threatened Nonami—Derek—turned to his friend. He frowned, a twinge of annoyance playing on his lips. At his side, his fist clenched and unclenched as if he were holding back a wave of anger. "What do you mean?"

"The door," Derek's friend said, his voice trembling a little. He raised a hand and pointed to where they'd just stepped out from. "It's gone."