Cultivating Talents [LitRPG Mana-cultivation]

"What are they saying?" Emela asked, stepping forward.

Hector shifted. He almost reached out to grab her. If she got any closer, they might spot them. They weren't that close, but you never knew with the enhancement of a cultivator. This brought up a strange point: why couldn't she hear them?

He was now Gravity Forging Two. A few levels lower than her, yet he could almost hear what they were saying.

Perhaps she's faking it. I mean, she isn't aware I know her cultivation. She only thinks I know her Talent. Though I can't blame her, she's not the only one keeping secrets.

A sharp cough came from a few feet away. In the corner, a homeless-looking man, eyes half-open, held a bottle in his lap, hands wrapped around its top. He sat on the floor, his back pressed against a wall. How long had he been there?

"Can you hear them, Nyx?" Turning to the black-haired girl, Hector raised a brow. He'd seen her fight the boy. If she understood what he was implying, she'd say. Sure, Emela could hide it—as far as she was aware, Hector didn't know her level.

Nyx gave him a blank look. "They seem to be talking about them being on the wrong turf and not staying in line," she said.

Turning towards the group, Hector wet his lips, taking in a breath of the cool evening air. In front of the alcohol store, the tension built as boys pointed at each other. A few of them spat on the cobblestone before flipping off the others.

"Your mother is a wench that serves fifty men a night," the blond-haired boy—perhaps Adrien's friend—jeered, pointing at one cultivator. He would probably regret that later.

Adrien shifted uncomfortably. Even from here, Hector could see the boy's knuckles whitening around the end of the stick he carried in one hand. He didn't want to fight. The boy had probably taken too many beatings now. He had finally broken.

Rubbing the corner of his mouth, Hector let out a sigh. Perhaps taking his Talent had sped up that inevitable end. After all, he could no longer take as much of a beating.

A crack split the air, and Hector's gaze snapped up. The scruffy-haired boy's stick was inches from the older boy's head, with him having narrowly blocked it. An impressive feat for someone a few levels below him, though.

If the Collar Gang has access to these pills, there is no reason to believe that Scoda doesn't—if anything. System, scan them.

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///: Scanning… Scan complete…
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///: There are five cultivators in the scanned cohort. Three at Gravity Forging-Three, Two at Gravity Forging Two. No Talents found.
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Hector's eyes narrowed. Adrien's cultivation had gone up to Gravity Forging Three. They definitely had access to a supply of the pills. But from where?

The fight erupted in earnest a few seconds later. The small, separate groups charged into each other, many of them swinging wildly, trying to hit something, while others demonstrated some skill. In particular, the blond-haired boy showed some talent.

From the moves he was using, he had to have been from the Iron Claw dojo. Hector had gone against a few of their fighters some tournaments ago. But what was the boy doing in the Scoda gang if he had a dojo? Would his master allow something like that? Did the man even know?

Hector's gaze swept towards Adrien, who surprisingly held his own, though he was fighting a cultivator one stage below him. However, that didn't really mean much if you couldn't fight. If someone below you had enough skill, they could wipe the floor with you. Hector had proved that many times over.

Adrien's stick cracked through the air, slamming into the stone with a thunk. The other boy swung his own in a wide arc, aiming for Adrien's head, causing the chubby-faced boy to jerk back. Ducking out of the way of a follow-up swing, Adrien shouldered the boy back.

Not even giving the boy time to stabilise himself, Adrien swung his stick into the boy's side. The boy staggered to the side with a pained grunt, almost reaching for his side. Adrien charged, raising his foot and slamming it into the boy's chest. The poor guy flew back and slammed onto the cobblestone, his head bouncing off the ground.

Stepping closer, Adrien raised his stick to finish the boy off. But before he could, another boy charged from the side, swinging in a wild arc. Even as Adrien stumbled out of the way, the boy moved in front of his downed friend. He levelled his metal stick at Adrien and said something.

Hector turned to Nyx. But the girl's eyes were elsewhere. Following her gaze, Hector nodded. In an area more cleared out than the rest, two boys from the Collar Gang fought against the scruffy-haired boy. And they were not doing well.

The scruffy-haired boy swung viciously at the two; his attacks came in a barrage. Sticks raised, the two Scoda gang boys stepped back under the pressure. A thunk landed on the older boy's arm. He yelled, blocking another swing.

Sneering, the scruffy-haired boy stepped to the side as the older boy's companion swung for him. The scruffy-haired boy lunged forward, then slammed his knee into the boy's chest. The poor sod screamed and fell, his stick clattering to the ground next to him.

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"It's not exactly a fair fight, is it?" Emela said. The blond-haired girl shifted as she watched them. She was right; it wasn't a fair fight. The scruffy-haired boy had been trained. But from whom?

The Collar Gang wasn't a dojo. But they had their connections; they would also teach their members the basics. However, this was a little more than that. The scruffy-haired boy had skill.

Hector crossed his arms. The wind curled subtly around him, blowing his hair into his eyes. He reached up and combed it back. Coughing at the side, the homeless man looked up from his bottle. His face scrunched up, and he muttered something before dropping his head back down. A sight like this must not have been too out of the ordinary for him.

But that made sense; they were in the slums, and the Sirius Quarter was hardly peaceful.

The fight continued to rage on for a few more minutes. Bodies of groaning boys now littered the ground. The lamplighters—finished with their duties—stood at the side and watched. Occasionally, they tapped each other and pointed at a few particularly interesting match-ups.

It was just entertainment for them. Hector couldn't blame them, though. The Collar Gang and gangs in general made life for these people hell. If they could take some time to revel in their suffering, many would.

Narrowing his eyes at the scruffy-haired boy, Hector brought a finger to his lips. The boy could fight, that was for sure, and he was connected to the Collar Gang. His position was unclear, but it was certainly not low. He led a small mob. Not just anyone could do that. Many of them were even cultivators.

Hector shifted his heels on the stone, leaning up against the storefront, his hands falling to his side. With that much power in the Collar Gang, the guy had to know where their warehouse was. After this fight ended—which, by the looks of it, would be soon—he'd follow him.

"He's quite the Talent, isn't he?" Emela asked, giving Hector a side glance.

Before he could answer, heavy footsteps sounded from a little up the street. Dark red robes flapping in the wind, three cultivators rushed down the road. Even from here, it wasn't hard to spot the golden rings resting on their fingers. The Phoenix Company. What were they doing here?

"Hey, you there! Halt," the leading man said. His face looked familiar, but from where? Hector got the sense he'd interacted with the man before.

"It's Wymon," Emela muttered, stepping back a little. The end of her tunic tousled slightly in the wind as she shifted to the side. "Seems he's in the slums for a reason."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Hector asked. His eyes narrowed at the man. His face wasn't clear from here, but Hector had heard the name before. If he remembered correctly, it was the man who had wanted to recruit Jodie. But why was he getting involved in a gang war?

Hector scratched the side of his face. On one hand, it made sense. The Phoenix Company prided itself on being righteous, wanting to defend the city at any cost. But when it came to actually helping the slums, they barely raised a finger. It was easy to beat down injustice when it was right in front of you. Not so easy when you needed to bleed some cash.

"We saw him earlier," Emela said. "He was talking to Jodie, trying to recruit her again, I think."

Seriously? This guy doesn't give up. Is Battle Intent really that rare?

Hector was under no illusion as to why Wymon wanted her. He'd said as much himself. Not that Hector minded what the man wanted; Jodie was loyal to her friends and the slums. She wouldn't leave. But it was a little annoying that he was still around.

As the three Phoenix Company Initiates closed in on the fighting groups, the scruffy-haired boy and several others looked up. A sneer split across the scruffy-haired boy's face. He stepped back from the two Scoda members—the two had gotten lucky—and turned. He was going to run.

That was bad, mainly because Hector didn't want to lose him. The guy was probably one of the highest Collar Gang members Hector had run into so far. Aside from the scumbag he'd killed, anyway.

"I'm going after him."

"Huh?" Emela turned her head towards him. The shadows on her face flickered as the lamplight a few feet from the storefront danced in the night. "Who are you going after?"

"That one," Hector said, jerking his chin towards the boy. "The scruffy one that was beating up those two, and is now heading towards that alleyway."

"Ah, I see. Hector, we—"

"I know. It's time for you two to head back," he said. Static crackled to life, zipping across his skin and swirling through his leg muscles. A lot of energy spread through his veins, and he wanted to take off running.

"Be careful, Hector," Emela said.

"I will."

Hector exploded forward in a blur, zipping across the street, taking one alleyway a little further from the fight. He'd have to go fast if he wanted to catch up to the boy. But he couldn't get too close. If the boy realised he was being followed, he wouldn't lead Hector back to his little hideout.

The alleyway blurred by. Hector hopped crates and ducked corners with ease. He picked up the boy's footsteps seconds later; they weren't hard to find, and with Hector's speed, he could have been right next to the boy in a few seconds. But finding him was easy; staying far enough back so he wasn't caught but wouldn't lose him was difficult.

—— —— —— ——

Hector played this game for a while. Every corner turned, every crate jumped—Hector was there just behind, keeping the boy's scruffy figure in sight. A few times, Hector had been sure the boy had seen him. The guy had thrown a few looks back now and then. But he never stopped, never threw in a feint.

Though Hector couldn't be sure he wasn't being led somewhere. Although he was far enough back that even if an ambush occurred, he was well out of range for an encirclement.

Eventually, after a few minutes, the boy slowed down, taking a few last turns before stopping outside a building that was fighting off decay. Boards blocked the windows, leaving thin gaps from which thin rays of light seeped. People were inside.

Hector shuffled along the damp stone. His footsteps were steady, static arcing through his legs. The scruffy-haired boy threw a few more glances around, narrowing his eyes at a few spots. But eventually, he let out a sigh.

Hector crouched lower, using a rotting wooden box for cover. He hadn't been followed—that's what the boy probably thought. That, or he was good at acting, and if so, he'd be more dangerous than Hector had given him credit for. Narrowing his eyes, Hector scrutinised the gang member's movements.

The boy walked up to the door, his hand reaching out for the handle. But before he could reach it, a voice broke the silence that hung about the street. "Carter, we need to talk." A boy stepped out from the shadows across the street from where the scruffy boy stood.

A dark cloak wrapped the boy's form as his short hair tousled in the wind. He stood with his back straight, a look of disdain swirling in his eyes. The scruffy-haired boy—Carter—paused. He turned to face the boy, and his lips pulled into a frown. "What are you doing here, Dale?"

Hector's eyes widened slightly as he gave the newcomer a second look. There was only one Dale that Hector had ever heard of, and he was a member of the Feather Dojo—a dojo heavily supported by the Phoenix Company. There was no way he'd be here. Would he?