Cultivating Talents [LitRPG Mana-cultivation]

Hector's eyes snapped towards the window. Above him, a beam of wood cracked, slamming into the floorboards in an explosion of splinters. This place was coming down. Now.

Sprinting forward, legs thrumming with static, Hector beelined for the window. He leapt over the crushed bone and pooling blood that had once been a man. Hopefully, he hadn't suffered too much before he died.

Shoulder slamming forward, Hector blasted through the thin boards blocking the window and smashed through the glass. With his momentum, he sailed a few feet before slamming onto the cobblestone and rolling to a stop.

A loud crack split the air, and a rumble swiftly followed it, as the safe house fell in on itself. The top dropped into the second floor, the second into the first, and finally to the ground. A wave of dust washed out, covering the area in a thick fog.

Scrambling to his feet, Hector coughed dust from his lungs. The clinging fog rolled over him in waves, thick enough to gather on his tongue in a grimy layer. The mask hadn't helped. He staggered back. Squinting his eyes, he locked onto the ruins where the safe house had stood moments ago. No. No. Did they get out? They must have.

A shaky breath passed through his dust-covered lips, and he sprinted forward, boots crunching through broken glass and soft gravel. "Emela!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Nyx! Can you hear me?!"

Nothing answered him but the settling groans of warped beams. The whole thing had folded in on itself, like a crate with no screws, burying everything beneath it. His heart slammed hard in his chest as he dove at the wreckage. But where would they be? Near the entrance. Where was that again? A sliver of torn curtain flapped loose from a splintered frame, limp and useless.

The silence clawed at him, but shattered a moment later.

Off to the side, the rubble erupted as the form of the creature covered in dust and stone appeared. He let out a mighty roar that shook the street. Hector's eyes snapped to him, black smoke curling off its form and skin peeling. How had that not killed it? Was Gravity Forging Seven really that robust?

No. It had to be something else.

A small crowd of slum dwellers slowly gathered. Even as they did, Hector reached for his mask. The people stood wide-eyed and whispered to each other. Emela wasn't amongst them, and neither was Nyx.

Hector shook his head. Why were these people not leaving? Why were they not running? What should he do here? If he tried to fight that thing, he'd die without a doubt.

Then, faint—cutting through the smoke and the panic—came a voice.

"Hector!"

He didn't turn. He couldn't. To take this beast out of his sight would be a death sentence. Static continued to course through his legs. He had a lot left on the timer, but would that be enough to keep this thing at bay? Where could he even lead it?

But before he could even come up with the semblance of a plan, the man roared. Black smoke jetted from his skin like steam through a tight hole and shot into the dust-ridden sky. As the smoke left its body, the roar turned to a wet, gurgling screech.

Flesh sloughed off in sheets, smoke coming out with each layer. The black in his eyes faded as his form shrank. Buckling, the man, skinned grey and clothes hanging loosely on him, dropped to his knees before slamming face-first into the rubble.

Hector blinked.

I guess the form wasn't actually that permanent. That's a relief.

Calm washed through him as his fists loosened. He hadn't even realised he was clenching them. Turning, his eyes darted towards the sound. The crowd had parted, and standing there just at the front was Emela, one arm wrapped tight around Nyx's waist. Both covered in dust, their masks barely on. Nyx struggled to stand on one foot. But they were alive.

Another wave of relief washed through Hector. He was on them in seconds, staggering to a stop just before them. Several people standing nearby shuffled back as static played across their skin. Hector retracted the field immediately.

Emela let out a breathless laugh, muffled by the mask, as Nyx grunted.

"I'm glad you're alright," he said, eyes moving to Nyx's legs. "H-How did you get out?"

"Luck, mostly," Emela said. Her voice shook, her eyes continuously glancing toward Nyx, the concern written in her body language. She probably had never seen the girl like this before. "We guessed that at the rate that thing was going, we didn't have long. But as luck would have it, we found an office, searched as quickly as we could, and found this."

She raised her other hand, and in her grasp was a folder. A small smile came to her lips as she looked from it to him.

"We grabbed this, and as the building came down, we dived through the window. Nyx didn't land too well, though."

"I can see that," Hector said.

Hector's gaze dropped again to Nyx, who let out a dull whimper, though the girl probably had the same blank look behind her mask. She'd been hurt. And for once, she couldn't hide it behind a cold facade.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He knelt without thinking and gently scooped her up into his arms. "W-What are you doing?" she said, fighting back a hiss of pain.

"You can't expect me to let you walk back through the sewers like that, can you?" Hector asked, raising an eyebrow at the girl. He turned to Emela, who held a confused expression. "Go on, tell her. Besides, if we drag her, it will make the wound worse, and it will slow us down."

"He's right, Nyx," she said, turning towards the building. The dust had mostly settled.

A few slum dwellers climbed about, looking for loot, no doubt. No one was looking to help the injured; after all, it wasn't common to see someone try to come to the rescue. "Didn't you want to look for anything else? There could be some coin in there." Emela said.

"—Did that man say they were going to take the girl to the sewers?" a grey-shirted slum dweller standing off to the side said to his companion.

Hector fixed him with a glare, and the man staggered back. As he did, Hector turned back to Emela. "I don't have much time left with… You know. And besides," his voice dropped to a whisper. "This is more than enough damage."

As his words settled, a chorus of hoots and calls rang out, low and sharp like a jokerbird. From the far side of the rubble, figures in slightly more put-together rags and holding metal sticks emerged—the Scoda gang. That had to be the third team Clair had mentioned. Had the black-haired girl even made it out?

Her playful smile surfaced in Hector's mind, and he let out a breath. Knowing her, she'd more than survived; if anything, she was about to benefit from this in a major way. One member, standing on a particularly large mound of rubble, kicked through a pile of stone, letting out a whoop as he yanked free a short sword. Who had that belonged to?

Emela cursed under her breath. "Well, if that's how you feel, we should probably get going. You're right, they probably needed us as bait. But I think we have more than served our use, and I don't think they're in much of a sharing mood."

The Scoda thugs didn't seem to care about the slum dwellers watching them. But then again, why would they? They were already at war with the Collar Gang. Though with the destruction of a safehouse and this looting, things had probably escalated a little.

With chubby cheeks and a sombre look on his slightly black-and-blue face, one of them met Hector's eyes—Adrien. The head of the once self-proclaimed king of the dumps dropped. Then he shuffled off to continue the search he was part of.

Hector closed his eyes and let out a sigh, adjusting Nyx a little. "Yeah," he said. "Let's get out of here."

They turned from the wreckage, pushing through the crowd, each step leaving behind the chaos, the ash, and the scavenging Scoda Gang. The Collar Gang reinforcements would be here soon. It was their turf, after all. But the Scoda Gang would be long gone by then.

Emela stayed in front, moving aside any bystanders who were a bit too stubborn.

After a moment, when there were a lot fewer ears listening, Hector nodded toward the folder clutched in her hand. "You didn't say earlier. But what exactly did we risk our lives for?"

—— —— —— ——

Fire crackled in the centre of the makeshift camp. It spat out tiny embers that danced in the shimmering light given off by the almost see-through dome that covered the area. Jodie's eyes moved from it back to the peg she had been hammering into the ground.

How could any of this be real? Even now, she wasn't sure how Hector did it. Though if she was honest, she didn't care. She and her friends were getting stronger and would keep getting stronger. That way, they could all protect each other and make sure what had happened to Mr. Jacaranda never happened again.

With a grunt, she brought the hammer she held down onto the peg. It clinked, and she recoiled, throwing her weight behind it again.

"Are you sure you don't want some help?" Mirae, who stood to the side, asked.

"No, it's fine. You can go back and meditate. You have a long road ahead of you, and we all need you strong."

Mirae frowned, tilting her head to the side. "I'll be Gravity Forging-One soon, you know."

"Sure you will," Jodie said, slamming the hammer down with a last crack, the peg lodging deep within the stone.

With her cultivation realm at Gravity Forging-Two, things like this were easy. If she were lucky, she'd be breaking through again in a few months. She really needed to. Things had gotten crazy and were still getting crazier. She needed to get stronger and learn how to control this Battle Intent.

She stood, brushing dust from her trousers, when a sudden, distant screech echoed through the cavern entrance just beyond the dome—sharp, high-pitched, and unmistakably rat-like.

Jodie froze. That sounded a bit too close. Hadn't Hector cleared out a group this morning? Another cry followed, this one deeper. A distant thud. Then silence.

Her eyes narrowed.

Hector had said the hairless rats were fighting something before he left. But he hadn't thought it would reach this far. But from the sounds of it... It's getting here. Is it being pushed back?

Mirae seemed to notice too, even without the enhancement brought by cultivation. Her posture stiffened, but Jodie rested a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll check it out. You stay here and be quiet," she said, her eyes moving to a pot that sat near the fire.

Stepping over, she scooped it up and held it out for the white-haired girl. "While I don't think it will come to it, use this if anything gets in."

Mirae shakily took the pot. She'd need to work on that fear. "Are you sure you want to go out there? It might be dangerous," the girl said.

Jodie gave her a firm nod. "It's probably just some overgrown bat. Trust me, I'll be fine. Besides, from the sounds of it, they were fighting a little way down the tunnel. I'll be quick."

She walked toward the edge of the dome, and just before she passed its shimmering boundary, her eyes and the surrounding flesh squirmed and writhed. Then the tunnel's darkness that welcomed her pulled back, leaving only the damp air.

Jodie moved with care, her footsteps muffled against the hard, yet slightly damp stone, each breath slow and measured. The tunnel stretched long and narrow, the distant sounds of battle that had alerted her replaced now by a heavy stillness. The kind that pressed down on the chest, like the moment before lightning.

She rounded a bend—and stopped dead.

Ahead, the ground had been torn apart. Long claw marks raked across the stone floor, carving deep grooves as if it had been made of soft clay. Scattered clumps of rat skin littered the area, along with a few limp bodies—twisted, broken, and pooling blood.

Then she saw it.

A creature crouched low in the centre of the disgusting chaos. Mole-like, but nearly her size, even while hunched on all fours. Its claws glowed faintly with a deep, earthen brown light, as if radiating mana. Jagged ridges ran down its spine, each one carrying the same light and pulsing slightly, as if drawing breath from the stone itself.

Its snout twitched.

Jodie didn't move.

Then, slowly, it raised its head. Its eyes—lidless and milky—locked onto her. Its claws curled once. Dirt shifted beneath it.

What was its cultivation level? If it were anything higher than two, this would be a tough fight. The Talent Hector had given her should be more than effective at dealing with it. If nothing else, the light it gave off should blind it.

One inch at a time, Jodie lowered her stance.

The creature sniffed once, low and wet. Its wide nostrils flared, then it let out a shrill, vibrating screech, echoing down the tunnel. A challenge or a warning?

Before she could think of what to do next, it lunged—stone cracking beneath it as it shot forward, claws raised and glowing, the air whistling from its speed.