Cultivating Talents [LitRPG Mana-cultivation]

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the alleyway as the group's feet beat against the cobblestone, sending splashes of blackwater slapping out to the side. Hector glanced over his shoulder, ensuring that Mirae, Pippa, Harry, and Pippa's mother kept up with him.

Jodie, her cloak flapping as she moved, brought up the rear. Focus laced the girl's eyes as they occasionally shifted around at any sound. Careful. Like him, she could see that they were taking a risk. They had to get back into the sewer, but couldn't just enter from anywhere.

No, they had to go deeper into the slums to get to the larger access points. Their target this time was the entrance underneath the abandoned brewery. It was reliable, and few gangs would move around there aside from the two they'd run into previously.

Hector's eyes shifted up, noting the position of the sun in the sky. Its rays dragged an orange hue to the slowly fading blue. Sunset was fast approaching. That was good. At least for Hector and his friends. Gangs were less active as it got towards nightfall. After all, when the authorities wouldn't intervene either way, what did it matter what time you did your activities?

The only real exceptions were when you were doing a raid. Similar to what the Scoda gang had been trying to do when Hector had seen them with Emela.

"How far are we now?" Mirae asked.

Hector turned his head, meeting his sister's eyes, unable to read her features through the mask. From the tone of voice, she sounded anxious, but not overly so. Was she worried about those tentacled freaks?

I could activate [Street Reader]. But it won't exactly tell me much if these guys are following Harry from a distance.

"Don't worry, we shouldn't be far now," Hector said. "Just try to keep up. We—"

"Oi, you lot," a voice called. Up ahead, at the end of the alleyway, a red-faced man swayed from side to side slightly. Drunk. Hector raised a hand. The group behind him came to a stop.

Pippa's mother stepped forward, apparently intending to reason with the man.

"I would stay right there if I were you," Hector said, glancing back at the lady. She paused, jerking to a stop and regarding him. She then nodded and moved back as Hector turned toward the man.

The man wobbled down the alleyway; two other men stepped into the alley behind him. Unlike him, they seemed to have a bit more of their wits about them. Clear-eyed and smiling. It was the look of someone who believed they'd found easy prey.

"I know, you're the man," the red-faced man said, pointing a finger at Hector. "I recognise that stupid mask and your ugly cloak. You were there the day Andel died." The man hiccuped, stumbling forward and reaching out to steady himself on the alley wall. He belched, glancing over at Hector with a look of hatred. "You and your Scoda gang lot caused the building to collapse. You killed my friend."

Hector blinked. He recognised him. That was both good and bad. Good, because it meant that it wouldn't be hard for their mercenary group to gain some notoriety within the slums. But bad, as the association with the Scoda gang put an unnecessary target on his back.

Though, from the sounds of it, he's the only one that does. From the look those other guys are giving us, they don't even know what the guy is talking about. That's good, as long as he's silenced. It should be fine.

Hector paused. His gaze flickered back to Mirae—could he kill them in front of his sister? Was she ready to see that?. But if he didn't, that would put them at risk. Not to mention that with Jodie here; that would be a lot more difficult. The girl was unlikely to be too happy to be involved in murder. Even among Collar Gang members.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Hector said. The man, dressed in simple brown trousers and a muddied tunic, rocked slightly and belched. Hector cringed behind his mask. The man was a little disgusting.

Raising a meaty finger, the man jabbed it towards Hector. "You know, you little twit, you know. Not that it matters," he waved the two men behind him forward. "Soften him up for me. I'm a bit too drunk to deal with this little twit."

"Hector," Jodie called from behind.

Behind Hector, at the other end of the alleyway, two other men stalked down the cobblestone. They cracked their knuckles, pulling metal pipes from their hips, sneers growing on their features.

Hector shook his head. He wouldn't go for an obvious kill. But he'd be damned if he gave them half a chance. [Volt Runner] was still on cooldown. But he didn't need it. Stepping forward, Hector willed the static field to life. The air crackled as a bubble grew out from within him, sending arcs of static zipping through the black puddles at his feet.

The first man charged forward with an overhead swing. Ducking to the side, Hector let the static roll over him, slowing the man. He then whipped his foot up, plunging into the man's gut, causing him to stagger back. As he did, Hector's foot carried on its curve, slamming into the second man's fist that had been aiming at him.

Staggering back, clutching his hand, the man didn't react as Hector let loose a jab, rocking the man's head while static snaked through his body. He staggered back in a daze. Hector leapt off the ground with a spin and hooked his leg around the man's neck, before using the momentum to slam him towards the ground. With a dull crack, the man's head bounced off the cobblestone, and he flopped to the side, still. Even as Hector turned to the first man who clutched at his gut.

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Static played in the air before him as the sounds of a fight came from behind Hector. From the growing fear in the drunken man's eyes as he shakily clung to the wall, Jodie was doing just fine.

"What are you fools doing?" the drunk man screamed, shuffling back. "They are just some Scoda gang dregs. Kill them already."

The gang member who stood in front of the drunk man looked back at him. His eyes challenged him to come over and fight if he was so confident. The man probably didn't have much left. From the way he reacted to Hector's kick, he was definitely mortal.

System scan them.
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///: Detected three mortals. Talents are not present on any of them, though two common fragments have been found on Target A.
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Hector's eyes snapped to the drunken man, and a slight smile came to his lips. Two common fragments but no Talents; that was a little strange. Had he had a Talent at some point and lost it? Though it was also possible that, like a void beast, he'd almost formed a Talent. Something just prevented it.

The man staggered back as he met Hector's gaze, his face quivering as he sputtered. Turning slightly, the man made to run. But that wouldn't be happening. Hector dashed up to the man he'd kicked in the gut, static washing over the man. He reeled back, trying to defend himself, but Hector tugged on [Quickening Brace], dragging time to a crawl.

Hector tucked his arm and slammed his fist up into the man's jaw with a clack, knocking his head back. As time slammed back into motion, Hector's foot whipped up, snapping into the side of the man's head with an audible crack, sending him smacking into the alley wall, loose bits of stone pattering down onto his prone form.

Blitzing forward, Hector then popped up before the drunk man, who stumbled forward, his feet slipping from under him as he smacked down into a black puddle. Eyes wide, the man let out a wail as Hector raised his heel and slammed it down.

—- —- —- —-

A distant wail tingled in Griffen's ears. He turned his head, glancing over at the rotting house that leaned awkwardly to the side in front of him. Creasing his brow, he looked toward Lincoln. "D-did you hear that?" he asked.

Walking casually forward, his brown pants swaying slightly in the cooling breeze, Lincoln paused and turned. "Hear what?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. His eyes flickered to the other slum dwellers, hobbling about the streets, some making their way home.

"That way," Griffen said, raising a hand and jabbing towards the building. "It sounded like it came from the other side. It sounded like someone was being killed." He shivered as the words left his mouth, dread pooling in his gut.

He'd seen a few dead bodies when he'd left the dump with Lincoln. Scoda gang members. They were being hunted like dogs. And if what he heard was right, another one was probably meeting his end. Would their deaths have been quick? Unlikely. The Collar Gang was not a merciful lot.

"Don't worry about that," Lincoln said, stepping forward, his sandals crunching on loose stone. Griffen's eyes flickered up to his. Lincoln reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just do what I say, and no one will hurt you. I will protect you."

Griffen nodded, shoving the thoughts down into a hole in the back of his mind. Lincoln was right. When he listened to him, everything was great. He'd gotten food, and after talking to the Zion boy in the dumps, he'd gained someone he could boss around. It was a good day.

I hope things can stay like this. Better yet, I hope things can get better. It would be for the best.

"Alright, stop lingering," Lincoln said, dropping his hand from Griffen's shoulder, taking a sense of warmth with it. Griffen sighed as Lincoln turned and walked away. "I want to make it to Marcus's dad's shop soon."

Hustling forward, Griffen hobbled after Lincoln.

The two walked for a few minutes, ducking through a few alleyways and climbing through gardens—Lincoln had to help Griffen with the fences. But eventually they made it to the front door of a shop. The door's paint peeled in places, but it was by far one of the fanciest things Griffen had ever seen.

It even had a sign above it with a symbol of a talisman. A few big letters were underneath it, but their meaning eluded Griffen. Lincoln could grasp them, though. He had said the words read Talisman Emporium. Whatever an Emporium was, the word sounded impressive.

Two sharp knocks on the peeling door drew his attention. He glanced up as Lincoln lowered his hand to his side and waited. Eventually, the door peeled open, revealing a young, well-fed boy dressed in a blazer. He looked good, despite his tattered pants. With his brown hair tied up in a ponytail and his smooth skin, Griffen would have thought him a noble.

"What are you doing here, Lincoln?" the boy said, glancing down at him. Griffen shifted to the side, using Lincoln to hide him. Shifting his gaze away from him, the boy's eyes moved back to Lincoln. "And why have you brought this starving child with you?"

"Oh, right, you haven't met," Lincoln said, letting out a chuckle. The boy's face tightened, and Lincoln stepped to the side, gesturing at Griffen, like he was trying to show him off. Anxiety. It wormed into Griffen's heart, warming his cheeks a little. Lincoln continued, "He's helping me out at the moment. But that's not why I'm here."

"And why is it that you're here, Lincoln?" the noble-like boy—Marcus—asked, crossing his arms. It was strange. While he seemed annoyed, there was also this subtle unease in his eyes. Griffen had gotten used to seeing that. Did the boy not trust Lincoln?

"Listen, you're going to love this," Lincoln said with a smile. "I think I might have found a way of helping Hector make use of those hairless rats."

At his word, Marcus's face stiffened, the annoyance slipping away. His gaze moved past the two of them, tracing the street, and a moment later, he waved them in as he stepped to the side. "Let's talk about this inside."

Lincoln glanced back at Griffen, nodding at him. "I told you."

Embarrassment swirled in Griffen's stomach as he resisted the urge to hide his face. He'd been a fool to doubt something Lincoln believed in. But when he'd told him his uncle was a tanner, Lincoln had said it was brilliant. But Griffen didn't think so, even now.

His uncle and his wife had thrown him out of their house a few days after the funeral of his parents, a few years ago. The man hadn't even given Griffen a reason. His uncle was not a good man. But Lincoln believed he could be useful, and if this Marcus boy wanted the same thing as Lincoln, then he probably would too.

"We'll talk in the back," Marcus said, shutting the door as soon as Griffen's feet were past the threshold. A series of clicks and clacks followed as he bolted the door shut. "This better be good, Lincoln."

"Would I ever lie to you?" Lincoln replied.