Hector huffed, wiping sweat from his brow as he shimmied between two stalls, his heart hammering in his chest. Were they still chasing? They had to be. There was no way they would let them get away just like that. But they couldn’t use the alleyways like them—he’d have the same problem himself when he got older. Yet that didn’t mean they would let some children get away.
“Mirae, are you alright?” he asked, ducking under a thick wooden support beam connecting two stalls. “We should be close now. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” she said. Hector caught a glimpse of a smile as she glanced back. What was she so happy about?
He placed a hand on her back, damp with sweat, ushering her forward—they might have lost them, but there was no reason to slow down. “Are you doing okay, Mirae?”
“I did it,” she whispered, letting out a small chuckle and hopping over a block of stone. Hector stepped over it. It was lucky for him he didn’t get his foot caught on something like that.
“What did you do, Mirae?” Hector asked, bracing himself against one of the stalls, the fabric tightening against his weight. It wouldn’t collapse—nothing in the Hilda festival would be left standing if it was that fragile.
“Nothing, nothing. I will tell you about it later; you wouldn’t believe me anyway,” she said, walking forward, practically skipping.
Why wouldn’t I believe her? Though, if it relates to her Talent, that would make sense. I haven’t exactly got a good track record of believing her with stuff like that before the system came.
Hector grunted, coming to a stop just behind Mirae as she paused. Looking over her head, he watched as the crowd of people moved by with ease—the people here in the center hadn’t been aware of the little disturbance they’d caused. Hector rested a hand on Mirae’s shoulder as confetti fluttered around them.
Mr. Pennybrook’s stall should be a few paces down the path. Hector craned his neck over Mirae, his gaze bouncing from a bearded man to a young boy, and finally to a drunken fool throwing up behind a stall—that would have not been fun to step in. There were no guards to be seen. Good. They had gotten lucky; the whole thing had been lucky so far. If that squad of guards had had a captain among them, they wouldn’t have made it back.
“Are we sure it’s safe to go out there?” Mirae asked, tilting her head back, locking her purple eyes with Hector’s own. “I don’t see any guards.”
He wanted to nod, but something told him to wait. He took a breath, training his eyes on the crowd as people strolled by in a mist of confetti. Finally, after a few minutes, he jolted. His eyes locked onto the person he wished to see the least right now.
There, at the back of a group of boys—though they tried to carry themselves as men—was Adrian. Strange. The would-be king of the dumps was actually following behind someone else, instead of leading his usual dump guard. What had happened?
“Hector, isn’t that...?”
“Yeah, it’s Adrian. But it seems he’s had a little run-in with Scoda. At least that’s the only thing I can think of.”
“Scoda?” Mirae asked, leaning against a support post of the stall that made up one side of the alleyway. Her small hands gripped the wood, and she frowned, picking confetti off her lips. “Is that another dojo?”
“No, it’s a new gang that’s moved in. I had a run-in with one of their members at the dump. And Adrian spends a lot of time there.”
Mirae brushed a strand of white hair behind her ear, raising an eyebrow as she continued to watch the group. “Did you hurt them?”
What kind of question was that and why was that her first one? He wasn’t that violent. Though... there had been quite the theme recently. “She deserved it; she was picking on someone. And I think they are connected with the Collar Gang.”
“So you attacked her because she was part of the Collar Gang? Hector, what are you doing? That’s not how we were raised.”
“That’s not what I—” The words dried in Hector’s mouth, evaporating to nothing as his heart leapt. Coming out of an alleyway a few stalls down, a confident grin adorning his face, was Lincoln. Bad, this was very bad. Hector couldn’t speak about the others—Scoda gang’s street antics weren’t exactly known to him—but Adrian would definitely cause some issues. He’d never miss an opportunity to screw them over.
“What, what’s wrong?” Mirae asked. She turned to Hector, followed his gaze, and frowned. “That’s not good. We have to warn him?”
How am I meant to do that without putting you at risk? I can’t. I...
Lincoln strolled down the path, his mask long gone, unaware of the trouble he was walking into. Adrian, breaking off from a conversation with a blond-haired boy within his group, spotted Lincoln. A cruel smile tore across his lips.
Clenching his fist, Hector looked at Mirae. His show-stopping Talents were on a cooldown at the moment, the leftover power inside him not enough to make a difference, but he had the other two. Hector pursed his lips. A few stalls down was Mr. Pennybrook’s stall; if he could go out before and get their attention and give Mirae time to get there, that could work. Though, a much crueller idea surfaced: what if he just waited till they had already started attacking Lincoln?
That would guarantee that they wouldn’t spot Mirae. He shook his head. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he let out a sigh. No. If she found out he did something like that, she’d never forgive him.
Besides, I’ve already abandoned him once today. I can’t make this into a habit. It wouldn’t be right. And as much as my dad annoys me, I can’t help but think he’d say I took the easy way out.
“Mirae, I’m going out there.”
“Are you sure?” she said, gripping the ends of her shirt. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, but you need to be careful. Alright?”
He nodded. “When I go out there, I want you to make your way to Mr. Pennybrook’s.” Hector tried to crouch, but the space was too tight, so he had to stick with bending forward a little. He then held her gaze, ruffling her hair, and causing her to frown. “Don’t come out once you are in there, alright? Just sit tight.”
“I will.” Mirae moved his hand from her head and held it between her own. She looked over her shoulder, sighing. “There are four of them and only two of you. Make sure you run as soon as you get the opportunity.”
“I will make sure I try to.”
“Hector.”
“Alright, I promise,” he said, pulling his hands from her, squeezing past, and taking a breath. The smell of fried dough with a hint of warm apple tickled his nose. He eyed the four boys as they closed in on Lincoln. He still hadn’t seen them. How could he be so blind?
System, scan the stats of those three boys. I want to see what I’m dealing with.
————————————————
///: Acquiring target stats…
————————————————
///
Cultivation level: [Gravity Forging - 1]
Talent: [None]
Talent Fragment: [None]
///
————————————————
————————————————
///: “The other two are mortals, with no Talents.”
————————————————
So aside from Adrian, the other two are mortal. Maybe Lincoln won’t need my help. But then again, these aren’t the usual starving dogs. They look pretty well-fed.
Taking one last look behind him, nodding—he hoped he wouldn’t regret this—Hector ran out of the alleyway, leaving Mirae behind. He ducked past people, hopping from one foot to the next, to the next, weaving through the crowd and closing in.
“Lincoln. I can’t believe we meet here of all places,” Adrian said, his distant voice snaking to Hector’s ears; it was like a beast who’d found a new toy. “My friends and I were just looking for something fun to do, and here you are.”
“I don’t have time for this, Adrian. Get out of my way,” Lincoln said. Hector’s sandaled feet beat against the cobblestone. He swerved around one last person and had them in his sights. Lincoln was slowly backing up as Adrian stood at the front of the group, a smug look on his ugly face—it probably felt good to be in his old position.
“What’s your hate with worm?” asked an older boy. The wind tousled his brown hair as confetti whipped by. He had a scowl on his face, like the entire thing was a waste of his time. Scratching his cheek, he tapped Adrian on the shoulder. “This better be worth you stopping us; we are meant to meet Claire soon.”
“It should be,” the blond-haired boy Adrian spoke to earlier said, smiling and placing his hands in his pockets. Watching Lincoln with a curious gaze, he gestured to him. “He’s the one who’s been kicking Adrian’s ass for a while now. He even joined our dojo, hoping to become a Mana cultivator and actually win for once. But still nothing.”
“So it’s a childish grudge then,” the older boy said.
The blond one shrugged, looking at the third member of the group. A short boy with a messy mop of black hair whipping in the wind and collecting confetti. The boy shook his head and said nothing.
“It wasn’t him,” Adrian said, scowling.
“Then who was it?” the older boy asked. But before Adrian could answer, Hector’s sandaled feet slapped off the ground. As he flew through the air, he raised his leg and kicked out, slamming his foot into the back of the older boy.
The force sent the boy flying forward, twisting in a bundle of limbs before slamming onto the cobblestone with a thud. Hector dropped to his feet, standing right next to Adrian with a smile. “Hey Adrian, fancy meeting you here.”
The two boys from the group jumped back. Adrian froze, and Lincoln let out a stifled chuckle—he was mad. But they could talk about it later.
“Ghost,” Adrian spat, raising his fist and squaring his stance. “You messed up big this time. You don’t even know what you just did.”
I ambushed someone. Again. I feel like this is becoming a bad habit. But I can’t waste time talking; the guards are still looking for us, and I don’t need to get caught because I was fighting Adrian of all people. I can do that anytime.
“Don’t care.” Hector shot forward, lashing out with two swift punches. The gut shot crippled Adrian. The second to the side of the head put him on the ground. Jumping away from the other two of Adrian’s group, he moved past Adrian—now cradling his head on the floor—and stepped up to Lincoln. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
Lincoln raised an eyebrow and let out a deep sigh—it would be a long conversation. But he got into a lowered stance. Confetti whipped around as Adrian and his new leader got off the floor. Hector spared a glance at Mirae. The alleyway he had come from was now abandoned, and a few stalls down, he saw a plume of white hair picking through the crowd. Good.
The older boy rolled his shoulders, his face red with anger as he locked eyes with Hector. “Who the hell is this?”
“Ghost, the one that’s...” Hector held back a smile as the words struggled out of Adrian’s mouth. “He’s the one that’s been giving me problems.”
“I can see why,” the older boy said. “If he was sneak-attacking you like that all the time, he’d be quite difficult to deal with.”
“Yeah. He has been.”
There he goes again, lying. Well, at least some things don’t change.
“Boys, I’m thinking we break those legs of his so he can’t run around sneaking up on others. Call it a public service. What do you think?”
The two others cheered, while Adrian hesitated—looks like the beatings were finally taking hold.
This would probably be a good time to run.
2024-12-12 13:03:43 +0000 UTC
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Red and yellow confetti bounced off Hector’s shoulder as he stood frozen. The initiate was Gravity Forging Four. Not one. Not two. Four. How was he meant to handle that? His tongue became numb, the saliva in his mouth stale. He couldn’t fight this man—he would lose.
What kind of dumb luck do I have to have to run into you?
But he couldn’t give up. Hollow at first, a feeling welled up in his chest. Mirae was in danger—he couldn’t risk believing it wasn’t her. The consequences were too dangerous. The feeling surged through his veins, starting as nothing but a slow dribble. Small and weak. Before bursting forth in a deluge of drunk courage.
The plan was over. Everything was about to go up in smoke—in a way, it already had. With the guards on such high alert, doing anything would be difficult. Hector only hoped that Emela and the others had noticed.
“Lincoln, let’s head back that way,” Hector said, moving the boy’s hand from his back and gesturing behind him. “I think they might have gone that way.” Even though the wrench that was the guards screwed them, there was no reason to make things chaotic. They still had time to think. “Thanks, Mr. Initiate, we’ll be going now.”
The man yawned, pulling out a small waterskin from the breast pocket of his robes. “Hold on now, you haven’t even answered my question.” His gaze moved past them—he was no doubt watching the guards. “You wouldn’t happen to be running from them, would you?” He took a swig from his waterskin before letting out another small yawn. “I need to stop losing. It’s messing up my sleep.”
Lincoln chuckled. “Yeah, you caught us. Just playing hide and seek with the city guard.”
The man chuckled, slipping the waterskin back into the breast of his robes. “Actually, young ones, could you do me a favour and remove those masks? I can’t quite see your faces.”
He knows what’s up; he’s just stalling for time. I have to do this now.
Hector spared one more glance behind him. His blood ran cold. There, with her back against a stall display and two guards bearing down on her like rabid dogs, was Mirae. The vendor—a young blond-haired woman—made no move to help. Not that she needed to. The woman didn’t know Mirae from any other slum rat, but Hector still wished she would do something, anything, scream even. Anything to distract them.
“Listen, children, I’ve had a long night.” The initiate said, stifling another yawn. “I’ve had a long day, too. So, if you could just—”
“I hope whatever distraction you’ve got is good enough,” Hector said, nodding at Lincoln.
“Hector, don’t—”
Before he could finish talking, energy surged through Hector’s legs, whipping and crackling at his muscles as static coated his skin. He shot off the ground, raising a knee. The initiate, predictably, held up a hand to block—even though Hector charged out of nowhere, the man was three minor realms above him and a mercenary at that. Of course, he would be quick. But Hector wasn’t attacking.
He angled himself onto the block, pressing his weight against the resistance before launching off. Hector arced back like a javelin, floating briefly over the cobblestone before slamming down and breaking into a mad sprint. People gasped, his shoulder smacking into some, shunting them out of the way. They were unimportant.
“Hey,” he heard the initiate call. But a dull explosion went off and people screamed. The subtle smell of sulfur tickled his nose as it sailed by in the wind. The group of guards—thankfully even the one he was sprinting towards—looked over.
Whatever Lincoln had done was hopefully enough to get himself out of trouble; Hector didn’t want to trade one problem for another. His mind focused. He’d rush in, grab Mirae, and squeeze through a side alley—at least, that was the plan. His legs thrummed with energy as the cobblestone rushed by underfoot. Who would he go for out of the two?
System, scan both of them now.
————————————————
///: Acquiring target stats…
————————————————
///
Cultivation level: [Gravity Forging - 2]
Talent: [Momentum Strike [•○○] (1/3)]
Talent Fragment: [2-Common]
///
————————————————
————————————————
///: Acquiring target stats…
————————————————
///
Cultivation level: [Gravity Forging - 3]
Talent: [None]
Talent Fragment: [None]
///
————————————————
One guard was only a minor realm above him, and the other had a Talent to boot, but Hector wouldn’t have the time to take it from him. Even though it would be good if he could, it was the first Talent he’d seen in the wild for some time.
The group of guards that had broken off from the two who cornered his sister began shouting. Pointing at Hector, one levied his spear and made to intercept him. He wouldn’t be able to. Hector gritted his teeth as he willed the energy crackling through his leg muscles to intensify. He burst forward, swerving, ducking, and sliding by, narrowly avoiding panicked festival-goers.
Whipping by confetti dazzled his vision. He shot past the intercepting guard, leaping off the cobblestone. In front of Hector, the Gravity Forging three guard narrowed his eyes, levelling his spear at him.
Hector tugged on [Resonant Shout]. Energy built up in his throat, swirling in and ballooning into a dense ball before exploding from his mouth in a silent shout. The air rippled as waves of silent sound slammed forward. The guard shook. His spear buckled, and he let out a scream.
The man collapsed on the cobblestone, his polearm clattering to his side. Hector’s foot slammed into the man’s back. Vaulting off it, he sailed through the air. He angled his foot, not his knee—the Orion Leaping Strike should be enough to deal with this guy.
Hector’s foot sliced through the air. Confetti whipped all around from the momentum of it. With a heavy thud, the bottom of his sandal slammed into the man’s chest. The force of the blow sent the guard off his feet and crashing onto the cobblestone, like his friend.
Hector swivelled, sparing a glance at where he had left Lincoln. Smoke covered the area, a dull haze of white obscuring whatever was going on—it was a good distraction. Grabbing Mirae’s hand, he pulled her along. He needed to make it to that alley.
“Hector, I’m sorry. I thought I could—”
“Just keep running. Let’s talk about it later,” he said, pumping his legs. Through their grip, Hector could feel Mirae staggering. She couldn’t keep up—even if they were the same minor realm, with [Spark Capacitor] active, he was difficult to match. The sound of guards’ footfalls pounding against the cobblestone sent anxiety flooding through his chest.
I’m sorry Mirae, this might hurt a bit.
He yanked her forward. She let out a pained scream. Hector grunted as her weight slipped into his arms. His feet continued to pound against the cobblestone amidst the shouts of guards and the screams of festival-goers. Down the path, the smoke screen parted as the sleepy initiate bolted out. He locked eyes with Hector and shook his head.
Not wanting to see what the man did next—it wouldn’t be good for him—Hector charged forward, passing between two stalls. Their walls forced him to throw Mirae to the ground, landing on her feet. He hurried her forward, not even looking back—you were more likely to get caught when you looked back.
Wood and fabric tugged at his clothes. His heart hammered in his chest, filling his ears as the confetti bounced off him. “They are going down the tight space, head around,” a guard called from behind.
I need to—there should be another alley across from here. We are going to have to keep squeezing by to get to the center.
He pushed on Mirae’s back, but jerked to a stop as his foot got caught. A loose piece of wood—he would not get caught because of a simple piece of wood. With a grunt, he tugged. A crack split the air. The stall wall sagged. Not his problem.
Bursting out into another main path, Hector scooped Mirae up into his arms. Pumping his legs, he charged across the street. Many people on this path stood staring in the direction Hector had come from, probably wondering what was going on over there. He swerved by a few, his shoulder slamming into others, causing them to let out shouts. He thought himself lucky none of them were Mana Cultivators.
With another thud, he threw Mirae to the ground as they squeezed between more stalls. “Go left up ahead,” Hector said, licking his lips. The taste of salt filled his mouth as confetti bounced off his mask. This intersection between the stalls should give them some cover.
I’m going to have to lose the mask. It’s far too recognisable. It’s a shame.
Having slipped his mask off, Hector felt the weight of the wood in his hand as he continued to pick his steps carefully—he didn’t need to get his foot stuck again. With a soft sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, he threw the mask over his shoulder. He heard it clatter onto the cobblestone.
My clothes should blend in well enough with any other slum rat, thankfully.
He pinched and tugged at his shirt as he slipped down an even tighter alley. This was getting frustrating. Hector reached to his waist and massaged the pouches. Had this all been worth it? Maybe? He just had to avoid capture to make sure.
***
Wymon yawned as he reached into the breast pocket of his robe—the only useful thing about wearing these annoying things around. He took out the water skin and sighed, looking down the alleyway that the two young slum rats had run down. He took a swig.
The taste of peach wine fizzled against his tongue—thankfully Batterbees had enough in stock or this would be a long day. He gulped, swishing the flask around and looking back down the path to where the smoke bomb had gone off. It was a neat trick. Slum rats rarely had many tricks.
He slid the water skin back into his robe, turning away from the alley. Peter and Ana—mildly useful squad mates—walked over. Peter gripped the sword hanging at the waist of his robes. Running a hand through his brown hair, he peaked over Wymon’s shoulder. “D-did they get away?” His uselessly large muscles tensed as he glanced about—they were probably more scared of him; the oaf just couldn’t see it.
“Yeah. Bolted down the side alley,” Wymon said, stifling another yawn as he flicked away the falling confetti. How High Nest—the so-called elders of the Phoenix Company—didn’t see this as a waste stumped him.
“And you let them get away,” Ana said, narrowing her annoyingly observant brown eyes, questioning his every move. “Surely you could have caught them. You even let the other one get away.”
Better they get away than be butchered by the guards for trying to live.
Wymon yawned as Ana brushed a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. It was one of many falling from her struggling bun. She didn’t have long enough hair to attempt pulling that off.
“They weren’t important,” Wymon said. “I doubt the Night’s Raven would be out pickpocketing, just before launching an attack.”
“W-What would they be doing, captain?” Peter asked, throwing the odd, nervous glance at every passerby. Wymon had to give it to him. He was alert. Even if it came from pure cowardice.
“Beats me. If I knew, I would be where they are.”
Ana looked off, watching as the few guards left searched through the crowd—they wouldn’t find them. Those children should be long gone. If they were smart, and slum rats tended to be smart. She sighed, the silk of her robes ruffling as she turned back to him. “You could have at least helped them. Look at those idiots.” She said, pointing to a guard.
The man had stopped a woman—merchant blood; most likely, a noble would have had him strung up—and searched through her purse. What was he even looking for? The woman clearly didn’t need to pickpocket.
“Trust me, it’s for the best,” Wymon said, fighting back the urge to reach for his water skin. “Anyway, we should probably be heading to the center of the festival. Can’t keep group leader Kain waiting after all.”
“I still don’t get it, sir,” Peter said, blinking confetti from his lashes.
“Get what?”
“Wouldn’t us coming out in force this year make it so that the Night’s Raven doesn’t attack? How are we supposed to catch any of them?”
Wymon raised an eyebrow. Seems the day had more than one surprise for him. Peter was actually using his brain—sure, he waited till after weeks of preparation and the start of the operation, but he’d used it. “Who do you think tipped us off?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said, shrugging and sheepishly scratching the back of his head.
Well, that was short-lived. But wonders never cease.
“Ana, care to enlighten our dear Peter,” Wymon said, yawning. He sputtered as confetti flew into his mouth, sticking to his tongue.
“You need to get more sleep, Captain. But yes, I don’t mind.” She rested one hand on her hip, pointing the other at a small family of five passing by. “These slum—I mean, people and others like them are important to us. They are our weakness and our treasure. The Night’s Raven has threatened them to challenge us, thinking they can lure us here and cause destruction. But we will show them how wrong they are.”
Close as always, yet just missing the mark. But what can you expect from a noble?
Ana turned to Wymon, resting both hands on her hips and puffing out her chest. Was she proud of just about understanding an assignment? She probably thought that her explanation was praiseworthy. Well, he’d have to disappoint her.
“Come on, you two idiots. We need to get going,” he said, reaching into his robes and brushing his scarred fingers across the water skin. There was no way he was giving her any validation. She’d probably take it to mean she’d achieved something.
2024-12-10 13:00:11 +0000 UTC
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Mirae charged forward, swerving on her heels. She grunted as her back slammed into something. The force of it sent her staggering forward, hands slapping against the dirt and stone, tiny rocks sticking to her palm. “You damn brat, watch where you’re going?” a voice called, as she scrambled to her feet and sprinted off.
Later. She could deal with that later.
“Excuse me, miss,” a stern voice yelled, muffled by the crowd's chattering.
She ignored them. Whoever had called wasn’t important. She needed to find her brother. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a pair of children, perhaps a few years younger than herself, running alongside her.
This is seriously not the time.
She skidded to a stop, gravel rolling under her feet. Where was she? She looked around, trying to find landmarks. The two children ran around her, cheering happily and urging her on. She wanted to call them idiots, but they didn’t know what she was doing.
How could she blame them?
Her eyes landed on what she was looking for. A large wooden sign in the shape of an ice cream. She’d just have to continue down this path and she would find her brother.
She charged forward, slamming into another person. Something cold hit her back, sliding off her, following an icy line and hitting the floor with a wet thud. More angry shouts sounded behind her as she powered down the path. Why did there have to be so many people? It was ridiculous.
After a while, she stopped again, ensuring she was as far as possible from where the shouting happened. Her chest heaved as her lungs burned with effort. She couldn’t wait to be a proper Mana Cultivator. Then—with some actual training—she wouldn’t have to deal with the pains of having such a weak body.
Looking around, she searched for more landmarks. She was close. She’d find her brother, she’d... What would she do? In the past, a vision would always come true. There was nothing she could do to change them. If she wasn’t there, they would still happen. If she was, nothing changed. It didn’t matter. They would always play out the same.
It was like I was nothing but a puppet on a string. But, I can’t just give up. Can I? I can’t leave my brother, but then again, maybe I already have. Maybe I’m running for no reason. Killing myself over something that’s already happened. But that was the point.
Mirae brought her hands up. Her palms were raw, with small rocks decorating her skin, and her nails covered in dirt. These were the hands—she believed—of someone who would try no matter what. Something within her told her that her visions could be changed and she promised to one day make sure that happened. So, no matter what, she couldn’t give up. She had to keep pushing.
Her father had almost died—her vision said he would. But he still lived. At first, that had given her some hope. But the visions of his death still came. Though part of her knew, deep down, that something was different. She didn’t know what; she didn’t know how, but something was different.
The sound of hurried footsteps came from behind her.
Mirae lowered her hands and turned, wondering who else was in a rush. The glint of the sun bounced off the tip of the polearm held by one of the many guards running down the path. She locked eyes with him and he shouted, “Stop right there, now!”
Turning on her heel, Mirae bolted. That had just made an unpleasant situation worse. She was trying to find her brother so that she could keep the guards away from him. Now she was at risk of bringing them right to him.
Ducking under one person, and squeezing past another, Mirae forced her way into a crowd. She had to lose the guards. There was no point in rushing to Hector and bringing down even more trouble on him. As the crowd increased and the space for movement tightened, she noticed that the guard’s voice faded slowly into the background of the festival.
The large amount of people had perhaps slowed them down. Unlike her, they were big. And the weapons the guards carried would make it difficult to chase a tiny girl like her through a big clump of people.
Good, I should have some time before they spot me again.
Mirae squeezed past a finely dressed woman, her cheek brushing up against the smooth silk of a dress that she could never afford. She needed to find Hector. If not him, that figure from her vision—or at least where that figure was. They had been the one to alert the guards. So if she could stop them, perhaps she could prevent everything.
——
Hector pressed his lips into a thin line, his gaze scanning the flow of people. The happiness, the fun, and the laughter. All of it mixed, stirred by the gentle beat of music in the distance. The cobblestone walkways were less choked with people now—his Talent had warned him of this. This part of the festival was no longer a good place to look for targets.
We should probably head to the ride section. The long lines there will probably bear some fruit. Waiting in line is annoying as is, people’s focus should be running on strings. At least mine would be.
He angled his head to Lincoln and nodded. “We’re going that way,” he said, thumbing behind him. As he lifted his foot to walk away, shouts split the festive atmosphere. Hector spotted a small group of guards marching down the cobblestone. They weren’t happy, and they were looking for someone. Their eyes darted from person to person as a few of the guards stopped and pulled people aside, patting them down.
What the heck is going on?
Hector frowned at Lincoln. It hadn’t been long enough for them to get this worked up. They should have had more time. Lincoln shrugged as his head snapped back and forth. “We should get going.”
Hector nodded, moving in the opposite direction to the guards’ approach. None of this made sense. They should have had more time to move around before the guards cracked down this much. But whatever the reason, they needed to get away from here.
As Hector moved through the crowd. He spotted something amongst the thinning groups of people behind him. Jerking, his eyes flashed as dread flooded through his chest. He spotted a figure a few feet in front of the approaching guards. He’d only glimpsed white hair—something that wasn’t common in the slums.
But it couldn’t be Mirae. She was with Mr. Pennybrook, making them all lunch. The yellow and red confetti continued to rain down like snow, their numbers obscuring his vision. Should he go back to check? What if it wasn’t her? What if it was?
Lincoln’s head bumped into him, and they both let out a curse. “What’s wrong?” Lincoln asked, his eyes darting back and forth. Two children rushed by with a look of confusion on their faces, sidestepping one. Lincoln frowned. “We don’t have time for you to be spacing out. Let’s go.”
Hector nodded, as Lincoln stepped by him—it was probably best he take the lead. Hector needed to be sure it wasn’t Mirae. “Where did the pretty girl go? She was right in front of us a second ago.” A young boy, one of the two confused children, said.
Hector spared a glance behind him in the direction the two children were looking. Were they talking about the same person he had seen? The crowd continued to shift, as the Middlec guards continued marching down the street. He needed to keep walking.
A short distance away from the cobblestone path was a makeshift alleyway—they were all over the festival, but people rarely used them. They could be more cramped than walking down a normal body-choked path.
If I move parallel to the crowd and squeeze in there, I should be able to see if it’s her without getting seen.
He raised an arm, grabbing Lincoln’s shoulder, slowing his friend down and causing him to look back. “What’s up?” He asked, looking past Hector with a frown.
“I think I might have seen Mirae. I’m going to squeeze into one of those side alleys and see if I can find her.” More cries from disgruntled festivalgoers coloured the atmosphere. The guards were close.
A few stalls down, two Phoenix Company initiates looked up. They frowned and began making their way towards the guards, towards Hector. The walls were closing in. Lincoln nodded, frowning as his gaze flickered to Hector. “But you should be careful if you get trapped in there. The guards will definitely get you.”
“I know, but we might have more problems,” Hector said, gesturing towards the initiates.
“Well, ain’t that just great?” Lincoln grabbed Hector’s hand, pulling him. “We have to get out of here. We can’t get trapped between them.”
Hector tugged his hand back. “Lincoln, I’m not risking it. If it’s Mirae, then the plan is out the window. I’m not letting my sister get caught by the guards.”
A group of drunk men shuffled by, the stink of alcohol emanating from them like sewage from a gutter. Lincoln frowned, looking from the guards to the initiates. “It’s not her, Hector. What would she even be doing here? She’s with Mr. Pennybrook.” Lincoln’s hands twitched as one man stumbled. He was considering pickpocketing now, of all times.
“You know what? You go ahead.” Hector said, letting out a huff—he couldn’t ask his friend to risk his life for a simple hunch. No, he could do this alone. The cooldown on the [Street Reader] was still active, so there was no chance of that being much help. “I’ll figure something out Lincoln, just head back to Mr Pennybrooks for now. Something is not right.”
“Alright, I’ll—”
“Hello, there young ones. Are you enjoying the festival?” The voice pulled on Hector’s nerves like a string. His heart leapt in his chest as in front of them stood a brown-haired initiate. His eyes were heavy with bags as he scratched the back of his head, ruffling his dark red robes. “You looked a little tense, so I thought I would come and see if everything was alright.”
Hector swallowed hard, unable to move the fear lodged in his throat, tightening his airways. His hands clawed at his pants as the words he wanted to say seemed stuck. Unable to move. Unable to help.
“Nope, just a little lost, is all?” Lincoln said, chuckling. He took a step back and placed a hand on Hector’s back. “Me and my friend are just looking for our friends is all.”
The man brought a hand—scarred with sagging burns—to his face and scratched his stubble. “Lost. I can believe that.” The man let out a small yawn, rubbing at his eyes as his gaze moved past the two of them. “I’ve almost got myself lost a few times and I’ve been coming to the festival for years.”
Hector let out a raspy chuckle, sparing a glance back at the crowd—he couldn’t afford to waste time on this sleepy idiot. Behind him, one of the many Middlec guards poked his friend and signalled to a cluster of people. There, Hector spotted white hair and shorts. He only glimpsed a part of the brown shorts that the person wore—but that didn’t mean it was her.
“Something got your attention, friend. Where was it you said you were going again?” The initiate asked, placing a hand into the breast pocket of his robes.
System, what are his stats?
Fighting him would be a major screwup. But if he could at least use his Talent to buy a few precious seconds, then that would be good. Several shouts came from behind as the guards appeared to spot what they were looking for. If that was Mirae, he was running out of time—he couldn’t let them get to her.
————————————————
///: Acquiring target stats…
————————————————
///
Cultivation level: [Gravity Forging - 4]
Talent: None
///
————————————————
Crap
2024-12-07 01:00:04 +0000 UTC
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Thank you, bart. I appreciate the support you have given me, and I hope for your continued support in the future. My eternal appreciation and thanks.
2024-12-06 21:53:00 +0000 UTC
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Eventually, after a few moments, Lincoln slinked back out of the crowd. Hector couldn’t see his face, but his body language spoke volumes—especially when compared to earlier. There was a soft swagger to his steps, and he wasn’t looking over his shoulder. He had done it.
Hector turned and began walking away, keeping an eye out for any guards or Phoenix Company initiates. To get caught this early would be bad. But they were fine; no one had noticed them. He did spot two guards, but they seemed to be dealing with something else that Hector couldn’t quite make out from where he was.
After a few steps, Lincoln pulled up alongside him. “Quite the good haul, if I do say so myself.” He let out a low chuckle, causing something to stir in Hector. They were robbing people; what was so funny about that?
He really does know how to say the stupidest things.
“That’s good,” Hector said, taking a right. “I guess I’m next.”
Hector weaved through the crowd, heading to another spot that he’d identified with his [Street Reader] Talent. The restaurant stalls on this—it was weird to call it a street, but it was like a micro-version of one—road were of the dessert kind, so naturally there were even more children than earlier. He wouldn’t take anything from them. Doing that went too far, even for him.
From the sense he got from his Talent, he knew the crowd would peak soon. “Alright, you got my back?” he asked, turning to Lincoln.
“Don’t worry, I have a couple ways to cause a distraction if things go wrong.” The boy scanned the area and nodded to him. “So, don’t you worry.”
Lincoln's nod didn't reassure Hector much, but he would have to trust his friend. It still bothered him that Lincoln was lying about something—they were like brothers, and if it was a problem, he should have come to him straight away—but whatever it was, now was not the time.
Hector walked forward, acting as normal as possible given he was trying to steal from someone. He adjusted his mask, stepping into the crowd, blending in as best he could. His heart hammered in his chest, his ears filling with the sound of blood. It was funny in a way; he had spent so much time worrying if his friends were ready. But was he?
He bumped into a man who seemed too drunk to notice. He’d be a suitable target, but he wasn’t the one. Hector continued to scan the crowd, his eyes going from waist to waist, searching for any loose pouches.
He was overthinking things; what would the perfect target even look like? Were they too young, were they too old? These things had to become irrelevant to him. In the end, he pushed down his concerns and picked a victim.
I’m sorry, whoever you are. If I ever run across you again in the future, I’ll make it up to you somehow.
Hector didn’t pay too much attention—at least he tried to make it look like he wasn’t—as he walked beside the man. He lifted an arm, carefully inching it towards him, and as the man went to take one more step, Hector bumped into him, stumbled back, and cursed. “Sorry, sir, it’s the mask—really makes things difficult to see,” he said.
“Damn street filth. Watch where you’re going,” the man huffed, dusting down his coat and walking away.
Well, that was easier than I thought. Now the next one.
After the first successful pickpocket, the ones after that were easier. It was like how starting a task was hard, but continuing was easy. Though it didn’t make the guilt feel any easier to bear. Over ten minutes, he’d taken at least four pouches. It was probably time to head somewhere else; staying here would bring too much attention once people started noticing the common theme.
Hector pushed his way through the crowd, passing by the concerned faces of those he’d taken from. Many looked furious, others in shock. It made sense—at least, if you had money growing up, it made sense. But if you were a slum dweller like him, most would be glad to still have their lives. It was probably shocking to these well-off folks.
They don’t deserve this, but I need this. My family needs this.
Hector didn’t spot Lincoln where he’d left him; instead, the boy stood a little way down by a dessert stall. Why had he moved? Hector looked around, seeing if he could spot any guards. There were none.
He must not have wanted to draw too much attention just standing there.
The coin pouches Hector had collected jingled at his waist. It satisfied part of him—he hated that—while the other was a little disgusted. But now it was done. As he moved from the crowd, he noticed an old woman shouting. The same as any other partially malnourished lady you’d find in the slum. The only noticeable thing about her was the long, striking scars dug deep into her exposed forearms, like gutters filled with the dirt of years of suffering. But scars were not uncommon in the slums.
“Repent, you sinners, repent!” she yelled, shaking her fist at those who walked by and spitting at others. “You fools are all out here celebrating while those Great Houses look down on us. Was the Nightcroft’s sacrifice not enough? Did not enough people die for you to realize that you are all pigs ready for the slaughter when those noble Mana Cultivators come for your necks?”
Hector frowned as he made his way towards Lincoln. He’d heard of the Nightcroft incident; everyone in the slum had. It was the one time in recent history that they’d fought back. A waste many had called it. Even now—not that people could tell—the slums hadn’t fully recovered from its effects.
“Hey man, why did you move?” Hector asked, walking up to Lincoln. He frowned, crossing his arms, waiting for a reply.
Lincoln chuckled, scratching his head and pointing a few stalls down. There, three Phoenix company initiates stood. Dressed in dark red robes embroidered with gold filigree, they stood out. The edges of their robes were accented black, and on their fingers were gold rings with a sigil on them.
They seemed happy as they chatted to a few people and greeted a few others. They were practically celebrities. “I don’t want to get too caught up with them, you know, since I have a few more things than I should...”
Well, I feel like a bit of an idiot.
There was no guarantee, but Lincoln was right—an oddity in of itself. It was probably best that they avoided them. People would most likely start to report that their pouches had been stolen, and two scruffy-looking teenagers with masks on would probably stand out.
“So, where to next, wise leader?” Lincoln said with a chuckle.
Mirae looked around her, taking in the sights of the Hilda festival. But it was wrong. Everything was gray scaled; it was a dull color. No life, no joy. The people that walked by were nothing but outlines.
What is this? Is it another one?
She couldn’t control when visions came to her. They would strike unprompted, sending her into a world much like this. Colorless, lifeless, but not empty. If she paid attention, the world would show her things deemed important to her.
A feeling welled up inside her, something she couldn’t shake. She learned—rather regrettably—that when this feeling occurred; it was best to follow it. She turned, moving away from where she stood and heading deeper into the festival. The music was hollow, empty, and the confetti of yellow and red was a dull gray.
When she’d first got visions, it’d been uncomfortable. It felt like a dream, but she knew it wasn’t. Now she was much more accustomed to the sight, though it still left her feeling helpless. When a vision came, no matter how she felt, it reminded her that she had to follow, and there was nothing she could do to change what was coming.
But still, she believed there could be a change. After all, why show her these things if there was nothing she could do about them? What would be the purpose?
She continued to walk, moving past gray scaled festival-goers enjoying life to the fullest with their families and loved ones. She was envious. Happy for them, but envious. Her family had never been able to enjoy the Hilda festival. They’d been too poor. Even now, instead of enjoying it like she wanted, she worked. What she was doing—even though not directly involved—was a crime, but it could still be considered work.
Mirae noticed a light in the distance—often a sign of something she should pay attention to—frowning; she followed it. She walked through more gray scale people and paused. The light was a figure; they looked familiar, but she wasn’t sure. They were saying something to a guard. Whatever it was, the guard took it seriously.
What are they talking about? Maybe I should get closer?
Before she could take a step, the world rushed by in a haze of gray. People rushed all around, buzzing through her faster than she could track. When it stopped, the figure was gone, and a new one had replaced it. She moved towards it, not wanting them to get away this time.
She’d already reacted too slowly, and the vision had moved on. She needed to be fast this time. Finally, after a few moments, she made it. And this new figure turned out to be her brother. In front of him, a guard stood; it was not the same one she’d seen previously. But this one looked just as angry.
“Hector!” Mirae called out. He didn’t respond. He never did, but still, each time she saw him in trouble in one of these visions, she called to him. The guard reached forward and grabbed him, while Lincoln—from what she could make out in his gray scaled form—took off.
He raced by her, not stopping to look back. Coward. Mirae ran towards her brother, eager to get a look at the man who would capture him. But as she moved, the world shook, beginning to dim. The vision was ending.
No, no, no. Not yet. I need more time. Give me more time.
Mirae shot up, jumping from the chair she had fallen asleep in. Mr. Pennybrook, who stood on the other side of the room with a list in hand, jolted, dropping the notebook. “By the Great Lake, whatever is the problem? Were you having a nightmare or something?”
Mirae reached forward and steadied herself on the table, looking around the room in fright. She had to leave now. She had to find Hector. Turning, Mirae bolted up the steps and out into the stall, ignoring the calls of Mr. Pennybrook behind her. She didn’t have time to explain—even if she did, the man wouldn’t believe her; no one ever did.
In the stall, she passed by several browsing customers, bumping into some and narrowly avoiding others. But through all, she was careful not to knock over any talismans. The situation was bad, but it hadn’t become dire. She could still save her brother without causing any more problems—she hoped.
She passed through the stall’s doorframe, pausing in a slow crowd of people out front. People complained, some nudging her. But she paid them no mind. Instead, she focused, trying to remember the direction she’d taken in the vision.
Come on, come on. There!
Mirae darted forward, ducked under strangers, and sidestepped others. She’d be proud of herself if she wasn’t so worried. She had to change her vision. If Hector got caught—well, the guards weren’t known for their mercy.
2024-12-06 12:00:17 +0000 UTC
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What’s up with him? I hope it’s not going to be a problem.
“Lincoln!” Hector called, waving the boy towards him. The festival had started in earnest; laughter and the smells of various foods filled the air as music bounced around. His friend spotted him and jogged over.
“Hello everyone, sorry I’m late. I got caught up with some stuff with my mom.”
Hector narrowed his eyes. The boy was lying, but why? If it was something to do with his mom, why was he looking over his shoulders? Sure, he could have bumped into someone on the way over—unlikely, given the fact that he was in the second level of Gravity Forging realm—but then why did he look so worried?
Everyone greeted him.
“Is everything okay with your mom?” Hector asked, noticing Mr. Pennybrook step out of the stall with a rather happy-looking couple. Marcus and Delworth were behind him. Whatever Lincoln was lying about, it could wait till later.
Marcus and his cousin said something to Mr. Pennybrook before making their way over to the group. “How are you doing, you two?” Lincoln said, reaching forward to shake their hands. Odd.
Since when did he shake hands? Oh, what has he done? I just hope it isn’t serious.
The two boys shook his hand, looking him over with some confusion. “What took you so long?” Marcus asked.
“Not much, just something to do with my mom.”
“Oh, I hope everything is okay,” Marcus said.
“Ah, it seems you’ve all arrived,” Mr. Pennybrook said, walking over. “I guess that means that you will all be off to drum up some business.”
It was an excuse they had all agreed on. They couldn’t tell Marcus’s father that they were going to go out and pickpocket. At least, not if they actually wanted to leave the stall. So, instead, it had been decided that they would go out and drum up some business for the stall. A small lie. But it wouldn’t raise too many questions, and Mr. Pennybrook was a businessman—he would never turn down free advertising.
“Yeah, we were just about to head out,” Hector said, resting his hands on Mirae’s shoulders. “Is there space in the back for her to get to work?”
Mr. Pennybrook smiled, nodding his head as he looked around the festival. “I’ve already set up the table and put all the food out. She should be fine.”
“That’s good to hear. Alright, Mirae, I’m going to get going now. You be good, okay?” Hector placed his hand on her back and gently pushed her towards the stall. She looked back at him with some hesitation, but eventually smiled. He would—if everything went well—be back soon.
Mr. Pennybrook nodded at him and led Mirae inside. As the two entered the stall, Hector turned to his friends. Marcus and Jodie had a faint look of trepidation; Nyx, Emela, and Delworth looked unbothered. And Lincoln—even though he tried to hide it—looked worried.
It wasn’t what Hector was hoping for; it wasn’t what he needed. Some of his friends seemed worried about what they had to do, while the others seemed unconcerned. At least no one had said anything about calling the entire thing off.
“Well, alright then,” Hector said, scanning the festival. He spotted a few city guards dressed in their white robes embroidered with gold. The sigil of a lion was emblazoned on their chest. In their hands, they carried long polearms—perfect for keeping enemies at a distance. But with each guard on average being at Gravity Forging three, it was a bit overkill. After all, they could tear the standard mortal apart with their bare hands.
“If you guys just give me a moment, I need to think,” Hector said, closing his eyes, “and as soon as I’m done, we can all head to our respective areas.”
Within himself, he reached for the [Street Reader] Talent. He found it, grabbed it, and tugged. Within his mind’s eye, a pulse of energy rushed from him, illuminating the area, showing him the makeup of the crowd and the movement of people.
Hector saw the ebb and flow, the bulging of groups and the scattering of others. He picked his targets and mapped them. Eventually, he opened his eyes, knowing where he’d go first. “Alright, we all know where we’re going, right?”
They all nodded, aside from—rather predictably—Delworth. The boy was a new addition, so it made sense. But where would he send him? Delworth couldn’t act alone; that would put him and them at risk. Several cheers rang out, and Jodie looked off, enthralled by what she was seeing. She—given her brash personality—and Marcus would probably need a bit more help. He would go with them.
“Marcus, I want you to take your cousin with you. It should make things easier on you and Jodie.”
Jodie’s head snapped to Hector. “What? I don’t want to babysit him. He’ll just slow me down.”
“Oh, come now...” Emela said, regarding her with a frown. “Show some tact; he’s right here. And I’m sure he’ll complement your duo rather well.”
“I don’t see you volunteering to take him along,” Jodie bit back.
Emela locked her jaw and turned away, watching whatever was going on a few stalls down. Hector shook his head. Delworth could be a liability, but he had faith that Marcus could mitigate that. Jodie, for all her complaining, would help in that regard.
Marcus and Delworth both nodded, while Jodie grumbled beneath her breath as she continued to pick confetti out of her hair. She was going to have a long day if she didn’t give up with that endeavor.
“Alright, before I let you guys go,” Hector said, looking into each of their eyes, hoping—no matter how small—that he was giving off some form of confidence. “I want to ask one more time: does anyone feel that they should back out?”
Lincoln looked like he wanted to say something. But in the end, he turned his head to the side, not speaking up. The rest of them nodded. Delworth was the only one that looked a little excited—he probably still didn’t grasp the gravity of what he was doing.
“There is no point getting cold feet after this,” Hector said. He paused as some guards walked by—they were more than a few feet from them, but you could never be too cautious. Especially around Mana-cultivators. “I want to make sure you are all ready.”
“We are, Hector,” Emela said, smiling at him. Her smile achieved the effect he’d hoped his own had. It made him feel more assured of what he was about to do.
“Okay, then I will see you all soon. Oh, and one more thing,” Hector moved over to the side of the stall, reaching down behind a nook, pulling out a sack. Inside were the masks. He walked back over to his friends and began handing them out. “I picked yours, Jodie.” He handed her a red and yellow mask—an unusual coincidence given what she was picking out of her hair.
“Thanks,” she said. She didn’t look pleased, nor upset. It was just as he’d hoped; she didn’t care what she wore, only that it was effective—he loved her practicality sometimes.
“Marcus and Lincoln picked the masks out for both of you,” he said, handing Nyx and Emela a mask each. Nyx nodded, accepting the pure black, featureless mask, while Emela seemed pleased with her blue and white mask with various shapes running along its edges.
Lincoln took his green one, and Marcus and Delworth both went for a simple white, featureless mask. Overall, the designs were quite good. “Now that we are all equipped,” Hector said, “I’ll see you guys around. If anything happens, we should regroup here.”
The group dispersed. Hector, with Lincoln at his side, moved to the west section of the festival. They picked through the crowd, dodging dancers and festival-goers alike. Finally, after a few minutes, they reached their spot.
Lincoln pulled on his mask, slipping the string around his ruffled hair with a grunt. “Well, I guess we just have to find our targets now,” he said, his voice muffled.
“I’ve already got a spot,” Hector said, slipping on his own—the mysterious ray design had grown on him in recent days. He hoped the pickpocketing operation would go off without a hitch, so the mask wouldn’t become evidence against him. Even though he’d agreed that this was his world now, it would still be nice to have something that reminded him of earth.
“You have? Well, come on then, let’s head over. I’ll go first.”
Hector nodded, taking the lead, with Lincoln trailing behind as they made their way past people. The west side of the festival was predominantly a restaurant area—unlike the center where Marcus’s father’s stall was, which was a mix of everything. In this area, people wanted to eat, so they were going to be more ready with their purse. Not good. But he had to make it work.
The talent had shown a good swell right around here. I hope Lincoln will notice it and take advantage of it.
“This it?” Lincoln said, stopping next to him. They stood next to another stall, much like Marcus’ fathers. It was more like a shop. People—clearly seen through the glassless wooden window frames—sat inside eating. “Are you sure that this is a good spot?”
“Yeah, just give it a moment.” Hector steeled his gaze and waited. Watching. He noted a father and son walk by. The father was lecturing his child similar to the way Hector’s own father did to him. We do good because it’s far too easy to do evil, his father would say.
Then why doesn’t this feel easy? I’m about to ruin someone’s day, and that’s wrong. But I have no other choice.
As the crowd continued to build, a frown came to Hector’s lips. What would it be like to come here with his family? What would it be like to have enough money to just enjoy this place and not worry about anything?
His father rarely spoke of the past. But from the faint memories Hector had, it had been better. His mom was around. He’d probably been one of these families at some point. But now. Now he was the type to ensure that today would be one of disappointment for them. The laughter of a couple broke him from his thoughts; he looked towards them.
Lincoln nudged him. “Well, it’s time to get this started,” he said, gesturing towards the growing crowd—it was just as Hector had seen with his Talent. “Wish me luck, and if this goes wrong, remember, I told you so.” The boy chuckled.
Hector playfully slapped him on the back as he slinked away into the thickening mass. It was time; no going back now. What had brought him to this moment? What had he done? Sure, he organized this, but was there something that could have been done before now? Could he have prevented his dad owing the Collar gang money? Hector lost Lincoln as he disappeared like smoke into the cluster of people.
Hector took a step back, leaning against the restaurant stall’s beam. He couldn’t have done anything before now. He wasn’t the same person, after all. No. He was someone else, someone weaker. But he’d changed, he was changing, and soon he wouldn’t ever have to do something as pathetic as this again.
It was weak of him to steal from these innocents. But it would be just this once; perhaps in the future, when he was strong enough, he could repay them—though would he even feel he needed to by then?
2024-12-05 12:00:16 +0000 UTC
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Hector stepped back into the cramped stall. The light from the lantern illuminated each of the three aisles, painting the room in a subtle yellow hue. In the middle aisle, Jodie stood with Mirae clinging to her arm.
What’s going on here?
“And how is your cultivation going?” Hector heard Jodie ask Mirae as he got in earshot. “I hope you’ve been keeping up with your practice. I’m already crushing you; we don’t need it getting any worse.”
Mirae pouted, slapping Jodie’s hand away as the girl went to ruffle her hair. “It’s... going okay, I think. I practice every day, but progress is slow.”
“That’s no problem, trust me.” Jodie nodded at Hector as he approached. “You were probably just unlucky enough to have the same problem as your brother. But that shouldn’t discourage you.”
“I know it shouldn’t, but still.” Mirae turned her head, giving Hector a weak smile.
Hector stopped just behind Mirae, being careful not to make any sudden movement—the last thing he needed was to knock something over that he couldn’t afford. “You will be fine, Mirae. It took me a long time to get to gravity forging one, but I know you will get there much quicker than me.”
Especially when I find a cultivation Talent. Hopefully, at that time, we can look back at this time and laugh.
“Hey, Mr. Pennybrook,” Jodie said, waving at the man as he came up from the back room. Hector looked at Mirae and stroked her head before squeezing by her and Jodie. The sounds of the festival outside carried through, seemingly growing. Jodie pulled on Hector’s arm. “Can I talk to you for a bit... outside?”
Hector—understanding the implication—nodded. He jerked his head toward the door and shuffled his way through the stall, mindful of his movements. Jodie and Mirae trailed behind. The festival would start in earnest soon, and inside the stall would not be a good place to talk about what he guessed was the operation.
Stepping out of the stall, the sound of music slammed into Hector. The stall—no doubt set up with some noise-canceling talismans—had kept most of the noise out. He noticed a few young kids run by with candy apples, their faces dripping with excitement as their parents gave chase. It was heartwarming.
Hector nodded at Marcus and Delworth, still standing over the three shelves. What were they still doing out here? Hector turned to Jodie, stepping out of the stall and squinting against the sunlight as red and yellow confetti bounced off her head. “What’s up?” Hector asked her as he waved for Mirae—who skipped out behind her—to stand beside him.
“Not much; I’m just a little worried is all,” Jodie said, picking confetti from her lip. “The guards look to be on higher alert than I would have expected. Also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Phoenix company seems to be out in force this year.”
Hector frowned. It wasn’t odd for the Phoenix company—one of the Flamelight House’s top mercenary companies—to be at the Hilda festival; after all, they financed it. But they would often send a small group of people just to show support, and that support had been waning in recent years. So what was going on this year?
“That could be a problem. But it doesn’t change much for us,” Hector said. He looked down at Mirae and gave her a reassuring smile. “We have to do this and don’t have the time to think of something else. I have no idea when the Collar gang is going to show up at my house again.”
“Hey, you don’t need to pull on my heartstrings; I already know why we are doing this,” she nodded at Marcus. “You aren’t the only one that needs this to happen. I’m just saying we should be extra careful, is all.”
“I hear you,” Hector said. He turned his head to Marcus. “What are you still doing? I thought it was a quick check.”
The boy dusted confetti off the list and looked at Hector with a frown. “It was meant to be a quick look over—and this talisman is meant to be inside.” He held up a talisman Hector didn’t recognize. “But I don’t know what we should replace it with. I don’t want it to be empty; that would look terrible.”
Hector raised his arms and slapped his forehead, listening to the distant music of the festival to calm his growing annoyance—not that it helped much. Drums weren’t exactly known for being calming, and sadly they were the loudest. “All right, how long do you think you are going to take? I want to head out as soon as everyone arrives.”
“We could check inside,” Delworth said. The boy had got on his knees—apparently he didn’t care about dirtying his black trousers—and was looking over the bottom shelf. “If there is one that should be inside, there should be one that goes outside.”
“Yeah, check inside,” Hector said, waving his hand as Marcus and Delworth headed inside the stall. The boys needed to hurry up. His father couldn’t have picked a worse day to be assessing his son.
“And make it fast, you numbskull,” Jodie chided with a laugh. Confetti covered her hair, and she continued to pick at them. At least someone was having fun. “I hope we don’t go home with more of this than we do coin,” she said, flicking a piece of confetti from her shoulder.
Hector shrugged. With the increased security compared to previous years, that could be a possibility. The cheers from a stall grabbed his attention as several people threw bags at wooden pots. He hoped he wouldn’t have to consider Lincoln’s farm option. It was one thing to pick a pocket or two, but breaking into a farm, potentially having to deal with farmhands—it would be a lot.
“Where is everyone? We are burning daylight,” Hector asked, looking around. They had all agreed to meet at Marcus’s dad’s stall in the morning, but they still weren’t here.
“It will be fine, Hector,” Mirae said, squeezing his hand. “I’m sure they are just distracted by all the fun.”
“Yeah,” Hector said. He looked at Mirae, confused. “Shouldn’t you be making the food, Miss Chef?”
Mirae—frowning as she watched some kids walk by with sweets—turned to him. “I was thinking of starting when you guys head out. I’ve got a while till noon anyway, so I decided to take my time.”
“Smart,” Jodie said.
Hector shrugged, resting his hand on his hip, continuing to look around. Eventually, his face lit up as he saw Emela. Her twin ponytails swayed behind her as she made her way through the crowd of people, Nyx following behind her.
Dressed in a white shirt and a blue long skirt, she looked quite the lady.
She smiled, waving at him as she and Nyx picked up the pace. Hector was a little surprised; he had expected that Lincoln would have arrived first. He didn’t know where Emela lived—he’d only known her for a few months after all, not enough time to be invited over—but she was definitely outside Sirius quarter.
Lincoln, on the other hand, was pretty much his neighbor. The beating of the drums picked up, as several cheers could be heard in the distance. Wherever the boy was, Hector hoped that he would hurry up.
“Good morning, Hector,” Emela said, stopping short of him. Nyx nodded at him—as usual, she wasn’t much for words. “Are we the last to arrive? Jodie, Mirae, I trust you two are well.”
“No, that idiot Lincoln still isn’t here,” Jodie huffed. “And I’m good. This confetti is a little annoying, though; how is there so much of it?”
“I’m fine,” Mirae said from Hector’s side.
“Oh, that’s troublesome. Is he okay?” Emela asked. “And it’s probably a low-level formation. It will no doubt disappear over time, similar to how snow melts when it lands on you. Especially since it’s not in a caster’s orbit.”
“Yeah, he should be all right,” Hector said. “He told me he was going to be late, but I didn’t think that it would be this bad.”
“You’re telling me someone in the Core Formation realm made this?” Jodie said, plucking a piece of red confetti from the air. “It seems like such a waste of mana.”
“It’s probably a derivative form of another spell,” Emela said, smiling as a family walked by with their children. “The formation itself is probably not made by a Core Formation mana-cultivator, but is powered by a beast core at that level.”
“That sounds expensive,” Hector said. Beast cores—even the lowest-level ones—from what he’d heard went for at least one gold coin. That was crazy. And if it was supplying all this confetti... He looked up, watching the rain of yellow and red; this was beyond lavish.
How can they spend so much on a simple festival that they do every year?
“Well, it is the Phoenix company we are talking about,” Jodie said. “They probably have tons of cores just lying around.”
Hector nodded, crossing his arms as he looked around, waiting for Lincoln to arrive. Jodie was right. A high-class mercenary company like that probably hunted beasts daily. They were sure to have a bunch lying around. But still.
“They most likely have a lot; that is true,” Emela said, moving over to the shelves in front of the stall. She began browsing the talismans, looking quite impressed with what she was seeing. “But the Hilda festival means a lot to them; after all, Hilda Vailmont was the leader of the third company.”
“Huh?” Jodie’s jaw dropped as she looked from Emela to the crowd. “She was a real person? I thought it was just a story our parents told us to make sure that we were good.”
Nyx whispered something in Emela’s ear—and as expected—Emela coughed and modified her answer. “Oh, at least that’s what I’ve heard.”
Hector didn’t know what she told her when she did that. Perhaps she was telling her it was just hearsay; after all, Emela had said it with a lot of confidence. But Hector had gotten used to the pair’s antics by now.
The four of them continued to chat—Nyx offered a grunt or two now and then. Finally, Lincoln appeared. His clothes were a mess, and he kept looking over his shoulder. There was a subtle panic in his eyes.
2024-12-04 12:18:20 +0000 UTC
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Emela’s gaze rested on Nyx, her heart swelling with pain. It was wrong. Why should Nyx have to die for her decisions? It was so... wrong. Emela looked back to the city, holding back the tears that threatened to seep out.
“It’s just an idea, anyway. It’s not like I’m planning to do anything soon,” Emela said, raising her hand and pulling at the ends of one of her ponytails that rested on her chest. Knotted. She’d need to have Nyx redo them tomorrow; for now, they needed to go.
“That is true,” Nyx said, moving behind her. She grabbed Emela’s other ponytail and began undoing it. “You do have more pressing concerns at the moment.”
“You mean Hector’s operation?”
“Are you actually going to pickpocket those people?” Nyx asked. Emela thought she heard a faint accusation in the maid’s voice.
I don’t doubt I would lose some respect in her eyes if I actually went through with it. Oh Nyx, do you really think so low of me?
“No. I plan to just use some of my savings and claim that I stole it. We have different areas to work in any way, so they shouldn’t ask too many questions.”
“Would you like me to count it out?” Nyx asked.
Emela opened her mouth to speak, but paused. She could do it herself, but she didn’t know what was a good amount to bring. The last thing she needed was to come back with more money than anyone would rightfully have at a festival in the slums. No, that would bring too many questions—questions she didn’t want to answer.
“Yes, you can count them out,” she said, pulling out the last of her braid, letting it fall to the side in a blonde waterfall of hair. “I want it to look like we were effective, but not too much.”
“It will be done, Mistress.”
---
Red and yellow confetti fell from the sky.
Hector watched the lively flakes dazzle through the air, their beauty enhanced further in the bright morning sun. They had picked the perfect day for the festival. The weather was calm, with little to no wind, and the humidity was low—it was great.
The sound of various instruments beat through the air, colouring the noise of people with the soft undertone of rhythm. Hector crossed his arms as he watched the people enjoy the festival, showered in the flitters of red and yellow. People laughed and played and cheered and sang, going about their days with bright smiles.
Marcus—now much calmer than a few days ago—crouched behind him. He was looking at the lowest shelf of the stall—his father’s stall. Mr. Pennybrook had asked him to make sure that the displays were set up nicely. Which made zero sense. Hector had no doubt that the man had looked over them himself before even asking Marcus to do the same.
“They look good,” Marcus said, adjusting one of the talismans, named Slow Worm—apparently using mana to create worms that turned over dirt was a valuable skill. The thing sold for two silver coins.
If I sold at least ten of those, I could feed Mirae and Dad for at least three months.
But he would make more than that; he had to. He didn’t know how much money his father owed the collar gang—the man still wouldn’t even tell him what he owed them for—but he would get as much as he possibly could.
And his new talents would hopefully help with that. “I’m going to check on Mirae,” Hector said, walking away from Marcus, moving through the stall—which was more like a full-on shop than anything resembling a stall. He stepped through the door, and stopped, looking back, “Are you going to be alright with the rest?”
“Yeah, I should be. I’m going to give it a quick look,” Marcus paused, biting his thumbnail. “From top to bottom, then I should be in. Oh, and tell Delworth to bring me the list; I think one of these talismans should be inside the stall.”
“Will do,” Hector said, tapping the stall’s doorframe and flashing Marcus a smile. It was much better to see his friend like this. Focused. Determined. Driven. It was that Marcus that had actually shown Hector that there was more to this world than struggling with your fists—though having a lot of strength certainly made things easier.
Smiling, he walked further into the stall. It was cramped and shaded in a yellow hue from the lanterns hooked into various corners. Hector summoned his system screen and looked over his two new Talents.
————————————————
///: Spark Capacitor: Once every 6 hours, the user may activate this Talent. Once active, the user’s legs are charged with energy, allowing them to move faster when running.
————————————————
///: Resonant Shout: Once every 12 hours, the user may unleash a focused shout at a single enemy within range. If the target cannot resist the shout, they are brought to their knees.
————————————————
He had grown these talents last night—it hadn’t taken him too long, and he even got in a good night’s sleep. He even put on another three talents to grow. The decision wasn’t too hard; two of them were just repeats of the smelling skill and the light ball, and the last was... disappointing. When would he ever need to hold his breath underwater? He hadn’t ever left the city and seen the great lake beyond the wall and probably wouldn’t for the foreseeable future. .
But these skills were different. Hector ducked under a lantern that hung from the stall-slash-shop canopied roof. With these two skills, if anything went wrong—touch wood—he would be able to flee with some ease. Though the cooldown was annoying. He’d have to choose wisely when he’d use them.
As he moved further through the store, he spotted Delworth. Dressed much more formally than he was a few days prior, he wore a simple white shirt overlaid with a black blazer and a pair of black trousers. On his feet were a pair of fine leather sandals—they made the ones Hector had on look like trash found in the dump, which would have been true. He didn’t have money to burn, after all.
“Delworth,” Hector called to the boy. He looked up from the talisman he had in his hand and smiled.
“How can I help you?” Delworth said, placing the talisman back on the shelf and walking towards him. “Is everything alright outside?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Marcus just asked me to get you. He wants you to bring him the list of talismans.”
“Oh,” Delworth frowned. “Is there something wrong with one of them? I told Uncle that the beast blood he got was bad. I should get out there.” He turned and raced deeper into the stall before coming back with a list. He brushed past Hector and headed for the door.
“Hold on. Where is Mirae?” Hector called. He had come to the stall with his sister earlier on in the day—she claimed that even though they were doing something wrong, it was still good to get a head start.
“She’s in the back with uncle. She is setting everything up,” Delworth called.
Hector shrugged and headed deeper into the cramped—yet organized—stall, taking in the different array of talismans all over the place. It was incredible. Even more so was the fact that this stall was only set up for the Hilda festival. Marcus’s father actually had a store at the edge of the slums.
It was a wonder that with all that money, he’d never once considered having Marcus cultivate. But then again, he was a businessman—besides, Marcus didn’t exactly have the temperament of a fighter. That much was clear, especially with what happened the other day.
Hector passed by the stall’s cash desk and stepped into its back room, dimly lit by lantern light, which jerked shadows all over the fabric walls of the stall. There, he found Mirae standing over a desk with Mr. Pennybrook beside her, showing her some talismans.
“This one here is called a stone skin talisman,” he said. “It is perfect for those who wish to forgo a shield and charge recklessly into battle.” The man, dressed in a smart shirt and tight-fitting blazer, with a pair of black trousers and shiny black shoes, smiled as he showed her his wares.
And for her part, Mirae looked interested; her white eyebrows were raised in delight as her purple eyes focused in on everything that he was showing her. Dressed in crushed brown shorts and a tattered white shirt, she was quite the contrast to Mr Pennybrook—though there wasn’t anyone from the slums that he wouldn’t contrast with.
“Everything alright?” Hector said, stepping down into the room.
Mirae turned, her face lighting up into a bright smile. She walked towards him, her waterfall of blonde hair bobbing as she went. “Yes, it’s great! Mr. Pennybrook was just showing me his work.”
“I saw that,” Hector said, nodding to the man before looking back at his sister. “And what did you think of the talismans?”
“They are incredible. I mean, I just recently became a Mana Cultivator so I can’t fully appreciate it yet, but it’s very impressive. I especially like the silent step one; it allows its user to cover the sound of their footsteps, allowing them to sneak around.”
“Why do you like that one?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Mirae didn’t really have any reasons to be stealthy—no reason he knew about, anyway. As far as he was aware, she spent most of her time in the garden growing plants.
She chuckled shyly and looked at the ground. “Well, you see, there is a bird that comes to the garden every now and then, and I’d like to get closer to it. But every time I try, it always ends up flying away.”
Bird watching. His sister wanted to use a high-end product so she could sneak up on a little bird. Hector would have laughed if she didn’t look so cute. “Well, I’m sure one day you will get to see the bird up close, especially as your level of cultivation increases.”
“I’m sure she will,” Mr. Pennybrook said, walking over. “How is everything going out there, young lad? Has Marcus finished the checks?”
“Yeah, when I left, he was just finishing up, though he did say that there may be something wrong with the placements of one of the talismans.”
The older man chuckled, and a look of satisfaction came to his eye. “So, he noticed, did he? Looks like he’s on track to pass all my tests today. That boy is going places, let me tell you.”
“Tests?” Hector asked, turning to his sister in confusion. “What do you mean?”
The man shook his head and walked back over to the table. He began taking talismans off the desk that he and Mirae were standing over a minute ago. “It’s just some preparations I’m putting the boy through; he is my son and heir, after all.”
“Huh...”
“Hector!” a voice—unmistakably Jodie—called. “Are you hiding back there?”
“Big sister Jodie is here!” Mirae chirped, racing past Hector and out of the room.
“Ah, young Miss Meldish is here. What a treat,” Mr. Pennybrook said as he placed the remaining few talismans into a chest. “You go on ahead; I shall finish up in here.”
Hector nodded, turned, and walked up the steps, leaving the room. With Jodie here, that left Emela, Nyx, and Lincoln. The boy had said he would be late—he didn’t say why, but it no doubt had something to do with his mother. But Hector had a hunch he would arrive before Nyx and Emela.
Alright, I should go meet these two before Jodie can put any more strange ideas into Mirae’s head.
2024-12-03 12:00:12 +0000 UTC
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Emela reached for the crystal door handle and pulled. The door opened, gliding smoothly past as she stepped by, tightening her towel with one hand. She stepped into her room, feeling the soft carpet embrace her feet.
By her bed, Nyx stood, leaning over as she laid out Emela’s clothes for the night. A loose white nightgown and white undergarments—the usual for this time of year. Noticing her arrival, the maid looked up and smiled. “Are you feeling better, Mistress?” she asked, turning to face her.
Raising a hand, Emela rubbed her forehead, feeling the dull pang of pain from her bruise. She nodded, her gaze passing over Nyx, moving to the girl’s side. The wound from yesterday was no doubt still there, covered by her uniform, but her friend did well to mask her pain.
“I’m doing well. Nothing a bath couldn’t fix,” Emela said, making her way across the carpet and to her bed. The moonlight filtered across the room, dappling her sheets with light as it passed through the clouds. Emela turned her head, looking out of the large glass window—very much the centrepiece of her room. “I can’t believe it. She actually had us fight a beast for a punishment.”
Nyx raised an eyebrow and gave a small nod. “It was much more than the both of us could handle, but I believe that was the point, Mistress.” Nyx bent back over and smoothed out a crease she’d found in the nightgown. “It was meant to be impossible.”
Emela loosened her towel regarding Nyx as it dropped to the soft carpet. “And what does an impossible situation even teach me? Teach us?” she said, reaching forward and plucking her undergarments from the bed.
Nyx brought a finger to her lips and looked out of the window, moonlight dancing across her cheeks. “I don’t know, but knowing the Lady, she was hoping we would fight to the end.”
I don’t doubt that in the slightest; she probably enjoyed watching us struggle.
Emela pulled the undergarments over her head, smiling as the sweet smell of roses hit her—Nyx had picked a good perfume today. She felt a tug on her shirt as Nyx moved to assist her. The maid helped slide it on, making sure not to be too rough.
Emela popped her head out of her undergarments, puffing her hair out of her face. “We did fight to the end though—well, I at least tried to. But all it taught me was not to fight giant fish underwater.”
Nyx, kneeling on the carpet, straightened out the frills on Emela’s undergarments before looking up. Her blue eyes were as calm as ever. “That is true, but you at least got some inspiration. What you did with the Ice disk at the end was quite smart. Much better than using it to avoid sewage.”
Emela grunted as Nyx moved over to the bed and carefully scooped up the nightgown. “It was a bit of a lucky shot,” Emela said. “But I’m glad it worked. If I had been stronger, I could have done more. Drion would have never been in that position.”
“You give him too much credit.”
“Maybe,” Emela said, raising her arms. Nyx positioned the nightgown over her and then slid it down. The smooth silk caressed Emela’s skin, sending a tingle running down her spine. “Either way, that didn’t go to plan at all—not that there really was one.”
Nyx patted down her nightgown. She then took a step back and regarded Emela—she loved looking over her work to make sure everything was as it should be. “No, there wasn’t a plan, yet we still did a good job.”
“I hope so.” Emela stepped away from her bed, making her way over to her window—to the soft-furred seat beneath it. She looked out the window as she climbed onto the chair and got comfortable. Nyx trailed behind, coming to a stop at the window seat’s edge. She wouldn’t be sitting.
“I never thought that I would step foot in those slums,” Emela said, looking out at the distant cityscape. Various pristine buildings lined the view, with the large and imposing Great House mansions being noticeable even from where she sat—after all, the Great Families wanted to be as far apart from each other as they possibly could.
The slums, in comparison, were a distant haze out in the darkness. Torch lights looked like stars dotted amongst the night sky. It would be beautiful if she didn’t already know what the slums were like—the stink of it all, and the suffering.
But still. It has a certain charm that I can’t quite ignore. The freedom of responsibility the people have there. With enough strength, you can do whatever you want. Not like here.
“Do you think we could live there?” Emela said, turning her head to Nyx. “Do you think that we could survive there if we left the family?”
“You wish to run away?”
Shaking her head, Emela let out a sigh and looked down. A moment later, she looked back, right into Nyx’s eyes. “And if I were looking to run away to the slums, do you think I could... Do you think we could survive there?”
“It’s hard to say,” Nyx’s shoulders slackened, but her face remained the picture of calm—it was as if they weren’t talking about upending her entire life. “I think if we did go, it would be hard. Do you know what they eat in the slums? Do you know how they sleep? I do, and it’s nothing like this.”
“You don’t think I could handle it?” Emela asked. She raised an eyebrow and reclined into the seat’s fur. “I think I could. It wouldn’t be easy, but I could carve out a life for myself. My strength actually amounts to something down there.”
“You misunderstand me, Mistress.” Nyx looked away, her eye briefly catching the moonlight in a twinkle of blue. “Life would be different down there. Things that you take for granted up here would be gone down there. Forget a life of luxury—every day would be a struggle.”
“Our friends can do it. You once lived there yourself,” Emela said.
“I did. But that was a long time ago. I was an orphan back then. If I hadn’t been taken in by...” Nyx trailed off. “You are right, though. Your strength in the slums is quite significant. If you discount the larger groups.”
Esmerelda’s death still haunts her, even after all these years.
Emela turned her head, looking back out at Middlec, and sighed. She eyed the distant light of the slum as she thought about the possibilities. “With my strength, I could form my own group. I’m sure our friends would be willing to join us. We could carve out a chunk of the slum for ourselves. Think of it. From Frostkeep to Frostqueen.”
Nyx coughed.
“It’s a working title,” Emela said, scratching her reddening cheeks. “But my point still stands. I could actually be valued down there, instead of being used as a bargaining tool, sold off to a lesser house like some slave.”
“That is true. You would be valued, and who knows? We wouldn’t have to stay in the slums.” Nyx shifted on her feet, her maid uniform shuffling as she readjusted herself. “You could perhaps join a mercenary group, venture outside Middlec and see the wilds.”
“Hmmm... I guess I could do that. But that would just put me under someone else’s rules. No, I would have to just start my own mercenary group. That way, I would be in control.”
“Build a group, take on quests and do more than you thought possible within these walls,” Nyx said. “That sounds great. And I would support you through all of it. But I fear that you are underestimating your family, Mistress.”
“I know,” Emela said, thinking back to the time in the grand hall when her father had announced she would be marrying that pig, Ulric. It was clear her family would abandon her if she didn’t agree—in many ways, they already had. But abandoning and fleeing were two separate things.
Were she to flee the family, she would immediately put herself at risk, as well as anyone that helped her. No, it was a nice idea, but if she were to flee her family, it would have to be a last resort.
“Furthermore, Mistress,” Nyx said, “it’s easy to idealize this. But what do you think the average day for you would be like in the slum? How would you get yourself off the ground?”
Emela shifted, looking down at her hands resting on her leg. The silk of her nightgown fluttered gently as it was caught by a breeze. What would her day-to-day be like? Perhaps she could do what she always did—it was already normal to meet Hector by the fountain. And he worked at the city’s dumping grounds, so she could do the same for a short time.
“You could never be who you are now, Mistress. You would have to be someone else. Let’s not forget that the slum dwellers don’t exactly like nobles either.”
Bringing her hand to her chest, Emela’s finger glided across her collarbone as the cold night air tickled her cheek. The slum dwellers didn’t like nobles—in all honesty, it was more apt to say they hated them. And not without reason. Emela wasn’t blind to what the nobles had done to those below them—the Nightcroft Incident was a good example. But still.
In the slums, Emela felt a freedom she’d never felt. It was as if for the first time in her life she was her true self. Her mind went back. Back to when she’d first stumbled onto Hector in the city dump. She wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. But he’d seemed so different, so interesting.
So, even though she should have been looking for something, something she had stupidly thrown out, she became distracted. With a slum dweller, no less. “I know, Nyx. I would have to tell him. I’d have to tell all of them.”
“And I don’t think they would take it too well, do you?” Nyx asked.
Emela raised a hand, placing it on the cool glass of the window. She’d have to tell them eventually, so what difference did it make? “You know, the only people that would really care would probably be Jodie and Hector. Lincoln and Marcus don’t strike me as the type to seem too bothered. Especially Marcus.”
“That may be true, but still.” Nyx combed her fingers through her black hair as the moonlight reflected off her cheek. Turning to Emela, she smiled. “Besides, if we were to leave, who would look after Claymore?” Nyx said, resting her gaze on her.
Emela sighed as Nyx continued. “Your younger brother is the only one of your siblings that’s shown some promise of actually being normal. Could you leave him to be warped by the others?”
“Claymore,” Emela said, her voice barely a whisper. What would he do without her? He was still so young, so impressionable. He was a bright child; his spirit root hadn’t developed yet, but Emela had no doubt that he would be impressive. Her ninth brother was the only one she actually cared for, aside from her mother—even though the woman strived to make that difficult.
“In all honesty, Mistress, if you do run, it would be difficult, and I think the family would hunt you down. But I do feel we would be able to trust our friends.”
“And if they catch us?” Emela said, locking eyes with Nyx. “What then, what will you do?”
“If they catch us, Mistress, then I will die knowing I served you well.”
2024-12-02 20:12:32 +0000 UTC
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A grunt escaped the boy’s mouth as he sailed forward, slamming into the ground and rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. The chatter of the crowd paused, all falling silent as they took in what happened.
Hector watched as the boy groaned and climbed to his feet, cursing. The boy had taken the hit surprisingly well—though he was a Mana Cultivator, so that was to be expected.
“Who do you think you are?” the boy said, raising a veiny finger and jabbing it at Hector. “Do you know who you’ve just attacked, who you’ve just insulted?”
“No, not really,” Hector said. “And I don’t care. You messed with someone, and now I’m messing with you.”
The boy’s eyes went wide, seething with rage. It was as if he were a noble and Hector had insulted his house—though, if he were the kind of Farmhand Hector assumed he was, then it probably felt like that to him.
“Glimleck!” the boy screeched, whipping his hand to the side. “Beat this piece of slum trash into the cobblestone.”
Across from Hector, a plain-faced Farmhand nodded. He then turned toward Hector. “Your sneak attack worked once. I hope you enjoyed that.” The boy charged and slammed his fist forward.
Hector took a step back, raising his arm and blocking the blow with his elbow. He felt the crunch of the boy’s knucklebone amidst the gasp of the crowd. On instinct, Hector turned his head, finding the pompous fool—now off the cobblestone—with his fist driving through the air. It slammed into Hector’s cheek, dropping him to his knee.
And they judged me for launching a sneak attack, though I guess I can’t complain. I started it.
A shadow passed over Hector, and he glanced up, spotting Lincoln. The boy’s fist rammed into the side of the pompous boy’s face. Lincoln then swivelled and bore a kick from the third Farmhand, who then shot forward, swinging wildly as Lincoln casually dodged to the side.
It was poor technique on the Farmhand’s part, though it made sense. One, they weren’t trained in a dojo, and two, they were Farmhands—from what Hector had heard—they didn’t gain their techniques till much later ranks. So why were these guys in the Gravity Forging realm in the first place?
Shaking off the thoughts, Hector launched off the ground, barreling at the pompous boy with another Orion Leaping Strike. He seemed to be the leader, so it was perhaps best to take him out first. But Hector missed as the boy stepped out of the way. Not faltering, he raised his hands, following the Orion fist technique, and began raining a flurry of blows onto the boy’s chest. Each blow landing with resounding thuds.
A grunt came from behind him. But before he could turn, Lincoln was popping up from between his still-swinging arms. Shooting straight up, like a jack-in-the-box. Lincoln ploughed his fist straight into the pompous boy’s chin, delivering an uppercut. The blow snapped the boy’s head back as his feet briefly left the ground, and he was sent falling flat onto the cobblestone, knocked out cold.
One of the other Farmhands circled to the front, blocking the boy on the floor. His friend rushed in a few seconds later and scooped the unconscious boy up amidst the jeering of the crowd. They rushed back, forcing their way through the crowd as Hector watched on, with Lincoln at his side.
“I had him,” Hector said. “You didn’t need to get involved.”
Lincoln chuckled, slapping Hector on the back and shaking his head. “I’m sure you did. But we all need a little help sometimes. How is your cheek?”
Hector raised a hand, bringing it to his cheek and rubbing it. It hummed with a low pain. Pain that he’d grown used to. It wasn’t much. He’d had worse. “I’ll be alright.” Hector then looked over at the boy Marcus had called Delworth.
He was a thin boy—much like many in the slums. Delworth no doubt struggled to get a good meal. He wore a thin black lace-up shirt and a pair of brown leather trousers. On his feet were sandals that looked marginally better than Hector’s—though not by much.
Marcus rushed over, dropping to one knee and steadying himself with one hand on the damp cobblestone while the other rested on his cousin’s shoulder. “What did they want this time?”
This time? So it wasn’t just a one-off. I hope we didn’t just make things worse for him.
The crowd began to clear out—with no show to occupy their mundane lives; they had to get back to them. Hector made his way over to Marcus and his cousin, Lincoln, trailing behind him and glancing around at the crowd.
“Are you okay?” Hector asked. “Can you stand?” His arm most definitely looked screwed up—unless Marcus’s cousin was weirdly double-jointed, he’d need to get that seen. Though luckily they knew someone. Hector glanced at Lincoln, who gave him a knowing nod.
Misses Clearwater should give him a discount, if she doesn’t do it for free. Even I feel sorry for him.
The boy looked pathetic. His hair was a mess, dirt and specks of blood splotched its fringes and his clothes were torn in places. The boy smiled at Hector. It was weak and filled with undisguised pain. “I think so. It’s just my arm. My legs should be fine. Are you two friends of Marcus?”
Hector raised an eyebrow at the boy’s manner of speech. He’d thought the Farmhand was just being rude earlier, but maybe he was a bit... Though, perhaps it was just the shock of it all. Hector reached an arm out for the boy to grab as the crowd began to flow by once again. He’d have to try his Talent again once the cooldown was done.
Delworth, gripping Hector’s outstretched hand with his good arm, clambered to his feet aided by Marcus, who slung an arm around him to assist as a stifled cry of pain seeped through Delworth’s lips.
The boy took several deep breaths before patting Marcus’s back, signalling for some space.
Marcus let go, stepping back as Delworth let out a low sigh and smiled. “I’m sorry you had to save me. I’m Delworth. Marcus’s cousin.”
Hector nodded.
“I hope you aren’t too annoyed.” He glanced at Marcus, the two of them sharing a look. “I was meant to meet you by the Mask stall. Old Digby knows me. I didn’t wish to be late. Things got out of hand.”
“No need to apologize,” Lincoln said. “How were you meant to know that those Farmhands would do that? Have they been giving you trouble in the past?”
Delworth paused and frowned, looking to the cobblestone, then looked back up. “I should have known. Forget about it. We should get your masks?”
Lincoln’s mouth parted, but whatever he was going to say, he held it back. He instead looked at Marcus, which was probably for the best. As much as they were all friends, Hector understood that it was up to Marcus and his family if they wanted to talk about it—but if he could help, or Marcus was in need of it, Hector wouldn’t hesitate.
I may not keep to my father’s teachings all the time, but I can still do what is right.
Marcus, for his part, looked nervously from his cousin to Hector, fidgeting. If he wanted to say something, it wouldn’t be coming anytime soon. Eventually, after a few awkward moments of silence, Hector decided that it would have to be on the back burner for a while.
“Let’s go get the masks then,” Hector said, turning and walking toward the stall. The other three followed behind. But after a moment, Lincoln fell into step next to him.
“This probably isn’t a good time,” Lincoln’s voice dropped to a whisper, “but do you think this Old Digby guy will give us an even bigger discount now, seeing as...” He gestured behind them with his eyebrows.
“Yeah, Lincoln,” Hector said. “It’s probably not a good time to be asking that.”
Lincoln shrugged, seemingly happy to put that line of questioning to rest, which was probably for the best—they had saved the boy. No need to start exploiting him immediately after. Hector loved Lincoln, but sometimes he said the stupidest things.
After a few moments, they were back at the Mask stall. The old man still sat on his chair, his weathered hand resting on the side of his face as he looked on absentmindedly. Bored. Unbothered.
“Hello Old Digby. I have come to buy some masks,” Delworth said, letting out a wince as he smiled at the stall owner.
“Ah, Del boy—What in the great lake happened to you?” Old Digby said, snapping from his seat. “Your arm. It’s all out of place.”
“Yes. But me and my friends have come for masks,” Delworth said. He gestured to Hector and then to Lincoln. “My cousin has told me they have found some. He would like to pick out a few. We can then work out a deal.” Delworth then did—what was most likely a wink, but it came out strained and oddly clumsy, like it was his first time trying to do it.
“Uh...” The stall owner looked between Hector and Delworth, then from Delworth to Marcus. “Well, alright then, I’m sure we can work something out. But then you have to head straight to a healer.”
Yep, this guy is definitely not normal. He’s even got the old man more interested in life.
After a few moments of searching, followed by the old man urging them on so Delworth could get checked, they left the stall with six masks in total. Delworth had apparently been informed by Marcus about the operation and was now interested in helping out—apparently, he didn’t have many friends and it sounded fun.
Which was odd enough, but Hector got the feeling that Marcus may not have emphasized how serious this operation was—that or much like his arm, the seriousness of the matter was lost on Delworth. Hector wasn’t doing this for the fun of it. He had a debt to repay.
“So, why were those Farmhands after you anyway?” Hector asked, as they all made their way through the market, heading for the exit. Hector needed to know what he had gotten himself into—that, and Delworth was now involved in something that was meant to be a group secret.
“Well...”
“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Lincoln said, fiddling with his mask. He brushed by someone and almost dropped it, but was quick with the recovery. “Besides, if anything, we will just knock them out again.”
“Stop messing around,” Hector said, glaring at Lincoln. “But he’s right, we’ve got your back.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s bad. Hammond, the leader of the group, has been bothering me,” Delworth said, clutching his side and letting out a wince. “He said I can be useful. He said I could be great. I should follow him. He will show me how to be more than a pig... I didn’t want to go.”
“Not surprised,” Lincoln said. “The guy’s closer to an actual pig himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if he warmed his bed with a few.”
“Lincoln!” Hector snapped.
“Sorry, sorry, continue, Del boy.”
“It’s Delworth. Only Old Digby can call me Del boy,” Delworth said, turning his head to give Lincoln a blank stare. “But I rejected Hammond again today. It made him angry. He did this.” He raised his good arm and gestured to the twisted one.
Spotting the exit a little way down the market, Hector stopped walking. The group did the same. He looked over at Delworth and then turned to Marcus. “We were thinking...” he said, gesturing his hand toward Lincoln, “he could follow us back to the Sirius quarter, to get looked over by Lincoln’s mom.”
Marcus lived on the other edge of the slum, and Hector had never seen Delworth around. So it stood to reason that he didn’t come from the Sirius quarter—but then again, he could have spent all his time at home. He didn’t have any friends, after all.
“That sounds good,” Marcus said. Cocking his head, he turned to Delworth and raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to do that? You can then spend the night at my house if you want to. I’m sure Father would be happy to see you.”
Delworth rubbed his side and raised his hand, dabbing it on his battered lip. “I think that would be good. Uncle has a well-maintained house.”
“To my house then,” Lincoln said. He skipped by, slapping Hector on the back and flashing a cheeky smile.
Hector sighed. They weren’t kids... but he’d be damned if he didn’t pound the fact they needed to grow up into Lincoln. “Get back here, you idiot.”
2024-11-29 18:02:58 +0000 UTC
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Hector frowned. It was a strange coincidence to be sure, or maybe it wasn’t, but at least they wouldn’t be far from the action when it all kicked off.
At the very least, I’ll get to see what kind of trouble my Talent can help me avoid. In a way, it’s almost like a future-telling ability. I wonder how it compares to Mirae’s [Dreams of Time] Talent.
“Well, now that I’ve found you,” Marcus said, bringing his book to his chest—Hector had no doubt he was trying to show it off. The book was likely why he’d come to the market, aside from the masks, that is. “We should get going—if my hunch is correct, this should be a good deal for us.”
“I hope so,” Hector said, jingling the sparse coins he had in his pocket. “I don’t exactly have a lot of money.”
“It’s alright,” Lincoln chimed, raising a hand and resting it on Hector’s shoulder. “My mom’s had quite a few clients lately, so I’ve got a few more coppers on me today.”
Hector raised a brow at Lincoln as he signalled for Marcus to lead the way. He’d been right—something must have happened. After all, business didn’t just pick up for no reason, especially for a healer.
“Any idea where all this extra business is coming from?” Hector asked, following behind Marcus as he made his way through the market. Hector had a hunch that the new Scoda gang he’d seen in the dumps the other day could be involved.
Lincoln took his hand off Hector’s shoulder and brought his finger to his lip, tilting his head with a look of contemplation. “I don’t know, to be honest. I asked my mom, and she said it was something to do with a turf war. But I find that hard to believe. After all, the Collar gang has a large part of the slum under their influence—controlling all of Sirius quarter and a large part of Yolda quarter in the north.”
More like a chokehold. Damn pig bastards.
“Yeah, who knows? Maybe a new gang tried to take over,” Hector said, glancing at a clay pot resting at the bottom of a stall they passed. It reminded him of the one they’d had at home. “I hear that happens a lot more frequently towards the edge of the slums closer to the city walls.”
“Maybe,” Lincoln said, shrugging, “But I can’t—”
“And this is it,” Marcus said, interrupting Lincoln.
Hector paused, regarding the stall for a moment. He’d noticed it on the way over, but it didn’t particularly stand out to him. Its outward appearance was like that of any market stall. The wares—in this case, masks—sat in large rectangular drawers, exposed to the elements, while the store owner sat elevated above them.
The man—clearly well worn by time—had a short scruffy grey beard that connected with his thick sideburns. On his head, he wore a red hat that sagged off to the side, as he rested a weathered hand on the side of his face. He appeared to have grown tired of his day-to-day and was just waiting for his heart to give out.
“What can I do for you children?” he asked, his voice like broken cobblestone.
“You want to get the masks from here?” Lincoln said, looking between Marcus and Hector.
Marcus tilted his head, sliding a hand into his blazer. “Is there something wrong with them? I assure you, we can get a good bulk deal here.”
Lincoln raised a brow and looked at Hector. It seemed like his friend wasn’t too sure about the stall, but Hector couldn’t see why. The store—even with its grumpy owner—was fine. The masks didn’t look too expensive, and Marcus believed he could get a good deal.
Hector moved past Marcus and nodded at the stall owner. He regarded the masks. “They look pretty good to me. As long as we can get a few, it should all be fine.” Hector smiled as he spotted a mask that looked familiar.
It had a similar style to the one he’d seen a wrestler wear on TV, back on Earth. He missed watching TV, the simplicity of it all, just being able to turn your mind off. But now, in many ways, he was wearing a mask.
Sure, he was still the same Hector from this world, but he wasn’t at the same time... There were feelings that he had, experiences he’d lived, that no one could ever relate to—unless he wasn’t the only transmigrator from Earth. But he didn’t know the chance of that.
All he could do right now was treat that part of him as little more than a dream. “I like this one,” he said, pointing to the one that reminded him of the wrestler from Earth.
The old man perked up, scratching his grey beard and letting out a slight yawn. He rubbed a tear from his eye as he leaned forward, looking to where Hector had pointed. “Ah, the Mysterious Ray pattern, that’s a good one. I believe my grandson painted it some years ago now.”
I wonder why he went with that design?
The stall owner glanced at Lincoln and Marcus and raised an eyebrow. “Are you two children buying anything, or is it just your friend here?”
“Umm...” Lincoln stammered as he stepped forward, his eyes looking from mask to mask. “I-I did need one, umm...”
The stall owner paused and brought his hand to his chin, rubbing at his beard as his beady eyes scrutinized Lincoln. “Don’t I know you from somewhere, child?”
“No, I don’t believe so,” Lincoln said, lowering his head. It struck Hector as odd that he would do that. After all, Lincoln didn’t have much to hide, and he stayed out of trouble—for the most part, anyway.
Hector turned toward Marcus, who stood off to the side with his book clutched to his chest. He was looking around like a child who had lost his mother. Hector spared a glance at Lincoln as he walked over—they could talk about what had him so spooked later.
“What’s wrong, Marcus? Who are you looking for?” Hector asked, glancing around the market. From the looks of things, the crowd that his Talent had picked up earlier was starting to grow.
Even from where he stood, what sounded like shouting could be heard over the general chatter of the market. What was going on? It couldn’t be anything too big. Perhaps an impromptu street performance—those did happen from time to time when a street performer was feeling particularly creative.
“Oh, no one,” Marcus said, turning back to the stall. “Have you picked a mask yet? Oh, don’t forget to pick ones for the girls as well.”
Hector raised an eyebrow but turned back to the stall. A low groan escaped his mouth as he thought about what mask to pick out for the girls. What would they even like? There wasn’t exactly one that looked overly girly, and he had a suspicion that Nyx wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to receive something that was pink—the girl seemed to love black.
You know what? I’ll get one for Mirae and Jodie. Those two are easy enough. And leave the other two to these guys.
Hector made to walk back to the drawers, but paused, turning back to Marcus. “Why were you so confident you could get us a good deal, anyway? Do you know this old man?” he said, thumbing behind him.
Marcus’ shoulders sagged as he looked down at his book and went quiet. This lasted for a few moments, but eventually, he spoke, his eyes watery. “Well, I had—”
A scream pierced the air, ringing out like a bell, stunning Hector. His head snapped to the crowd that had gathered, now at the density that his Talent had predicted. On one hand, he was glad—the Talent had worked, and the gathered crowd had nothing to do with them. But on the other, whatever was going on seemed bad.
Hector turned back to Lincoln, who held a mask in his hand, trying his best to avoid eye contact with the stall owner. The man kept stroking his beard, looking at Lincoln before going back off into a daydream. Whatever was going on between those two, it was starting to get a bit awkward.
“I’m going to go look at what’s going on,” Hector said. “Do you want—”
“Lead the way,” Lincoln snapped, resting the mask back down into the drawer and hurrying over like someone had thrown him a rope. What was going on with these two? They were all over the place.
I’ll need to sit and have a chat with them later. We can’t have this on the day of the operation, or we might be in some trouble.
Hector made his way past Marcus, signalling for the boy to follow as Lincoln trailed behind. For now, he needed to see what was going on in that crowd—his Talent just let him know that the crowd would gather but nothing else.
Hector pushed into the crowd, moving into the body-odor-choked cluster of people. A few of the people pushed against him, but their efforts amounted to little. He was a Mana Cultivator—the average person wouldn’t get too far in a contest of strength.
After a few moments and bruising a few amongst the crowd’s ribs, Hector made it to the front of the crowd, with Lincoln and Marcus just behind him. There, he found a group of four boys. One lay on the damp cobblestone while three others stood over him with smug grins.
The three appeared to be Farmhands, Middlecians who worked on the farms at the edge of the city, right up against the walls. They were a well-respected group, for the most part—due to their affiliation with the Glademoors, one of the three Great Families. But there were those who felt their status as Farmhands put them above the average slum dweller.
“I told you before, you pig. Is your brain made of grim-grain, or are you just slow? If I say you are to follow me, you will do so.”
The one who spoke was a boy dressed in dark green robes, accented with black stripes and gold trimming—customary for a Farmhand. Pinned onto his breast was a small badge in the shape of a pitchfork. The other two beside him were dressed in the same way, all of them sneering as they looked at the boy on the floor.
————————————————
///: No talent found...x4
————————————————
Well, it couldn’t hurt to look. But seriously, what’s his problem? Even for a Farmhand, this is going a bit too far.
“Hector,” Lincoln said, his voice barely a whisper, “they’re Mana Cultivators.”
Hector’s thoughts slowed, and he began regarding the Farmhands more closely. It was subtle, but Mana Cultivators had movements that could give them away, though it was easier for other Mana Cultivators, with their enhanced sense, to pick them up.
“Well, that’s not right,” Hector said, looking back at Lincoln, who seemed just as confused. Farmhands were usually mortal for the most part. Those who cultivated would usually be of a higher rank. After all, the higher rank you were, the more contact you had with the Great House and their resources.
A low-ranked farmhand wouldn’t waste their time cultivating if they could spend more time working the farm, climb the ranks, and thus surpass the growth of an average slum dweller with the high-end resources they would receive.
“Delworth,” Marcus said with a whimper. Hector turned to find his friend covering his mouth with a hand, staring wide-eyed at the boy, who lay with his arm twisted out of place on the cobblestone.
“Do you know him?” Hector asked, narrowing his eyes at the three farmhands.
“Yes. He’s my cousin.”
That was all Hector needed to hear. With a grunt, he kicked off the cobblestone, the wind whipping by as he surged towards the three Farmhands. He leapt off the ground, raising a knee as he sailed through the air, before slamming it into the lead farmhand’s back.
2024-11-29 17:58:06 +0000 UTC
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Hector raised the Talent up, taking in its form as the white light shimmered off its surface. [Street Reader]. The Talent wasn’t good for cultivation, but it was more than useful for information gathering and setting up key points of interest. A smile came to his lips.
With this Talent, he’d have a way to ensure that he and his friends got out of this operation okay. The Talent would also allow him to gain more coin pouches than he would have gotten without it.
This is actually a game-changer.
“System,” he said, gazing past the pedestals and into the endless void of the Talent Garden. “I would like to merge this Talent into my soulscape.”
“Your request has been acknowledged. You may begin the transfer.”
Hector raised his arm up, the seed resting in his palm, his mind calming as the words surfaced. “Bind [Street Reader] to my soul.” A moment of silence passed, but was then followed by a low thrum, like a distant explosion. Seconds later, a ring of light circled the area, closing the distance in seconds. It snapped by, passing through Hector as if he wasn’t even there and slamming into the Talent.
The orb shook, humming with power before exploding from his hand and arcing through the air. It raced into the distant horizon like a shooting star, winking out of existence moments later. Hector sighed, focusing back on the two pedestals and the plant pots that sat atop them. These would birth new talents—new hopes, so to speak. In a way, he was happy that the two of them were duds.
He stepped back, creating some distance between himself and the pedestals, water sloshing at his feet. He rested a hand on his hip and looked on absentmindedly at the pedestal's white marble. Maybe he had been wrong—well, he certainly hadn’t been right.
Sighing, he lamented the fact that he almost wasted a skill that could prove crucial in the upcoming pickpocketing operation. Was he too focused on cultivation? Perhaps. But then again, in the face of true strength, Talents wouldn’t be worth much—at least not the ones he had now.
He grunted, lowering himself back onto the ground amidst the splashing of water as he got into the lotus position, breathing slowly. In the end, all that really mattered was that he’d seen the light. Hector had his weaknesses, and in situations where Talents could make up for a difference in strength by coming at things from a different angle, he would be a fool to ignore them.
Well, let’s see what else I can gain from this Talent Garden.
He paused. Hector had been in here for a while and had no doubt that the night had mostly gone by. If Mirae walked into his room, she would throw a tantrum—if not a pillow as well. Any other time, he would not have minded, but this was important.
Hector frowned, nibbling on his bottom lip as he looked off into the void. The safety of his family and the success of the mission were more important. He’d have to bear with a pillow to the face for now. Gaining cultivation Talents—no, gaining versatile Talents was more important.
Though he knew he couldn’t do this forever. At some point, he’d have to continue cultivating. He was still [Gravity Forging-1] and had some ways to go before he could catch up to the others. But what should he focus on? If he spent all his time gathering Talents, eventually he’d be left behind.
But if he didn’t do it... He paused, slapping his forehead and sighing. All he needed to do was plant the seeds. He didn’t have to sit here and babysit them—well, aside from giving them water every 8 hours. No, he could do both—he would do both.
I guess I’ll do these ones, then do some cultivating.
***
The sun beat down on the cobblestone.
Hector watched the people hustle and bustle around the market, moving from one stall to the next, haggling and laughing. He wanted to be like them. Unburdened. But he didn’t have the luxury. The money he did have came from his father—only to be used to buy supplies for the house.
These people wouldn’t understand, dressed in well-kept shirts and trousers that didn’t have one hole in them. They may not have been noble, but they lived a far sight better than him. He glanced down, noting the large hole in his shirt sleeves. Another problem he’d have to fix.
Sighing, Hector craned his neck, his gaze scanning people’s faces as he moved through the Makall market—a place he rarely frequented. Eventually, his eyes widened as he spotted his target. His hand shot into the air as he waved. “Lincoln, Lincoln over here!”
The boy stood, hands in his pockets, looking around, as the light breeze curled through his brown hair. Dressed in his usual brown shirt—by far the cleanest Hector had ever seen it—and a pair of black trousers, Lincoln looked quite out of place for a slum rat.
Business must be going rather well for his mother as of late. Something must have happened recently.
A few moments later, Hector stood in front of him, opening his arms and going in for a hug. Lincoln smiled and leaned in, and the two of them patted each other on the back. “You actually met up with me this time,” Lincoln said.
Hector paused, blanking, as his arms fell to his side.
“Don’t tell me you forgot how you started searching through our trash pile a few days ago. Not even meeting me by the entrance as we had agreed.”
“Oh,” Hector said, bringing his hand up to his cheek and scratching. He chuckled sheepishly, looking around for Marcus, who they’d agreed to meet up with in the market. Hector had suggested meeting in the same place, but the boy claimed to have things to do, but he’d be around—the guy seemed to find it hard to do nothing.
“I haven’t seen him, and I’ve been here for a while?” Lincoln said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “But we are here for masks, so maybe he’s by one of those stalls.”
“Damn,” Hector said. The Hilda festival allowed costumes, and Marcus had had the idea of wearing masks—it was a good idea and would help if they needed to escape. After all, a lot of people would be dressed up. “I guess we will have to have a stroll around the market. But just give me a second.” Hector bent down, reaching for the old worn-down sandals on his feet. Feeling for the [Street Reader] Talent within himself, he grabbed it and mentally tugged.
His brow scrunched as a soft ping echoed in his mind. In moments, his mind’s eye filled with information on crowd movements within the market. A few stalls down from where he and Lincoln stood, the crowd would ease up in a few minutes. Further back, a larger crowd would swell as people seemed to be reacting to something. But the feeling was faint. Whatever it was likely wouldn’t happen for a while—the picture wasn’t clear.
This Talent is proving its worth already. If I was an actual criminal, I could wait for that crowd and fill my pockets. But I’m not—this operation is a one-off. It will never happen again.
“You all good down there?” Lincoln said, leaning over Hector, looking at him with confusion, colouring his features. “Tightening a buckle isn’t that hard. I can get down there and help you myself if you are struggling.”
“No, I’m fine. Just missed the hole a few times is all,” Hector said, getting to his feet. “Come on,” he moved past Lincoln and squeezed back into the crowd, heading for the thinning he’d seen with his Talent. The market, much like any place, had its own natural ebb and flow. He was thankful he could now see it.
He weaved through the crowd, Lincoln shuffling behind. Once they got to the less crowded spot, it would hopefully be a bit easier to spot Marcus—and if he was lucky, find the mask stall they were looking for. Every store was selling a mask or two—they’d be fools to skip out on the profits the Hilda festival could bring, but according to Marcus, this stall sold masks all year round.
Hector hadn’t heard of it before—after all, wasting money was not one of his habits—perhaps in his old world, he could have afforded to, after all, who didn’t love fancy dress? But here, that was a no-go.
People continued to shuffle by. Hector thought back to this morning, lamenting the fact that his dear sister had disturbed him—though it was expected. But it still sucked—he was right on the cusp of harvesting some new talents.
He would have continued, but she reminded him that he’d agreed to meet up with Lincoln and Marcus today to find masks for the festival. It was easy to lose track of things in the Talent Garden, especially when he was making progress for once.
As Hector and Lincoln shuffled through the crowd, stepping on toes and being elbowed by people wrapped up in their own world, the amount of people started to reduce. It was slow at first—having to dodge one less elbow or two, but the next thing Hector knew, he and Lincoln stood alone.
“Well, that was strange,” Lincoln said. “Is it me, or did this place clear up quite a bit? I feel like we were swarmed but a moment ago.”
Hector grunted, glancing down the bustling market where the crowd had grown denser. A smile crept across his lips. The talent had done its job finely—with a bit more practice, he could get this down to a science.
“Hector,” a voice said.
He turned, swivelling on his heels to the source of the voice. There he found Marcus. The boy was dressed in his usual brown suit, hair tied up in a bun, and in his hand, he held a book. Hector couldn’t make out what was on its leather cover, but knowing Marcus, it was some form of poetry—probably some of Dawn Rose’s work.
“We were just looking for you,” Hector said, gesturing at Lincoln as he walked over to Marcus. “Where have you been anyway, and where are the masks you told us about?”
Lincoln nodded at Marcus as he stepped next to Hector. Marcus gave him a curt nod before turning back to Hector. “The shop’s just over there,” he said, pointing a little down the market, towards the direction Hector’s Talent had said the crowd would swell.
2024-11-29 17:54:33 +0000 UTC
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She clawed up, water passing through her fingers as she struggled through the water—it wasn’t good form, but who cared? She couldn’t stay where she was—she would drown. As she moved up, her skin seemed to vibrate.
It was as if a wall of something was moving towards her, pushing water at her. It had to be the beast.
She looked down, and there, approaching through the murky depths, was Brutian. She couldn’t afford to be hit again. The blow would surely knock her unconscious, and she was barely holding on. Her eyes widened as an idea popped into her mind. It was risky—but doing nothing would get her nowhere.
If this worked, that beast would show more caution. She grit her teeth, fighting back the darkness that was slowly creeping into her vision. She had to time this right. If she didn’t—it was going to be difficult to explain to Hector how she got a broken arm.
She moved her arm out in front of her, holding it steady, preparing to let loose her ability. She’d never tried this on anything living before—she’d never needed to. Hunting beasts was not on her training plan as yet.
Finally, the beast was within reach. Energy surged through her body and out of her palm, freezing the water in front of her. The cold raced to it, slamming into the beast’s face.
It recoiled. And a smile came to her face, but it didn’t last long. As the beast turned, moving its head away from her, its body swivelled with it. Smashing into her, its tail sent her sailing up through the water, all the air ejected from her lungs.
The last thing she felt before falling unconscious was the cold rush of air as she broke through the water’s surface.
***
Hector let out a breath, flickering his eyes open as he raised his arms and stretched. He didn’t know how long he’d been meditating—time, as usual, passed like water when one cultivated. But as he looked around the void of his Talent Garden space, his lips quirked into a smile.
On the marble pedestal, inside the brown clay pot, the Talent tree stood tall. It had finished growing. At the top of the plant, three large balls stood, glistening with white light like the seed had before he’d planted it. But these were no seeds.
He placed his hand into the water, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. Walking towards it, a surge of energy bubbled in his chest as he imagined the possibilities of these new Talents. His main hope was for something to do with cultivation.
That was his greatest hope for the system so far—a method to increase the speed at which he cultivated. What he had now was painfully slow. Hector was one of the worst in the dojo—in terms of cultivation speed, anyway. The only saving grace was that he seemed to pick up on techniques surprisingly quickly.
He came to a stop before the three pedestals, letting out a sigh as he raised his hand towards the plant. The golden leaves running along its stem seemed to sway, but he wasn’t sure why—there was no wind in the Talent Garden space. He moved his hand forward, placing it on the middle Talent, and as he did, the whole plant shook.
Flakes of light fluttered off, drifting into the air, slowly at first, but then there were many. Finally, the plant burst into a shower of light flakes, leaving three floating white orbs in front of him.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to how much showmanship seems to go into the system’s actions.
He lowered his hand, gazing at the Talents as their surfaces shimmered white, scrawling with the unknown language. He hadn’t made any headway in figuring out what any of it meant—he hadn’t really had the time. But it was something that could be useful to look into.
He reached forward, his hand stopping just underneath the middle Talent, a breath away from touching it. A smile slid across his lips, reaching all the way to his eyes. He took a moment, gazing at the Talent, slowly taking a deep breath.
His hands shook a little—part of him hated that. But then again, he couldn’t help it—he’d lived two lives, and both were almost absolute failures. These Talents and the ones that came after could be the key to turning all that around. Strength. It was his path to a better life, and he needed it.
He moved his hand up, cupping the Talent orb and pulling it towards him. The orb had a weight to it he hadn’t noticed before—it bore down on his hand in a way he couldn’t quite put into words.
I wonder if that has something to do with the old saying of things weighing on your soul.
His gaze scanned over the Talent, and a moment later a screen opened, words flowing onto it.
————————————————
///: Tracker’s Charm: Once every six hours you can track a particular scent. You can tell how strong it is, allowing you to determine age, as well as the direction the scent you are tracking is going.
————————————————
Raising an eyebrow, he stood back and brought the orb out in front of him. It was kind of disappointing—it was good, but not what he wanted. Tracking people wasn’t something that he needed to do right now, so this Talent had little use.
It did make things easier, though. He read over the text again, trying to come up with a spark of inspiration, some way in which this would help him cultivate. But he kept drawing a blank—he couldn’t smell mana after all. It would have to be replanted in hopes of a better Talent or Talents coming out of it.
It’s a shame, though if I wasn’t in such a hurry for strength, maybe I could find some use for it.
He sighed. The Talent wasn’t even useful in the pickpocketing operation—not in a standard one, anyway. He didn’t need to track a target. If anything, he wanted to get in and out, forgetting they even existed as soon as he was done.
He brought his other hand up, placing it on the other side of the orb. It was time to make a new seed. He brought his attention to the water at his feet, reaching out to it with his mind. The connection was instant, like falling back into a familiar role. Forming fast, the whirlpool whipped at his feet.
The tendrils, snaking through the air, plunged into the Talent and began turning it into a seed once again. He took a breath, smiling as the Talent began to morph. He hadn’t noticed before, but it kind of smelled like wet dirt.
I guess the smell could have been a lot worse. Though, having a smell at all is strange.
The void in which everything usually took place, for the most part, smelled like nothing—not that that really made any sense. It was probably more accurate to say it was the absence of smell. Not that it mattered too much.
Several minutes later, with a slight frown, he stood before the pedestals, a new seed in hand. He raised the Talent seed up and moved it around. It looked exactly the same as the last—not really surprising. But he’d hoped to at least see something that set it apart from the last. Maybe there was—after all, he didn’t exactly have a photographic memory.
He shrugged, taking the seed under one arm as he stepped closer to the middle pedestal. He brought his hand forward, plunging it into the pot, and began to move the dirt as blue cracks of electricity lit the soil. Once the hole was wide enough, he slid the seed in and covered it with soil.
The particles of light floated up from the water’s surface, curling into a ball above his outstretched hands. The ball then once again dripped glowing water onto the soil as it condensed. It was still quite the sight. Moments later, he finished and brought his attention to the next Talent of the two remaining ones.
He reached forward, pulling it out of the air, and examining its surface as another screen with text popped up in front of him.
————————————————
///: Light Token: Every 3 hours you can create a light source that will last for 30 minutes.
————————————————
He frowned. Another skill not even the slightest bit useful for cultivation—not any that he knew of, anyway. If anything, the skill was worse than just using an average torch. At least the torch would last for a few more minutes and could be re-lit quickly in comparison to a three-hour cooldown.
I don’t think this would be useful for anyone. Maybe in an emergency situation where light is needed right away.
His mind drifted to his little sister. Mirae could get into trouble one day, and who knows, maybe the upgrade would be worth it. He shook his head, chiding himself as he gazed at the seed. It was useless, plain and simple.
Besides, Mirae had barely even started cultivating. She didn’t need to begin learning how to make use of a new Talent. It was clear enough she hadn’t fully understood her first one.
I should probably make some time to actually sit down and talk to her about it.
He set the idea aside and went through the motions of burying another seed. At least it would hopefully make another good Talent or three.
Finally, his gaze moved over to the last Talent. It floated above the pedestals. Careless. Unbothered. Not a care in the world. It was kind of enviable in a way. He reached forward and pulled the Talent from the air, feeling its weight settle into his palm, his eyes scanning over it.
————————————————
///: Street Reader: Once every 6 hours you can gain information about a crowd’s movements or a public space. You will be able to know likely congregation points or quiet areas.
————————————————
His head flopped as he resisted the urge to sigh. Again, nothing. Not one of these Talents had the faintest hint of being useful for cultivation. He looked up, gazing into the inky blackness of the void, before bringing his attention back to the Talent.
It would have to be planted. Water sloshed at his feet as he made his way over to the last pedestal. He looked down at the seed for a moment—was it really going to be that hard to get something that could boost his strength? He was weak already. The only thing that even kept him safe was his ability to learn faster than others and make use of his little resources.
It would have been nice if these Talents were at least good for... wait. The Talent said it would give information on crowd movements. That could actually work.
He had never pickpocketed before—the idea hadn’t even crossed his mind. His father would have beaten him black and blue if he’d even got a whiff of the idea. But one thing he at least understood about pickpocketing was that it was about timing. And knowing what a crowd would do, and where to go to find good targets, could help that quite a bit.
2024-11-29 17:50:16 +0000 UTC
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“I want you to keep swimming,” Emela’s mother said, leaning on the post at the front of the boardwalk. “I will not be holding too much back, so if my attack hits you, it will hurt. The goal of this punishment is to keep moving in high-stress environments using any means at your disposal.”
Noelle would know about moving in high-stress environments. Damn worm excrement. I wish my sword had at least grazed her.
“Focus!” her mother snapped, narrowing her eyes. “Get ready. I’m starting now.”
A block of ice—smaller than the one she’d used to launch her and Nyx—shot forward from a post on the boardwalk, moving towards her at a good speed. But she could dodge it—it was not so fast that she couldn’t react.
Her legs kicked out, splashing to the side, dodging the block of ice. It streaked past her, splashing into the water. She noticed another one. Jerking to the side, the block of ice snipped by her.
“Don’t forget,” her mother said, “you need to use any means at your disposal.”
“I’m such an idiot,” Emela said. Her hand reached out, slapping the water’s surface—keeping herself clean wasn’t all her special ability could do. An icy chill rushed from her hand, seeping into the waters.
Icicles snaked through the water, cracking and holding the water in place. In seconds, a disk of ice had formed on the lake’s surface. She grunted, hoisting herself up, rolling onto the disk and scrambling to her feet.
She jerked to the side, an icicle narrowly missing her head—was her mother trying to kill her? From the corner of her eye, she spotted Nyx moving through the water. Calm. Cold. Practised. She moved through the water with barely a ripple—if Emela didn’t know any better, she’d assume Nyx was showing off.
Another ice block barreled towards her—faster than the previous. Hopping to the side, she cursed as her foot slipped, forcing her to her knee. The disk cracked underneath her, its surface crunching and splintering. But it held.
By the Great Lake, this isn’t going to last. I need to do something.
She shivered, watching as another ice block formed from the post of the boardwalk. Her mother could definitely do this for a while. She had more than enough mana to do so. The only saving grace was that she wasn’t within her orbit. Frontal attacks would be the least of her worries then.
She dodged another ice block, taking care to observe the area—it would be a waste of mana to continually enhance herself so she could dodge ice blocks. But perhaps offence could be a suitable solution. She channelled her mana through her body, flowing the moves of Frost Ice Dance—a battle technique still struggled to fully grasp, only being proficient with the most basic moves.
She swivelled on her heel, dodging an ice block. With the momentum, she shot out an arm and crunched it into another block, shattering it. Her eyes went wide as the chunks of ice splintered to the ground—that could have gone horribly wrong if her mother had used more mana to strengthen it.
Alright, now if I can keep this up, I should be able to build a few more platforms and get Nyx some footing.
She caught a glimpse of the girl from the corner of her eye. She continued to move through the water with practised ease, but she would no doubt falter, eventually. Dodging another ice block, Emela pumped mana into her leg, leaping into the air—she just needed one more platform for Nyx and then the girl could hold out a little longer.
“Nyx!” Emela yelled, falling towards the water. Before she hit the surface, she activated her special ability again. The icy chill exploded from the soles of her feet, through her shoes, and rushed onto the water’s surface, freezing it immediately. She slammed onto the newly formed disk with a crunch, swivelling as she dodged another block of ice.
The disk had formed relatively near to Nyx—it was as close as she could get without freezing the poor maid in its path. The speed that Nyx had would more than allow her to make it onto the disk, and as she dodged another ice block, Emela noticed she was doing just that.
“I’ll keep the ice blocks off you,” Emela said, swinging her fist forward and smashing it into an ice block. It exploded into shards, like broken glass, tinkling onto her ice disk and sliding off its side into the cold water. “Just focus on getting yourself up here.”
Nyx ploughed through the water, and in moments was on the disk, sliding to a stop next to Emela as she shattered another ice block.
“You’re doing well,” her mother said, sending another block her way. “But let’s increase the intensity a little—don’t need you getting overconfident after all.”
Emela’s lips tightened at her mother’s words. It was already intense as is. A dull pain would shoot through her hand every time she smashed a block—the ice forming slowly on her knuckles didn’t help that fact.
I just need to hold on. I can do this.
Energy rushed to her feet as she pushed off the disk, sailing through the air—Nyx now had her own platform; Emela didn’t need to share. She landed on her disk, grunting as the ice groaned beneath her weight.
Emela gasped as two blocks of ice shot towards her from two separate posts—Was this how she increased the intensity? Emela lashed out, crunching one to splinters, staggering as the other slammed into her shoulder. She screamed, stumbling back but staying on the ice.
“Keep focused, my child. I will have to punish slip-ups,” her mother said, directing four more ice blocks at her and Nyx.
The onslaught continued for a while. She used Snow Rabbit Step—a movement technique she had used since she started cultivating, and thus the one she was most proficient in having reached adept level—to dodge, while her mother continued to assault them with wave after wave of ice blocks.
Eventually, her mother smiled. Emela heaved, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. Her once neatly tied twin ponytails were now much looser, and her fringe was stuck to her forehead with sweat. Twirling her wrist, her mother cast her gaze behind Emela.
“Darling,” she said. “Do you know why I brought you down here and didn’t do this on the lake upstairs?”
Maybe you didn’t want to embarrass me in front of the family. You know, being a decent mother for once.
The look on Emela’s face and her trembling jaw must have said enough. Emela’s mother cocked a smile, glancing at Nyx. “Do you know?”
Nyx, as expected, said nothing. Her cold blue eyes just sparkled as she kept them focused on Emela’s mother. The woman raised a neat brow and looked back at Emela—the look in her eyes was one of amusement and some interest.
“I would like to introduce you,” she said, “to Brutian. I’m sure you will grow fond of him.”
Emela glanced back—narrowly avoiding another ice block. The water further out bulged as something moved towards her. Fast. Small waves rippled off its form as it bee-lined for her.
You have to be bloody joking.
Emela looked at the water, at the icy waves that rocked against her floating ice disk—she was still shivering; falling back in would only make things worse. She glanced back at the form that was barreling straight at her.
Ah, crap.
She leapt into the air—no mana added to her jump. Not that it would really help; she was going into the water no matter what happened. The creature slammed into her ice disk, shattering it like a snowflake on the water’s surface. Splashing into the water, her hands splayed out as she tried to swim to the surface.
She hoped that the thing wouldn’t come for her, but with her mother involved, she couldn’t put it past her. A figure moved in the corner of her vision, and she snapped to it. Brutian, from what she could see in the cold murky water, was big.
It seemed to be an enormous fish, black with deep blue lines running along the side of its body. Emela swam up, her fingers clawing through the water, propelling her forward. Eventually, she breached the surface, the low cave light filling her eyes again.
The stale smell was a welcome one even though she hadn’t been gone for too long—for it was a far sight better than having her nostrils filled with water. On the boardwalk, her mother locked eyes with her, smiling as she sent another ice block her way.
Could she not even wait a moment? She just sprung a monster on me. What is wrong with this woman?
Emela splashed to the side, dragging herself through the cold water with all the strength she could muster—which wasn’t much. She was reaching her limit, and it was as if her mother could sense it, like a shark playing with its food.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a figure being thrown into the air. Nyx, from what she could make out through the splashing, sailed through the air before crashing into the water. Brutian moved on after smashing the ice disk she’d been standing on.
Emela clenched her jaw, wanting to bite the damn beast as it swam by—not that her teeth would do anything to a creature like that. Beasts didn’t use the same system of cultivation as humans did, but if she had to guess, it would be somewhere around higher levels of the Gravity Forging realm.
The way it broke her ice disk like it was nothing at all. That told her all that she needed to know. She reached out an arm, tearing through the water as best she could towards Nyx. Now that the ice platforms were done—creating another in such a situation would be pointless—the creature could attack from anywhere. It would be best if they could cover each other’s backs.
Emela moved forward, sloshing through the water towards Nyx. Finally, she arrived at the maid’s side. Nyx floated with the same ease as usual—not surprising, but what she did notice was the twinge in her brow. Nyx, for the most part, didn’t show much emotion, especially in battle, so this was something.
It seems even she’s being put through the wringer by this ordeal.
Emela jerked to the side, narrowly avoiding a block of ice. Nyx did the same, diving underwater before popping up a moment later. Emela’s body was heavy; each move felt like lifting heavy wooden trash found she used to find in the dump.
“I don’t know what to do, Nyx. I’m sorry I got you dragged into all this.”
Emela’s body became weightless as she soared into the air, screaming—if she could call the rasp that she let out a scream. Brutian, the damn thing, had exploded underneath her. She fell through the air, amidst the laughter of her mother, standing on the boardwalk watching on.
The beast launched Nyx into the air a moment later. Emela put her hands out front, shielding her face with her arms as she smacked into the waves. Pain exploded in her arms as she fought back a scream—drowning and fighting for your life was not a good combo, and she would not last long.
A form—no, Brutian—barreled from the murky depths, smacking into her with its weight. She tumbled head over heels, fighting to keep the air in her lungs as her whole body thrummed with pain. How was this even fair? Her mom had said this was to toughen her up. It felt more like a beating.
I suppose that this is technically a punishment, but I feel like this is going a tad bit too far.
She swivelled in the water, her ponytail whipping into her eyes as she searched through the depths. Emela needed to find the thing; if it hit her like that again, she was not sure if she could hold on to consciousness.
2024-11-29 17:47:11 +0000 UTC
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Hector placed his hand over the plant pot, and the light particles again bubbled off the water’s surface. It was enchanting. Before he knew it, the condensed ball of light particles floated over the back of his hands, dripping water onto the soft soil of the plant pot—though, Talent pot would probably be a better name.
He pulled his hands back.
Crossing his arms across his chest, he regarded the pot. “I can’t wait to see what you will become.” There was so much hope in front of him, and it filled him with a feeling he couldn’t describe, but whatever it was, it swelled the more he observed the pot.
I should get going. Mirae will be back soon, and I don’t want to be knocked out by a pillow.
“System, end the Talent Garden space.”
The world around him, like so many times before, fell away like paint. The Talent pots, the pedestals, and the void. It all dripped away before the colour of reality frothed and churned back into being.
His eyes fluttered open. He was in his room again. The clothes pile that had been gathering in the corner was gone. He smiled; it wasn’t a surprise that Mirae had picked it up. But it was still nice to see that she did—he appreciated everything she did for him. Hopefully, someday, he could repay her.
He raised his arms, stretching as he let out a thunderous yawn. It wasn’t like he was tired—cultivating provided more than enough energy. But it was satisfying to let out a yawn after a particularly long session. It had become almost a ritual.
He pushed off the ground, hopping to his feet with a grunt.
It was time to get going, and he doubted Mirae would wait much longer for him to show his face. He reached down, grabbing the meditation mat’s edge and yanking it up. He flicked it forward, directing it under his bed. It hit the ground with a hard slap, skirting underneath it.
He dusted his pants off and made his way to the exit, moving with a slight skip in his step. His two lives had been merged for a few days now, but things were truly starting to happen—things that were in his control, anyway.
And hopefully, with some luck, he would see some payoff soon. He strolled down the creaky hallway as images of the possible futures played in his mind. They were all fantasies—but that wouldn’t last long. He would make them a reality.
He walked into the kitchen. Smiling, he nodded at his dad—now sitting behind the table, as usual. His bruises looked better today. The swelling had gone down, and the cuts he had from yesterday had mostly scabbed over. He was on the mend.
“How was work, Dad?” Hector said, pulling out a chair. Mirae paused, narrowing her eyes at him as she slopped a scoop of grim-grain into a bowl. She was most definitely a little annoyed that he had taken too long. But she would understand one day, then all would be forgiven—well, he hoped so anyway.
“It wasn’t too bad today. Same old, same old.” His dad said. He wrapped his rugged fingers around the whiskey glass, lifting it gently and bringing it to his lips. “How about you? Mirae was just telling me she had a good day at the dojo.” He punctuated his question by narrowing his eyes at Hector, taking a small sip of his whiskey.
Hector chuckled. “It was a good day. And Instructor Kamble believes she has a good level of Talent.”
“He said that, did he?” His father lowered his glass, resting it on the chipped surface of the table. He brought his hand to his chin, stroking it as he regarded Hector. “Well, if she is enjoying it, I suppose it isn’t too much of an issue. You are enjoying it, aren’t you?” He turned to Mirae.
She walked over to the table, two bowls of grim-grain resting in her hands. “Yes, a lot. I think I could surpass Hector at the rate I’m going.” She plopped the bowls down onto the table, sliding them over as she giggled.
His lips quirked in a smile—if it was an act or not, it didn’t matter; he would make sure she didn’t feel like she was failing her cultivation in the future. He pulled the bowl towards him and picked up the spoon to his side.
“Oh, really? You hear that, Hector? You are gonna have some competition,” his father said, dipping his spoon into the thick bowl of porridge. He brought it to his lips as Mirae pulled her own chair out and sat with her bowl. “You will do me proud, girl.”
“Thanks, Dad,” she said, digging into her own porridge.
Hector watched as his family began to eat. Leisurely. Warm. Comfortable. The clanking of their spoons against the ceramic of their bowls was like a soft melody being played on a family piano.
I won’t lose this. As soon as I’m done, I’m finishing the growth of that Talent seed.
***
Emela followed her mother down some winding stairs—she had never noticed them within the manor prior to this. The whole thing seemed old; the walls were crumbling, and the steps were worn with the footsteps of countless people. Nox trailed behind—the girl was as silent as ever, especially with Emela’s mother around. Emela wished she’d at least throw in a word or two, but none were forthcoming.
“Where are we going mother?” she asked, ducking to the side, almost hitting a torch holder that was awkwardly falling off the wall—the thing had more than served its time and needed to go.
Her mother, dressed in her white leather battle robes and pair of white pumps, walked on. Her hair was tied up in a bun, and Emela could see her face as she continued down the winding steps. She wasn’t going to answer her question—not like she ever really did. It was as if she wanted her to learn from silence. It made her want to scream.
Their group continued to walk down the stairs for a few moments. Finally, they exited the staircase and entered a cave. It was fairly large. Sharp rocks hung from the roof, water dripping from their points. Further in, a boardwalk trailed over the edge of a lake that shimmered off into the distant darkness of the cave. The walkway was lit by six torches—they appeared to be in much better condition than the ones they had seen on the way down.
“Take a good look, my love,” her mother said. She strutted further in, walking to the beginning of the boardwalk, then turning to face her. “Come on, then.”
Emela stood frozen—what exactly was she meant to be seeing? It was just an underground lake of some sort. She walked forward, throwing a quick glance behind her. Nyx didn’t seem particularly fazed by the whole thing—it was as if she had seen it all before. But that was impossible; the girl never left her side.
“What are we doing here, Mother?”
“Oh, that’s a good question,” Emela’s mother said, her lips quirking into a smile. “This is your punishment.”
“Huh?”
Her mother moved over to her, placing a hand on the small of her back and ushering her down the boardwalk. Emela’s eyes darted from its edge to the casual smile on her mother’s red lips. “I don’t understand—how is this a punishment? I’m more than able to swim.”
“But can you suffer?” her mother asked.
I hate it when she asks that.
A sense of dread welled up in her chest. Thick. Unyielding. Poisonous. Whatever her mother was planning, she would not enjoy it—if she was honest, she never enjoyed much of what her mother planned. Indeed, whatever she was doing, Emela would most likely hate it.
She and her mother stopped at the edge of the boardwalk, Nyx trailing behind. Emela looked down at the water. Its surface was still, only shaken by the occasional ripple—there was something in there. Her skin began to crawl, muscles tensing as she glanced at her mother. “Do I have to?” she asked.
“Hmm? Why would you not have to? And you never answered my question. Can you suffer?” Her mother removed her hand from Emela’s back, glancing up at the ceiling, and then back at her. “You will do this, and it will be good for you. Trust me, my love.”
I don’t know about that. But she has never done something that wouldn’t benefit me. Well, aside from the whole marriage thing.
Emela swallowed hard. She wouldn’t be leaving here without doing this, so she might as well suck it up. She rolled her shoulders, glancing at Nyx, then nodding at her mother. “I think I can suffer. I’m ready.”
“Excellent,” her mother said, her lips parting to reveal perfectly white teeth. Mana cultivators in the Core Formation realms had such enhanced features that if you were not used to it, you would be caught off guard. But Emela found herself excited because she would have those same benefits one day. Just five more minor realms to go.
Her mother raised her arm, flicking her fingers up. A block of ice erupted underneath Emela, throwing her into the air, screaming out her lungs out. She splashed against the water, sinking beneath its freezing surface.
Oh my, this is so cold.
Emela’s legs kicked out as she fought the urge to lock up. Doing so would mean nothing but death, and drowning was not her ideal way to go. Emela kicked and kicked, her hands clawing through the water as she moved to the surface.
Breaching, she took a deep breath of freezing air as her body shivered in the cold lake waters. Emela’s mother stood at the end of the boardwalk with a small smile. “How is the water, my love?” she asked.
Emela resisted the urge to scream—it would use up more energy than she had, and she needed to keep kicking. Both to stay warm and to keep afloat. “It’s fine,” she said, teeth chattering.
Nodding, her mother glanced to the side, her attention apparently moving to Nyx. “Don’t you think you two should be doing this together?” her mother asked.
Before Nyx could respond, Emela’s mother raised an arm, flicking her finger forward. Another block of ice shunted out of the ground, launching Nyx through the air. She arced like a ball—her face still as calm as ever, as she splashed down next to Emela.
Emela’s hands jerked up, shielding her eyes, as small waves rocked her body. She glanced at her mother. The woman looked at Emela, her arms crossed and an easy smile on her lips. “Good, now the real punishment can start. I think you will thank me for this.”
I really don’t understand this woman. Nyx didn’t even do anything wrong.
Her mother quirked an eyebrow, obviously noticing the confusion on Emela’s face. “Even if the girl was just following your orders, she must still accept responsibility for your actions. It is her job, after all.”
Nyx splashed to the surface. Emela continued to kick, her teeth chattering all the while. Nyx looked much the same as usual—though her short black hair was now soaked, and Emela could make out the faintest shiver on her body.
“So if you have no questions, I would like to get things started,” her mother said.
2024-11-29 17:43:15 +0000 UTC
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The world around Hector melted away—his room becoming nothing more than paint running off a canvas. A new scene bubbled up, like boiling water in a pot, and he found himself in a void. Water was at his ankles again, shimmering as he moved his legs.
No difference so far.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something. He turned, sloshing water at his feet.
Three marble pedestals stood across from him, intricate designs running up and down their surfaces. At the top of these pedestals were plant pots, brown clay plant pots. He tilted his head and waded towards them.
“System, I take it this is where I plant the Talents,” he said, coming to a stop before the middle pedestal. Up close it seemed glossy—no doubt that if it was in the real world, the nobles would pay a good price for it.
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///: “Yes, once a Talent has been converted into a seed, it can be planted into one of these pots.”
————————————————
Hector rested a hand on his hip, bringing the other to his lip in thought. He looked at the water at his feet—was that what he’d have to use to water the Talents, or did the pedestals have some kind of pump mechanism?
He held out his palm, keeping it straight as he sent his will out into the void. “Bring me [Nimble Sole].”
A silent moment passed, then a bright light bloomed into the void. The light arced through the sky, racing towards him with reckless abandon, a trail of white behind it.
I wonder where it came from this time. I didn’t see it when I entered earlier.
The Talent screamed through the air before slamming into his palm. Its impact sent a pulse of white energy through the void, rippling as it went. The whole thing was a tad bit dramatic, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it.
Hector lifted the Talent in his hand. The orb, much like the previous, glowed, swirling with an indecipherable language—perhaps one day he would figure it out. He glanced around the void and then brought his attention to the brown clay plant pot.
“Do I just shove the Talent inside it?” he asked. He stuck his finger into the pot, fingering the loose soil and swirling it around. The soil was warm and seemed to crackle with energy as he moved it.
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///: “No. You must now begin the seeding process. Channel the soul waters around you to harmonize the Talent into a seedling.”
————————————————
“Well, that doesn’t sound too hard.” He paused, unsure of how to proceed. Looking at the water at his feet, he sloshed it around with his foot, then looked to the Talent. “Do I just stick it in?”
————————————————
///: “The host must will the waters to the Talent. Much like you did when you summoned it here.”
————————————————
His face brightened as his lips broke into a smile. That was trivial. He had thought it would be some long, complicated process requiring him to memorize some form of technique. He again held his hand out, the orb resting in its centre.
“Begin channeling...” he said hesitantly.
The water reacted.
It began to swirl at his ankle, turning into a shimmering whirlpool. A connection formed between him and the water, and he directed it at the orb in his hand. The whirlpool lurched, as waterspouts shot out of it, plunging into the Talent, like tendrils of a jellyfish found in the lake surrounding Middlec.
Hector watched on, a smile firmly on his lips. This had to be one of the most impressive things he had ever done. He held the Talent up for several minutes, as the whirlpool spun, and the tendrils continued to... do something to the orb. Eventually, the whirlpool slowed, retracting its tendrils, before going still at his feet.
The waters were calm again. He glanced at the talent, now a rather large seed. It had the same white glow, but he could no longer see the words on the inside—not that seeing them meant much.
“So I guess I can just put it in now,” he said. “I mean, unless I have to do anything else.”
————————————————
///: “No. You may now place the seed in either of the pots and begin the watering process.”
————————————————
“Alright.” He began to dig a large hole in the pot’s soil. Energy crackled as he moved the dirt to the side, specks of it getting caught under his nails. Eventually, he stopped, studying the hole for a moment, judging it against the size of the seed.
“Looks good to me,” he said, carefully lowering the seed into the hole like it was a baby—there was no point being reckless now. After all, who knew if anything in the soulscape could break? With a satisfying thud, the seed was in the hole. He then scooped dirt over it, crackles of energy buzzing as he covered the seed.
“Okay, it’s covered. What do I do now?” He looked off into the void. He wasn’t sure where the system's voice came from. It was an odd thing—if he could even call what he was doing normal.
————————————————
///: “Now you must harmonize with the seed. Push your will onto it.”
————————————————
Seems simple enough.
He held his hand over the plant pot, willing it to grow. Particles of light floated up from the water, like bubbles floating towards his hands. They drifted over the back of his hand, twisting in the void, and curling into a ball just above the plant pot.
Finally, the ball of light condensed, collapsing in on itself, becoming denser and denser. Trickles of glowing water poured out from the ball, splashing down onto the soil and seeping beneath its surface. The sight was magical.
Hector watched on, his mouth parting and his eyes wide. It was almost as if he were a high-level mana cultivator, able to change the weather on a casual whim. It was awesome.
A box of text flashed into existence above the plant pot.
He moved his hand, the ball of light dissipating like smoke, and read over the text—thankfully in a language he could actually read.
————————————————
///:
————————————————
| Name: Common Seedling
| Growth Time: 2 days
| Watered: [1/2]
| Time Till Next Watering: 8-hours
————————————————
///:
————————————————
So I have to water it one more time before it’s done growing. It should also finish growing on... what day even is it?
Hector frowned. He rarely tracked the day, as every day was pretty much the same as the last. But things had changed. He had a pickpocketing operation coming—heaven forbid he missed the entire thing because he got the date wrong.
Nevertheless, it would be done in two days. He glanced at the two other pedestals and the pots sitting atop them. He didn’t have any more seeds, but in time, he would surely find a few more fragments. And with the common seedling currently growing, maybe it would sprout more talents he could use—hopefully more than one.
He looked around the void, water sloshing at his feet. He regarded the pedestals for a moment. There didn’t seem to be much more he could do, but it didn’t hurt to ask. “System, is there anything else I can do here?”
————————————————
///: “The host may sit and meditate within the space, speeding up the growth of the seedling fourfold.”
————————————————
Hector froze—not sure of what to make of that information, but feeling excited all the same. What did this mean? Potentially, he would be able to finish growing this common talent in half a day. That was only twelve hours.
He paused and smacked his forehead.
Even if it was a speed-up, he couldn’t spend twelve hours in here. Mirae would throw a fit—especially after his own words to her about spending too much time cultivating. But what could he do? This was a new talent on the line. Most likely several.
If it really comes to it, I can just stop halfway. Mirae will probably come in and pull me out of meditation, anyway.
Hector sighed, lowering himself and getting into the lotus position. Water washed onto his thigh—it would have soaked his clothes had it been real. Instead, it was just cool—no wetness at all. It was soothing—it was one of his favourite parts about coming to the soulscape.
Taking a deep breath, his lungs filled. He directed his focus to the plant pot, channelling everything he had to it.
His mind calmed as time slipped away. Determined. Uncaring. Inevitable. The seconds flittered by like a stream running off into the empty void of his Talent Garden space.
“Hector, you silly goose.” Mirae’s voice boomed through the void. “And after all your talk about me having to be careful of how much I cultivate, and not to overwork myself, yet here you are.”
He snapped back to the moment. Time returning to his mental grasp—well, as much as he could grasp it, anyway. Time was a fickle thing, never caring whether you were ready or not. Someone who couldn’t at least account for that was bound to waste a lot of it.
“Hector, it’s time for dinner. Dad’s home,” Mirae said, her voice continuing to boom through the void like an avalanche.
I should get going, but first, let’s see how much time I’ve got left.
He placed his hands into the soul water, pushing off and climbing to his feet with a grunt. It never made sense how he had to physically exert himself in a place that was said to be in his soul—then again, what normal people, especially in the slums, knew about the soul could be called small at best.
He stood over the plant pot, reading over the stats. A small smile forming on his lips.
————————————————
///:
————————————————
| Name: Common Seedling
| Growth Time: 1.33 days
| Watered: [1/2]
| Time Till Next Watering: Ready: Death in 2-hours
————————————————
///:
————————————————
His arm shot into the air, his heart racing with excitement. It had actually worked—not that he doubted its effectiveness, but this was great. He had spent, what, four hours and the time had dropped so much. If he came back after dinner and did this for the rest of the night, he should have a few new talents by tomorrow.
But I should probably get it watered before I leave. I don’t need it dying on me.
“Hector, please,” Mirae said, shaking the void. “Okay, I’ll give you a few more minutes, but if you aren’t up and out before I come back, this pillow is coming straight at your face.”
He lowered his head, chuckling as he sloshed closer to the pot. He had no doubt she would do what she said. When it came to helping, she would do whatever she thought was necessary—even using one of his rather dense pillows to whack him out of meditation.
Alright, I best hurry up then. Besides, I’m a bit hungry, anyway.
2024-11-29 17:39:47 +0000 UTC
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Hector walked towards the girl, noting the tattoo that ran along her forearm. He recognised it. It was a Ravisher tattoo. A gang related to the Collar Gang, they would often be found carrying out grunt work for them.
As he walked closer, his heart raced. She wasn’t them—he knew that, but what was the difference when she took orders from them all the same? The crows circled overhead, their calls becoming distant in his ear.
He now had more of a reason to take everything from this girl. It was wrong, sure. If he could go after the Collar Gang now, he would. But until then, she would have to do.
“Hey,” Hector came to a stop behind her, his fists clenched. “What is gutter trash like you doing around here?”
The girl turned, a scowl set on her face. She rubbed at her eye and spat on the floor, “Do I know you, you white-haired freak?” The girl’s gaze flickered from him to her victim for a moment.
She must not be taking me seriously.
“No. You don’t, and you don’t need to. Give the boy back his scrap, and I might go easy on you.”
The girl let out a cackle, looking at him as if he were an idiot. “Do you not know who—I’m with the Ravishers and this little—” she slammed her foot into the boy’s side. “Welp! Isn’t getting anything back. And you, well, you are about to be in the same position as him.”
The girl exploded forward, her brown hair whipping out behind her. She raised her arms in a mock boxing stance, displaying more competence than most. Two jabs thrusted at him. Hector dodged the first and deflected the second. His fist then rocketed forward, slamming into her gut and knocking her back. He then followed through with the rest of the Orion fist technique, leaping into the air and hooking his leg around her neck before slamming her into the trash-ridden floor.
Her head bounced off the ground, but she was up a second later. She scuttled back with her arms raised as she eyed him. “I didn’t realise I was in the presence of a professional. I didn’t realise the dojo sent its people to the dump. But then again, I guess you have to eat as well.”
She chuckled, glancing at the boy on the floor for a brief second. Even now, she was still preoccupied with her victim. Hector didn’t doubt that if she was a little more focused, she might have proven a challenge. But distracted, she wasn’t getting anywhere.
He kicked off the ground, launching himself towards her, aiming his knee straight for her chest—but missed. She sidestepped his knee and slammed her fist into his side, flooding it with pain.
Hector dropped to the floor, but she was on him in seconds. Her foot slammed down with reckless abandon as he scrambled from side to side.
So she does have some teeth. Good, I was worried this would be easy.
Hector twisted, rocketing off the ground, slamming his fist into her chest. She coughed. He spun. His leg again hooked across her neck, whipping down and bouncing her head off the ground. She didn’t get up this time.
The call of the crows overhead intensified. Hector dropped to his knees, resting a hand on her, and entered the Talent Space. Once inside, he extracted the fragments, as well as the Talent. The process took no more than a few minutes.
Once done, he stood up, combing a finger through his white hair as he looked down on the girl.
He’d like to say he felt satisfied, say that beating her had lifted some of the weight off his heart. But it didn’t. She wasn’t a Collar Gang member. Just the grunt part of a grunt gang. Really, the only thing that made it worthwhile were the Talent and Talent fragments.
————————————————
///:
————————————————
[Nimble Sole [•○○] (1/3)]
This Talent boosts the user’s ability to climb, jump, or manoeuvre in a precarious situation. Increased stacks of Nimble Sole boost this ability.
————————————————
///:
————————————————
The skill wasn’t bad. It would allow him to be at the very least more dexterous than he already was, but it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. And that meant it wouldn’t hurt to lose it.
I guess we have the first Talent for the Talent Garden. But that’s gonna have to wait till later.
The girl’s victim still lay on the floor in the fetal position, his eyes peeking through his fingers as he covered his face. Hector shook his head and bent down, picking up the scrap that the woman had been mocking him with.
He brought it to eye level and examined it. It was a glass pill bottle, chipped in places but still usable as a bottle. If brought to the right person, the glass itself could be sold for a few coins. He shrugged, flicking the bottle to the boy.
“Take it and get out of here before she wakes up. You’ve had enough trouble today,” Hector said.
The boy scrambled away amidst the call of the crows—they were hungry. Hector glanced up; the sky was now much darker than it had been earlier. He wouldn’t find much in the dark, and it’s not like he had a lamp.
Hector sighed, turned, and made his way down the loose footpath cleared from the trash. Whatever happened to the girl wasn’t his problem. If she woke up before the crows began taking chunks out of her, that would be for the best. But it wouldn’t be his problem.
A smile crept onto his lips. As soon as he got home, he could begin planting the Talent he’d found—from that one Talent, who knows how many Talents he could get.
***
Hector walked through the front door, moving into the dimly lit, clean kitchen of his home. The table stood empty in the middle of the room; his father had yet to return home. A pang of fear washed through his chest. But he dismissed it.
His father was a grown man. He would come home late from time to time; that’s just how it was. Collar Gang or no Collar Gang.
Hector made his way to his bedroom but stopped in the middle of the rundown hallway and stood outside of Mirae’s room. He sighed, then raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the old wooden door. The sound of shuffling came from the other side.
“Just a moment!” Mirae yelled.
The door flew open a few seconds later. And there, Mirae stood, her long hair frazzled and a look of slight annoyance in her eyes. It lasted but a moment, a bright smile overtaking it when she saw his face.
“Oh brother, I wasn’t aware you were back,” she said, raising her small, thin arms for a hug. “Are you hungry?”
Hector reached forward, embracing her as warmth settled in his chest. It felt good to be home.
“No,” he said, stepping back and giving her a once over. She still wore the same ratty clothes from yesterday, and her hair had taken on a browner tint to its white. “I was just coming to check on you.”
“Oh, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
Hector nodded, not letting the disappointment show. She wasn’t okay, even if she thought she was. He may not be the same Hector, but she was the same Mirae. And all signs pointed to something being wrong. What happened the other day, the same clothes, and most of all, the hair.
Mirae would never let her hair fall into such a state, even if she was bending over backwards for the family. It was the one nice thing she allowed herself.
“Hector, is everything okay?” she asked. “I’m okay. You don’t have to look so worried. I promise I’m fine.”
He took a deep breath, then leaned against the doorframe. “It’s my job to worry. You are still growing, and I need to protect you. Speaking of growth, how is your cultivation coming along?”
Mirae scratched her cheek as they took on a red colour. “You don’t need to always protect me. But with my cultivation...” She hesitated, looking to the floor as she muttered something.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“It’s not going well,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration. “The mana particles, they just aren’t coming, and I’ve been practicing since you left. I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m sorry.”
Hector sighed, then rested a hand on her shoulder, kneeling down to her eye level. “You don’t need to be sorry. What you’re going through is normal—normal for me, anyway. You just need to give it time.”
She smiled, her lips quivering slightly.
“Listen,” he said. “I’ve been stuck in Gravity Forging realm one for a while now—I probably have another four before I make it to the second stage. So don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“Okay,” she said, looking at the ground. Eventually, she nodded and stepped back away from the door. She grabbed it. “I’m going to continue working at it. If you need me for anything or get hungry, let me know.”
Hector nodded, watching the wooden door drift forward, closing with a soft thud. Flakes of dust drifted down like snowflakes, settling on the rotten wood floor. He seriously needed to do some repairs—it wouldn’t fix the problem, but at least the house’s eventual collapse could be halted.
I wonder if we still have the spare wood that I got from the dump.
Hector made his way down the rickety hallway, stepping into his loosely organized room. Discarded scraps lay in corners or tucked into shelves, dust settling on their surfaces. He loosened his tunic strings and pulled the shirt off, throwing it onto a clothes pile in the corner.
It was time to get acquainted with the Talent Garden. That, in turn, would hopefully give him a new set of Talents to work with.
He moved to his bed, bending over to pull out a meditation mat. The dump always did provide. He just had to have patience and he could eventually find everything he could need. He threw the mat, and it sailed through the air, landing in the centre of his room with a slap.
The room didn’t have anything else he needed to attend to. Mirae would eventually come and take the clothes. But if not, he would get to them when he was done.
Smiling, he crouched onto the mat, settling down into the lotus position. He didn’t need to meditate to use the system, but it brought some sense of rhythm to the whole thing—and rhythm was good.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. “System, begin the Talent Garden space.”
2024-11-29 17:36:33 +0000 UTC
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Hector strolled down the cobblestone streets, smiling to himself, as he walked towards the dump. His sister had done it—she had begun her journey as a Mana-cultivator. He was proud in many ways, but worry still lingered.
Protecting Mirae was second nature to him, but he also knew that as a mana-cultivator, she’d be able to protect herself. After all, he wouldn’t always be around. Even now she had headed back home while he went to scavenge in the dump.
This is a good thing; I know it is. I just need to make sure I can keep her safe, no matter how strong she gets.
His own cultivation wasn’t going well—in the time it had taken him to make it to Gravity Forging realm one, others such as Jodie had made it to Gravity Forging two. And from the looks of it, Jodie was on her way to three.
He was falling behind. Maybe not with pure fighting skill, but eventually, without the system anyway, his skills wouldn’t help much.
Yawning, he watched as people milled by, some despondent looking for something to do with their days. Others had a sense of direction—they were perhaps going home after a long day of work.
Maybe his father was heading home now.
I wish he would just rely on me more. But it’s fine. I’ll make it so he knows he can count on me.
After a few more minutes of strolling, he entered the dump. The smell, as usual, hit him like a rampaging horse, but after all these years, he no longer felt like puking. The smell had, in a way, become a part of what he had to bear.
He strolled through the gates, heading deeper in. The dump was quiet, which made sense as it was afternoon and as it got darker, it would be hard to work—you were bound to hurt yourself during the day, let alone at night.
But as he made his way over to his spot, a sight he hadn’t seen before made him pause.
It wasn’t unusual for fights to break out in the dumps—there was always someone trying to push their weight around Adrien, usually. But they would take your stuff and then leave, fearing you might gather yourself and come back for round two.
But what he saw made no sense: a group of men much older than him stood in front of a small crowd. A large man stood at the front of this crowd, his muscles bulging and his arms crossed. “This area now belongs to the Scoda gang. If you want to scavenge, you come to us. Anyone found scavenging without our permission well...” the man gestured to his side.
There lay a small boy. He looked familiar, but Hector couldn’t place him. All the faces in the dump tended to blend together after a while. Hector watched on, slowly making his way closer as the man continued.
“If you find something we like, we will pay you in good scrap. If not, you’ll keep on searching until the job is done.”
The crowd of Hector’s fellow young slum rats groaned, which was the best that many of them in their malnourished state could manage.
As Hector approached, he spotted someone. They stood by a small hill of trash, which they had no doubt been searching before this gathering. He approached them. Perhaps they knew what was going on.
“Hey,” he said, tapping them on the shoulder.
They swivelled, their thinning hair twisting in the wind, and frowned. “Who are you?” They, a boy, said, taking a step in front of his trash pile. “If you’re thinking of stealing from me, you better not. I got Scoda’s permission.”
————————————————
///: No Talent found.
————————————————
Hector grunted, but he wasn’t too surprised—of course, he wouldn’t have a talent. He regarded the malnourished boy again. Scratches ran along his stick-thin arms, and he had a busted lip. It seemed he’d taken a beating to claim this small pile.
But that tended to be the life of someone without any cultivation. Hector smiled. “That’s actually what I want to ask you. Who are these Scoda guys?”
“What?” the boy said, looking at him as if he were stupid. “How do you not know Scoda? They’ve been here all day. Passed around a few lumps, and claimed this part of the dump for themselves. Filthy dogs.” The boy jolted, his head snapping around to see if anyone had heard him. A few slum rats rummaging about nearby looked over, but when no one from the crowd spoke up, he let out a sigh.
They are a bit too far to hear you. Maybe if they were in the third level of the Gravity Forging realm, that reaction would have made sense.
The group of men didn’t look like mana-cultivators, just a bunch of thugs here to exploit the weak. They wore clothes that barely looked better than his own. So they were no doubt slum dwellers like himself.
But why were they here recruiting in the dumps? No one did that. The children in the dump tended to be malnourished and struggling, all of them looking for a piece of treasure that could change their lives.
They were not people who would seek out the gang life in any way. Hector felt at his side, his hand brushing over a bump, feeling the pill in his pocket. It could be his treasure. By the heavens, it had caused him enough trouble to be considered one.
“So, what do you want? I can’t introduce you to them,” the boy said. He threw the occasional look at the pile behind him, but kept his guard up. His hand twitching, as if waiting for Hector to attack.
“No,” Hector said with a sigh. He shook his head and moved away from the boy. Slowly. The last thing he needed was for the boy to attack him. It wouldn’t be much of a fight, but he didn’t need to draw the attention of a gang who was clearly up to something.
It was hard enough to find good scrap as it was. If he had to give it away when he found it, that would be more than frustrating.
I just hope that they do what they are doing and move on. Heaven knows, we have enough troublemakers in this place as is.
Putting the activities of this unknown group to the back of his mind, Hector made his way towards his section of the dump. The gang surely hadn’t spread that far yet, as the dump itself was quite big.
If his guess was right, the gang didn’t have enough men to look after all the dump. Otherwise, why would they be forcing a bunch of malnourished children to do it for them?
He spent the next few minutes walking in silence as he thought about the upcoming events. The pickpocketing operation would be difficult. The worst thing that could happen is that he or one of his friends got caught.
Then not only would it be doubtful whether they would have the money to help with the debt, but they would also lose a friend. The Middlec city guards weren’t known for being particularly merciful.
Hector cringed as he remembered a young man called Kable. He wasn’t great, but he wasn’t the worst. But one day, he did something—no one had seen what happened, only talk of theft—to catch the guards’ attention. The next time Hector saw Kable, the guards had strung him up from a lamppost. Dead.
The city guards stood underneath him, to ensure no one took down the body before the day was done.
I can’t let anyone suffer the same fate. I mustn’t. Should I call this off?
On one hand, it made sense, but on another. If he called it off, who knows what the Collar gang would do with his father? Who knew what they would do with his sister?
Debt in the slums didn’t just end with one person.
Hector sighed as he came to the bottom of his trash pile. He glanced up at its peak as the sun slowly dipped behind it. He wouldn’t have much time to search, and the chance of it being a fruitful search was low.
He felt for the pill in his pocket, its smooth surface brushing against his hand. He could take it now, but would it be worth the risk? On one side, it could be a huge boost in power, but on the other, it could leave him comatose.
If something bad happened while he was out, everything would be ruined. And it’s not that he didn’t trust them. But the idea of his friends having to do the operation without him left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
Shaking his head, he trudged up the trash heap. He could think about this stuff later. Right now, he needed to, hopefully, gather valuable scrap. And no one was on their way to do that for him.
“Get up you welp!” A voice broke him from his thoughts, and he paused. “If you want it, you are going to have to work for it.” The person then laughed as the sound of something thudding and a grunt caused Hector to frown.
He turned. Across from him at the bottom of a pile a little smaller than his were two individuals. One, a girl, stood over the other, who lay on their side clutching their stomach.
“What, don’t you want it?” The girl drove her foot into the person’s side with a thud and cackled as she held something up to the person on the ground.
The person let out a scream as they shielded their head. “Please. I need it. Please.”
Another person picking on the weak, who couldn’t defend themselves. He contemplated turning around—after all; the sun was going down. But no.
If this were back on earth, he would at least say something, and here he could actually help—he could defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. Plus, his father had taught him better, and would probably want him to intervene.
Ah well. Let’s at least see what I’m dealing with.
————————————————
///:
————————————————
Cultivation Level: [Gravity Forging - 1]
Talents: [Nimble Sole [•○○] (1/3)]
Talent Fragments: ( 2-Normal )
————————————————
///:
————————————————
Hector paused. The girl had Talent fragments. Which was fantastic—on the downside they were normal, which sadly meant they couldn’t be fused with the (1-Mystic) fragment that he got from Mirae.
Rarity levels didn’t mix after all. But it was a start. After all, so far, aside from Mirae, he had only found Talents within the normal range.
I should be able to take her. As long as she isn’t hiding techniques. Or a knife.
The girl wore a tattered tunic, and pants stained with dirt. But not in the same way as some who went dump diving. No, she was just your average level of dirty. So that begged the question. Why was she here?
2024-11-29 17:31:15 +0000 UTC
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As Mirae stood in the void, ankle-deep in comforting water, considering her next action, Instructor Kamble’s voice echoed through the space. “Alright, you should be seeing quite a few chaotic motes now. It’s time we moved on to the next step.”
Quite a few? I have two, maybe three. That can’t be what he considers quite a few.
Kamble continued, ignorant of her worries. “Now, as you continue to breathe in, I want you to imagine a circle forming around you. Imagine it pulling in, starting wide and growing smaller. As you do that, the motes travelling through the void should float towards you and begin orbiting.”
Not having any other option aside from continuing to absorb, hoping to pull in more, Mirae imagined the circle. She imagined it starting wide and tightening, and as she did, the void responded.
She couldn’t see it, but somehow, as if by instinct, she could sense a circle forming around her, with a pull so intense that it overshadowed the absorption phase. Above her, the motes of light grew brighter as they descended towards her.
It was slow at first, but they picked up speed. Whisking through the sky, before hooking around her and zooming off in a different direction, and shooting back. They would do this a few times until they settled into an orbit around her.
You know, the capturing phase isn’t that bad. I feel like I have more control than I did before.
The motes of light’s speed slowed as they continued to circle her, eventually settling into a lazy orbit. It took a few moments, but the chaotic mana motes didn’t seem to be going anywhere. So the capture phase was complete—the cycling and funneling phase was the only thing left.
Mirae’s gaze followed the motes as they went by, circling her. The light that they had been, appeared so wild and untamed before, but now... They looked like sparkling white marbles emitting a good amount of light.
“Well, I’ve given you long enough. By now, you should have captured some of your motes. Now it’s time to begin the cycling phase,” Instructor Kamble’s voice echoed through the void. “This is where you will affinity your mana motes. Turning them from chaotic to the mana affinity you hold. Which also means we are about to find out your affinity. So you could say the cycle phase serves two purposes.”
He cleared his throat. “Next you are going to speed up the orbit of the mana motes you have captured. While doing so, you will also push your soul out, almost like you are attempting to push out your stomach. Between the increased spinning of the circle and the pushing of your soul, a resistance similar to using both your hands to push against each other will form—this is how the mana will take on its affinity.”
I feel like that’s a lot to do at once. Can’t I push without having to—no. There aren’t any shortcuts. I have to do this how it’s advised.
She carried out the instructor’s words. First cycling the mana motes around her, and when she felt that they had built up a good speed, she attempted to push out her soul. She took his advice and attempted to push out her belly, feeling a little ridiculous. But as she did, she felt it.
The resistance built. At first, it was wobbly, like kneading grim-grain flour into dough. Her heart leapt as she almost lost a mote, but got it back under control a moment later. And soon the resistance was equal. It was as Instructor Kamble described: two hands pushing against each other.
A smile crept across her lips as she got a better feel for it and increased the speed of the cycle. Soon the mana motes began to change. They went from the white marble of light to an almost pale blue.
And as the pure white faded, and the blue crept in, she began to sense the motes—it was as if they were a part of her. It was as if her soul was being forged into their very core. And what to do next was clear.
With a thought, the motes of light peeled off from their orbit around her and funnelled to a space above her. They flowed through the void, bobbing along until they stopped. Suspended in space, unable to move. Locked.
She had successfully funneled her motes into her lagrange point. Mirae let out a sigh as an indescribable warmth spread through her. It was as if she had found a part of herself, and that part was stronger, more resilient. More her.
She glanced up at the clump of three motes suspended in the void above her and smiled. She had done it—cultivated mana. In a sense, she was a mana cultivator, not a true one, nowhere close. But the journey had begun.
“Alright, it’s time for you to leave meditation,” Kamble said, causing the still water of the void to shudder. “It’s time to wrap up for today and I wish to address the class before they all head home.”
What? Go home? But we haven’t even been here that long. How is everything over already? Hector usually spends hours in the dojo.
She calmed herself and looked around the void one more time before closing her eyes. The book had named three methods of exiting the soulscape: being forced out by an attack, following a distraction such as Kamble’s voice, or exiting the same way you got in. That being the rhythm, and so she did.
Moments later, her eyes flickered open, and she was back in the room. Back to the old worn pillow, and the faded training mat filling most of the room. It felt as if she had been gone a moment, whilst also for a while.
The sunlight coming from outside had dimmed a good bit and seemed as if it was approaching the afternoon. But that couldn’t be right. She had only been in there for a few minutes at most.
“It’s always a surprise to people after their first meditation,” Instructor Kamble said, chuckling lightly. “For you, it may have been a few moments, but you’ve actually been in there all morning. I even had time to go and instruct the other students.”
He dragged his hand across his beard as the room fell silent, before he looked between the three of them. “So let’s find out your affinities. You can go first, Mirae. What did your mana mote look like after it had been affinited?”
Her eyes widened as she began to shift about in her seat. In her confusion, she had forgotten that she was going to find out her mana affinity—this was great. “It was a pale blue colour. I’m not sure how to describe it.”
“From the sounds of it, you have the same affinity as your brother. You have the affinity of the moon,” Kamble said, nodding his head with a knowing look. “Not surprising. Siblings tend to share similar affinities, though it is not rare for them to differ. And you, Pippa?”
“Ah, mine was a brown colour. It kind of looked a bit like dirt, but I’m not too sure.” Pippa looked down to her lap, as if she was afraid she had said something wrong. Not that she did.
The instructor nodded and thought for a moment. “I believe you have the earth affinity. It is a fairly common affinity.” He then looked at Henry.
“My affinity is fire, instructor.”
Kamble tilted his head and frowned. He adjusted in his seat, regarding the boy. “You know your affinities?”
“It’s not hidden knowledge,” Henry said, holding Kamble’s gaze. He squirmed a little and wet his lips. “My mother told me about them.”
“Oh,” Kamble said, stroking his beard. “Well, it’s good that you have such knowledge.” The instructor then pushed on his knee and stood up, gesturing to the three of them to do the same.
Well, I guess we’re done for the day. Perhaps I can cultivate a little when I get home. But it will have to wait until I finish cooking. I don’t think Hector will have time to make food today, and I don’t know when Dad will be back.
The four of them filed out of the smaller room and entered the bigger hall. Students littered the area. Some were in groups sparring with one another, while others were in various poses.
“I wonder when we will get to spar,” Pippa said, hooking her arm through Mirae’s. She held a bright smile on her face as she looked around the hall. “Oh, did you see that? The way she moved, that was incredible.” She pointed at a small circle of students.
The circle surrounded a boy and a girl who had just finished a fight. The boy was sprawled out on his back as the girl stood over him, huffing. Mirae didn’t recognize her, or the boy, but had no doubt she would come to know her with time.
“I didn’t see it. Sorry.”
“Well, keep watching maybe—”
“Alright, students!” Instructor Kamble’s voice boomed across the hall, shaking Mirae’s chest. All the students stopped and turned towards him. “Get in line. It is time for us to finish up for today.”
The hall erupted into motion—no matter what they were doing, students scrambled to the centre of the hall and began to organize themselves into three rows. Mirae spotted Hector in the middle of the first row.
“Good work today, everyone. I’m happy to see you are all making good progress.” Instructor Kamble strolled up to the front and looked over at everyone with an appraising gaze. “Hector, keep pushing. I can tell that you are about to enter the Journeyman rank with Orion Leaping Strike. Just keep at it. Jodie, you are a bit behind, but as usual, your understanding of the techniques is excellent.”
Her brother gave a firm nod as he focused on the instructor.
“Now, it’s been an excellent day,” Instructor Kamble yelled.
“And we strive for excellence,” the class replied.
The instructor spoke about the upcoming dojo competition, as well as the focus of tomorrow’s training. It to a few minutes. But eventually, the group dispersed. Hector made a beeline for Mirae, with Jodie and Lincoln a few paces behind. She moved to meet them.
“So, how was it?” Hector walked forward with a bright smile on his face. His brow was glossed in a thin sheen of sweat, and his clothes were damp, but he seemed satisfied.
“It was great, though time went by super quickly. One minute I was here, then the next I was in my soulscape. And then by the time I refined a little bit of mana, the entire day had gone by.”
Lincoln chuckled as Hector and Jodie smiled. The three of them seeming to share a moment.
“I know the feeling,” Hector said, resting a hand on her shoulder. He glanced at Pippa with a smile. “You will often find that time seems to flow like water in the soulscape, and if you are not careful, you could spend a lot of time in there. Remember the day after I joined the dojo? When I spent the entire day in my room?”
“Yeah, I thought you were sick.”
Hector shook his head and smiled. “Try not to make my mistake. Though I’m sure you no doubt will.”
The three of them exchanged a look. “Alright, guys. Let’s head home. I still need to go to the dump today, and it’s getting late.”
2024-11-29 16:44:51 +0000 UTC
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Mirae sat with her bottom firmly placed against the dusty old pillow, her back straight—Pippa to one side and Henry on the other. At the front of the room, Instructor Kamble sat, his brown robe flowing over the large well-worn pillow as he stroked his beard. Watching.
She swallowed as the dull buzzing of a fly came from the back of the room. She wanted to scratch at her ear, but Kamble‘s gaze kept her from moving an inch. Mirae sat and waited.
A moment passed. The buzzing growing more intense. Her tongue shifted in her mouth as words threatened to bubble out. This silence was like a pillow over her face, and she needed to breathe.
“So,” Kamble said. Her shoulders relaxed—she hadn’t even noticed they were tensed. “What can you all tell me about mana? Who wants to go first?” He glanced at her with an expectant look, like he’d given her a nice setup.
Just because my brother is one of your top students doesn’t mean I’m filled with knowledge, Kamble.
Mirae shifted against the pillow’s fabric, wishing she could sink deep into it. All the while, the buzzing fly at the back of the room carried on its annoying business. What could she say? Hector hadn’t talked about any of this with her. If anything, it was a wonder he readily let her join the dojo at all.
“I’ll start instructor,” Henry said. The instructor’s lips tightened, disappointment flashing through his eyes as he looked at her, before he turned to Henry and nodded his head. The boy continued, “Mana is an energy. It flows all around us like air, but is more than that. It exists everywhere.”
Henry shifted on his pillow. He was no doubt finding it uncomfortable as well—compound that with the fly, and Mirae could more than sympathize. But he carried on, his back straightening, “Mana is the lifeblood of a Mana-cultivator, it is what gives them power, and allows them to do all the feats we hear about.”
Instructor Kamble stroked his beard. Clearing his throat, he then turned to Mirae and Pippa. “And you two. What do you know about mana?”
“It’s a type of energy that is good at...” Pippa petered off and turned to Mirae. Her eyes signalling for her to jump in.
Oh, Pippa. Good effort, but I don’t know anything either.
Mirae straightened her back and attempted to drown out the buzzing as she focused on the instructor’s forehead—there was no way she was looking into those cold grey eyes. “I apologize, but I do not know much about mana apart from the fact that it powers many of the things we use on the day to day. As well as large objects like the airships.”
Kamble shook his head and let out a sigh. His gaze flickered to the window as he scooped up a small piece of chalk. His hand whipped out, and the air snapped. The buzzing at the back of the room stopped. “It seems only our friend from the Papyrus quarter has some knowledge of mana. I must say I expected better, especially from you, Mirae.”
She fidgeted as the weight of his gaze rested on her. Her heart fluttered, and she resisted the urge to investigate the design of the room’s mat. “At home, we don’t speak much about these things. I mostly spend time focusing on my garden. But I hope to fix that with your guidance, sir.”
“Hmm... I should hope so.” The instructor rested a hand on his knee as his gaze wandered around the room. “So, what is mana? As Henry here said, it is the lifeblood of a mana cultivator. It is where a Mana-cultivator starts and is where a Mana-cultivator ends. There is nothing else.”
Kamble pushed off his knee and stood, grabbing a long piece of chalk from the floor as he did. He nudged the large pillow to the side with his feet and began writing on the board. “Mana comes in many forms, but what you three will focus on is chaotic mana.” He scribbled the name furiously onto the old chalkboard, setting off a mist of chalk and dust.
“This is the foundation of mana cultivation. It is what you draw into your soulscape and convert into affinited mana via a four-step process. And these processes are, in general terms: absorb, capture, cycle and funnel. Any questions?”
I’m so confused. What the heck is a soulscape, and how do we even get mana there?
She raised her hand. Kamble nodded. “Sir, what is a soul scape?”
Instructor Kamble frowned for a moment in thought, then his hands burst into motion as he began to draw a diagram. It was the body of a human, not too well drawn—instructor Kamble seemed to not draw in his spare time. But what made the body special was the lines and circles drawn on it.
“This is your body, and within it is the soul scape. Don’t ask me exactly where—the soulscape is not a physical place.” He continued scribbling on the board. “And this here, these circles and lines are your mana veins and mana nodes. It is the way in which you extract mana from the environment. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” they all said in unison.
“Good.” He reached down to a small ledge at the bottom of the chalkboard and picked up a block. He then wiped the board. “So, back to the four principals of cultivation. What are they? Pippa.”
The girl tensed, her eyes going wide as she looked from the board to the instructor. “Umm... absorb, capture... and... umm,” she stuttered to a stop and turned to Mirae. Her eyes again signalling for her to jump in.
And Mirae did. “Absorb, capture, cycle and funnel, Instructor Kamble.”
He nodded, “Stay focused. These steps are important. You will need to implement them later when I give you your cultivation techniques.”
Oh, my stars. We are going to get cultivation techniques.
The instructor flicked the long sagging ends of the robe’s arms as he continued to write. “As Mirae said, the four basic and fundamental principles of mana-cultivation are: absorb, capture, cycle and funnel. These will allow you to grow your soul nucleus, which is where we as Mana-cultivators get our abilities.”
Instructor Kamble turned back to their group. He frowned for a moment. “Do you have any questions before I move on to the next topic? If you have any about the soul nucleus, you can save them. It will all make sense once you cultivate. All I will say is that during the funneling process, you should aim the mana that you gather directly above you. You will understand what I mean.”
Do I have any more questions? I don’t think so. He’s answered all of my major ones, so I guess not.
“I have a question, sir. How does any of this relate to the dojo’s battle techniques?” Henry said, his voice laced with determination.
“Ah, you mean techniques such as our legendary Orion Fist. Well, that’s simple,” Kamble said, stroking his beard. He nudged the pillow back to its original position and plopped back down, kicking up another plume of dust. “The Gravity Forging realm strengthens one’s body, and that is important. As even if you know a handful of battle techniques, you could be crushed by those who have far superior cultivation. Though there are those who can shorten that disparity with pure skill. Your brother being one such person, Mirae.”
Her cheeks flushed as warmth crawled up the back of her neck. While it wasn’t her being complimented, it was still a little strange to have someone praise Hector.
“But to answer your question, you need battle techniques to augment your strength. Because raw strength isn’t everything. It’s how you use it.”
Having finished his speech, Instructor Kamble stood back up and walked to the side of the room, to a small shelf. He opened it, pulling out three worn books, their green covers browned with age. “These hold the cultivation technique of our dojo. I see that look in your eye. Don’t be impressed. I just made some changes to the standard Kurma manual you can find in stores.”
“Is that safe, instructor? I’ve heard that—”
“It’s more than safe, my boy.” Kamble shuffled back across the mat, plopping back down onto his pillow with a huff. He splayed the three manuals out on the floor before him. “Okay, each of you take one and read over it. We are then going to move on to the practical application.”
Mirae nodded, focusing on the tattered green-brown book, its cover splotched with stains. As she reached toward the book, the sunlight seemed to converge on it and her hands shook, reverence overtaking her.
She was about to enter a world that had only been a dream. A world only her brother and father knew of. But now—no, she had always been a part of it. Her visions didn’t come from nowhere, but now she would take a step in finding out where they came from.
She scooped up the book, careful not to damage its delicate form, and began reading. The book described the process of cultivating mana, of taking it into your soulscape and cycling it around your soul's manifestation.
The words were more detailed than what Kamble had said, but the same four principals were there. Absorb mana into your soul space, capture it into your soul orbit, cycle the mana until it has become affinited, and then funnel it into your souler lagrange point, forming your soul nucleus.
It all made sense. It was all simple.
After a good while of silent reading, Kamble spoke up. “Okay, now that you have familiarized yourselves with the cultivation techniques, it is time to get hands on with it.”
“I want you all to follow my lead.” Kamble then crossed his legs, wiggling into place on his pillow and closing his eyes. Mirae did the same. “Now I want you all to focus inward, listen to the rhythms of your body. That is the path to your soul.”
That is the path to my soul. I need to focus in on myself, focus on the rhythm.
A wave of calm washed over her. Her heart thumped in her chest, her skin prickled. All these sensations, all of them, had a rhythm and it was going somewhere. She followed her heartbeat, each thump became more intense. Building and building, until...
She found herself standing in a void, a black, all-consuming void. She looked to her feet, and there she found water, ankle-deep and still. “Is this my soulscape?” Her mind went back to the words of the book as she turned in the empty void, the water glowing as she moved.
It said the next step was—
“Good, all three of you have entered your soulscape. It’s quite impressive. I thought it’d take a bit longer.” Instructor Kamble‘s voice echoed through the void. She could follow it if she wanted to, but from what the book said, doing that would break her meditation.
His voice continued, “Now comes the absorption process. I want all of you to take a deep breath. It will feel like you’re breathing through your entire body. I want you to grasp that feeling and pull.”
It’s just like breathing, just breathing.
She took a breath, and immediately the void began to throb. She fought to keep her focus, as it felt like her body had become a gaping hole pulling in all around it.
After a few moments of bearing this, she noticed a light form in the void above her. A small weak light. It drifted through the void lazily, going about its business. A few moments later, another light appeared.
This is it, this is what the manual said. Chaotic mana motes. Now I just have to pull them in and capture them.
2024-11-29 16:39:50 +0000 UTC
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The voice belonged to Jodie who stood by the large oak gates decorated with scrapped bronze buttons. She rested a hand on the gate and squinted to keep out the midday sun. “The lesson starts in a few minutes, and it seems your sister isn’t the only one joining us today.”
“She isn’t?” Hector asked, stepping forward and bowing to Jodie. She did the same.
As she rose, she flashed Mirae a smile before returning her attention to Hector. “Yeah, a girl and a boy. I didn’t get their names, but the boy’s a redhead like me, so I’m definitely happy to see our numbers increase.”
“I bet you are. Now you’re less likely to stick out like a sore thumb. And I mean that literally.”
Jodie rolled her eyes and turned, walking down the grey stone tiled path, further into the dojo. Mirae and Hector followed behind, her heart racing all the while. This was it. She was doing it; she was about to begin her journey and these first few steps would—
Is that Pippa? She didn’t tell me she was gonna join. That little...
“Pippa!” Mirae yelled, racing forward to embrace her friend. “You kept this quiet, didn’t you? How come you never told me you were signing up?”
Pippa returned the hug with equal enthusiasm. “I wasn’t planning to originally, but when I told my mom and dad, both of them felt it was a good path to take. Besides, they think you are a good influence on me, so this was bound to happen.”
Mirae chuckled, releasing the hug. “Then, depending on how this goes, I’m either sorry or you’re welcome.”
As the two of them chatted, Mirae spared a moment to glance around the dojo. She had never been inside before, so this was something new. “I can’t believe they actually have wood that isn’t completely rotted,” she said, marvelling at the polished wooden surfaces.
“I mean yeah, but look at this mat, look at the size of it,” Pippa said as she gestured to the training mat that covered most of the room, leaving only a wooden border a few feet thick. “At the very least, I know where the money is going.”
“To a training mat and probably to those incense,” Mirae said, gesturing to a shrine-like structure at the end of the room. It was littered with hundreds of incense sticks, all burning faintly, filling the room with the scent of sandalwood. “It smells rather nice. I think I might ask Hector if we can get some.”
“Get some of what?” her brother said as he approached, with a soft smile. “Oh hey Pippa, I didn’t realize you’d be joining us. Mirae didn’t say anything about that.”
“Because I didn’t know.” Mirae turned, smiling at her friend. “But I’m super glad she’s here.”
Pippa chuckled, causing the freckles on her face to dance. She smiled back, brushing a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear. “I’m glad I got to surprise a few people today.”
“And I take it this is the other student joining today.” Hector turned to a boy that stood a short distance away. He was a lanky with a mop of unruly ginger hair, standing with an air of confidence.
He glanced at Mirae, giving her a sharp nod before continuing to observe the room. “I’ve never seen him before. You, Pippa?”
“No. I can’t say I’ve seen him before. Maybe he comes from the other side of the slums.”
“Maybe,” Mirae said. Her gaze lingered on the boy for a few moments before turning back to Hector. “Where did Jodie go, by the way?”
“She—”
A gong silenced Hector before he could speak and caused everyone to turn towards the sound. At the centre of the room stood a young boy holding a stick with some thick wrapping at the end of it. Next to him was a large metal disk that was vibrating as the sound petered off.
“Prepare to greet the Instructor!” the boy yelled, his face tight but filled with pride.
“You two should stand towards the back of the room. After the morning roll call, the instructor should come over to you,” Hector said before walking towards the centre of the training mat. Several other people around the room also began to filter towards the centre of the mat. Jodie was amongst them, her ginger hair a sharp contrast to everyone else aside from Hector’s own white.
“Come on, Pippa,” Mirae said, grabbing Pippa’s hand and leading her towards the back of the room. The girl stumbled forward, hurrying behind her. Mirea, glancing out of the corner of her eye, also noticed the boy moving in the same direction—he was clearly following them.
Oh, so he doesn’t know what’s going on.
The way he was walking, she’d worried he’d trained for years, but that confident look earlier was just a front. Maybe he wanted to show off? Perhaps it made him feel less nervous. Who knows?
As Mirae approached the back of the room, her slippers screeching against the polished wood, the two large wooden doors that the boy with the stick—most likely Able—was standing by opened. And there, wearing tattered brown robes and his long grey hair tied up in a ponytail, was Instructor Kamble.
“What a most excellent day!” he yelled, causing his long grey beard to shake.
“The day belongs to the excellent!” the assembled students replied.
Instructor Kamble chuckled as he walked into the room. “I’m glad to see we have everyone in attendance today. Even the usually absent Lincoln has decided to grace us this day.”
Mirae’s eyes snapped to the boy standing in the front row next to Hector. Lincoln was wearing a new-looking white shirt and some creased black breeches. She hadn’t even noticed him when she came in.
It’s good that he’s here. Now Hector can finally stop worrying. Just because he doesn’t agree with the plan doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try.
“Alright, let’s do roll call,” instructor Kamble said. Able dropped his stick and scrambled forward, pulling out a small booklet from his pocket. He then handed the booklet to Kamble.
“Who is that?” Pippa said, shifting a little as her gaze locked onto the boy. “He seems important.”
Mirae moved closer, cupping her hand over Pippa’s ear and whispering into it.. “I think that’s Abel. My brother says he can be quite annoying.”
Pippa didn’t say anything, but the interest seemed to fade from her eyes as she continued to survey the room.
Mirae’s focus moved back to the center of the hall, to the assembled students as the instructor continued to call out names. “Caroline.”
“Here instructor.”
“Sen.”
“Here instructor.”
A while later, when all the names had been called, the instructor gave the assembled students a firm nod before handing the booklet back to who Mirae suspected was Abel. “As I’m sure you are all aware, today we have some new students. So Hector and Jodie will lead you all in morning meditation while I attend to them.”
Kamble then bowed to the class, and they did the same. Before he began making his way over to Mirae and the others, as the students following behind her brother and Jodie made their way to the other end of the room.
“You can address me as instructor, Kamble,” he said, coming to a stop in front of them. “As I am sure you are aware, it brings me great joy to see three fresh faces join my Orion Fist dojo. So go on, introduce yourselves.”
Mirae turned to Pippa and she to her. They both used various eye movements to decide who would speak first, but in the end, it was unnecessary.
“I am Henry Staticill. I’m from the Papyrus quarter.” The boy with the ginger hair said. The confidence on his face didn’t crack even as he said the name of his home.
That’s so sad. I can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up there, the shame he must carry.
She hadn’t heard anything good about the Papyrus quarter—a place many in the slums would deny that they’d ever entered. All she did know was it was a place where women were commodities and men acted like dogs. Most who came from the quarter would deny it as their origin. But not this boy. Not Henry.
“Papyrus, eh,” instructor Kamble said, stroking his beard. “I’m surprised you didn’t choose to go to a dojo closer, but never mind that.” He turned to Mirae. “We may already know each other, but it is good to introduce yourself, don’t you think?”
Mirae’s back straightened as the words seemed to rush out of her mouth under the wise grey gaze of Instructor Kamble. “My name is Mirae Jacaranda. I’m from the Sirius quarter.” The instructor nodded and moved on to Pippa.
“My name is P-Pippa Strongmail,” the girl stuttered, sounding like she was about to bite her own tongue. “I am also from the Sirius quarter.”
“Good, good. Now that introductions are done, I think we should move into the other room so as not to disturb the other students.” On the other side of the hall, Mirae’s brother and all his other dojo mates sat cross-legged on the training mat, their faces calm and focused.
I can’t believe it. I’m going to be like them soon. I’m gonna grow in power and perhaps...
Images flashed before her mind: her father’s death, Hector’s tears, herself standing, unable to move, unable to help. She had been weak.
That can’t be real and I won’t let it be real.
The dreams did not control her, they did not control her future, and she would not let them.
“Alright young aspirants, come along,” instructor Kamble said as he plodded across the mat, walking to a side door on the other wall. The three of them followed him in silence, not one jostling the others.
They entered a much smaller room, one that looked to have not been used in a while. The mat in the centre of the room was a bit more faded, and the air was a bit staler, tinged with the stink of the slums—like dry bread with a bit of unseen mold.
A chalkboard hung at the front of the room, and beneath it was a large pillow. Towards the back of the room were stacks of pillows that seemed to be covered in a thin layer of dust.
“Alright aspirants, go and grab those pillows over there and put them in the centre. We’ll be going over the basics, and after that, I’ll give you the meditation technique you are to practice.” Instructor Kamble plodded over to the large pillow beneath the chalkboard, dusted it off and plopped down, releasing a plume of dust into the air. He fanned it out of the way as the three of them moved to grab the pillows at the back.
“This room could do with a bit of cleaning, don’t you think?” Pippa said in a whisper. “Compared to next door, this place is...”
“It is yours. Until you three reach the rank of your senior aspirant, it will be your room to maintain,” instructor Kamble said with a soft smile on his lips.
Are you kidding me? I came to train, not to be a housekeeper. I do that enough at home.
Mirae frowned as she moved to grab a pillow, plucking it off the pile, which unfortunately coated her hands with dust. Pippa did the same, and so did Henry. The three of them then made their way to the centre of the mat, placing the pillows down and releasing three plumes of dust. Mirae coughed away the dust before carefully sitting down.
Instructor Kamble chuckled. “I’m sure once you three give this room a good once over, the dust will no longer be a problem.”
The boy, Henry, grumbled but made no move to say anything. Mirae nodded at the instructor, throwing a glance at the window and wishing it were open.
“So, who wants to learn how to cultivate?”
2024-11-29 16:33:59 +0000 UTC
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Hector and Adrian stood across from each other, as a strong wind blew the stink of the slums down the street. The vendor was still at the side, watching on unable to move, as the three of Adrian's grunts lay a short distance away.
"I'll give you one more chance Adrian," Hector said, as he began circling him. "Your dump guards are knocked out, you can go and collect some new ones from whatever trash heap you find them."
"Shut up, Ghost," Adrian snarled. He lowered his stance, gripping the cobblestone with his feet. He then exploded forward.
Hector pulled on the still lingering effect of [Quickening Brace]. The world slowed. Adrian was going to charge him, and once he was close enough he'd grab for him again. It was impressive that Adrian could think that far ahead, though he did have to control a gaggle of starving dogs, so it tracked.
But what could Hector do? His mind reeled—the effects of [Quickening Brace] would end soon and he had to do something. Though Adrian probably expected him to dodge, he could also be expecting him to attack.
Throwing caution to the wind, Hector prepared himself to deliver an Orion Leaping Strike. But this time he would not aim at Adrian's stomach. The world snapped into motion and he shot forward, sailing through the air and aiming for his chest.
Adrian crossed his arms to block. Hector smiled, as he kneed into Adrian's arms he used the force to launch himself into the air. He swivelled, then came crashing down with an Orion Fist straight to Adrian's head.
Adrian crumpled beneath Hector's fist, letting out a shout as he collapsed to the ground. Hector flipped back creating some distance between them. He watched as Adrian didn't get back up, his body lay slumped on the floor, his chest rhythmically rising and falling.
That's the second time I've laid him out flat. I hope he actually remembers next time.
Hector spared him one more glance before turning to the vendor. He made his way over and held out a hand. The man grabbed it, smiling as Hector pulled him to his feet. "Thank you, my friend, I thought I'd have more time before they came." He scratched his arm with a sad chuckle, looking at them with embarrassment on his face. "But I guess I mistimed."
"It wasn't your fault, these guys are a bunch of clowns," Hector said, gesturing to Adrian's crew laying on the floor like the trash they were. He bent over and began helping collect the vendor's wares. He then tipped his cart upright and shuffled everything in. "It's best you get going. Them I can handle, but I am not sure about anyone else."
The man chuckled. "You should give yourself more credit, I've never seen anyone do what you did. The name's Brick by the way," he said reaching a hand forward. "If you ever need any incense or ghost-warding charms. I'm your man."
"Brick," Hector said, tasting the words in his mouth as he shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you. Now get going."
The man nodded and then made his way to the front of his cart. He buckled it in place and pulled it along, making his way further down the street. Lincoln gave the man a nod as he strode past him.
Hector glanced over at Adrian. Memories of the past conflicts he'd had with him played in his mind, the constant abuse, the constant tyranny. Adrian had seemed like an insurmountable mountain before, but now after advancing mana-cultivation and gaining a few talents, he was a lot... less.
The world seemed to have moved on. Adrian still bullied the weak while Hector now had to consider bigger things. Not that robbing a bunch of people of their belongings was something to be proud of—if Hector's father found out he'd kill him. But the world did seem a lot bigger than the pond known as the Midlec dumps.
The world is a lot bigger than just the slums. I need to keep that in mind.
Hector swept his gaze around the slums. The dilapidated buildings, the open sewers running alongside the streets, the hollow-faced residents—all that served as a reminder of what he had to overcome. And one day he would.
"You handled yourself pretty well there," Lincoln said, as he strolled up clutching his brown paper bag. "I mean you could work on a few things, but I have to say you did well."
Hector playfully punched him in the shoulder. "You wish you could do what I just did."
"I know we ain't sparred in a while but, don't get too cocky."
Hector smiled, throwing his arm over his friend's shoulder. "Speaking of sparring, you really need to make sure you come to the dojo more. I know your mom's got you running errands, but with this upcoming operation everyone's gotta be at their best."
"Yeah I know," Lincoln said with a sigh. He looked down at Adrian and his group, and his lips moved as if he had something to say but he held the words back. He then turned and looked at Hector. "What are you doing anyway, are you heading home?"
"I wasn't planning to initially but then I saw these guys," Hector gestured to the unconscious trash resting on the cobblestone. "But now I'm feeling a bit worn out." His glance stopped at the reddening sky, masked with thickening clouds, and he nodded.
It's probably going to rain and I can't get back too late. Mirae will give me an earful again.
"Shall we then?" Lincoln gestured in the direction of home.
The two of them walked, talking casually about their day. Lincoln's was mostly filled with running errands for his mother, as one of few healers in the slums she didn't have much time for housework. But even as they talked, Hector found himself distracted. He needed to find Talent fragments, and sadly talking to Lincoln wouldn't bring them any closer.
By the time they reached Lincoln's house, Hector had a tight frown on his face. Not one person had a Talent fragment, let alone a talent. If they were the same level of rarity in this place, then thank goodness he had the ability to grow them. Otherwise, even with this system, his journey to amounting to much would be arduous at best.
"All right then Hector, I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Lincoln said, giving him a nod. He backed up, with his bread using his back to push his gate open. His house much like the rest of the street was dilapidated, a wooden structure held up by the mercy of an unknown power. But it was his home, and Hector wasn't exactly in a position to judge.
"I'll see you tomorrow—and make sure you come to the dojo. If not I'll come right back here and drag you there myself."
Lincoln chuckled and shook his head, kicking the gate closed with his feet. It gave a soft thump shaking the decaying wood, causing Hector to chuckle and shake his head.
I'm sure that gate probably wouldn't last much longer.
Hector turned to walk to his home but paused. The soft heat that filled the slums like a warm release of gas suddenly gave way to a light chill. In the distant horizon, amongst the darkening clouds, snakes of lightning rampaged through the sky.
Now I really need to get home.
Hector broke off into a brisk stride, his eyes still scanning the faces of those he passed. Even if it was going to rain, he needed to find Talent fragments.
The first fat droplets of rain began to fall, splattering against the cobblestones and raising a haze of dust and grime. In the distance, a fork of lightning split the sky, illuminating the slums in a brief, harsh glare.
Hector cursed, breaking into a run. His house was not too far from Lincoln's so it wouldn't take him much longer to get home. He had missed his chance today, but tomorrow he would find something.
A few minutes later, Hector pushed open the door to his house and strode into the kitchen. Water droplets peeled off him and splashed onto decaying wood, forming a small puddle around him.
"Hector, what are you doing get out of those clothes now!" Mirae said, hustling over with a bundle of rags. "You're gonna catch a cold come on hurry up. What were you even doing outside so long?"
"Mirae I—"
As he went to speak the system interrupted him.
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///: Talent fragment found, would you like to harvest?
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///: +++ [Yes] / [No] +++
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"Yes," Hector said, raising his voice as a bright smile came to his face. How could he forget that he'd already had someone with the Talent? Maybe that was it, Talent fragments came from those with talents. But then why couldn't he produce any?
"Yes?" Mirae said, squinting her eyes as her mouth fell open. "What does that even mean? I asked you what you were doing! I swear Hector sometimes I don't understand." She continued to scramble around him, dabbing him with rags and urging his clothes off.
"It's okay I've got it," Hector said taking one of the rags off of her. "I can dry myself."
"Sure you can. Now answer my question. You didn't even say goodbye earlier. What if something had happened? What if the Coller Gang—"
"I was just meeting up with Lincoln. Now can you hand me that rag?"
Mirae's heart raced as she approached the Orion fist dojo, her fingers absent-mindedly gliding through long white hair. The familiar weight of Hector's hand on her shoulder brought her some comfort. It steadied her.
She had done this walk many times, walking to Fangdale Street to sell her flowers, but this time was different. She wasn't going to simply stand outside the dojo as her brother practiced. She would be in there, starting her journey to become a Mana-cultivator.
"You feeling nervous little sis?" Hector asked, with a warm smile. "If you are we can head home right now. You don't need to do something you don't want to." His voice was tinged with worry.
But Mirae flashed him a bright smile and shook her head. "Are you kidding me, I was born ready. You watch, after today, instructor Kamble will be calling me his top student."
"You think so?"
"I know so," Mirae said as they rounded a corner, turning onto Fangdale Street.
Mirae sighed, looking on. The difference between this street and the rest of the slums, while not huge, was certainly unmissable. The cobblestones seemed a little straighter, the buildings, while still in disrepair, didn't look like they could collapse at any moment. And the overall smell, while not refreshing, was certainly more bearable.
And the crowning jewel of Fangdale Street was no doubt the Orion Fist dojo. The surrounding buildings, in comparison, seemed to slouch under the weight of their relative poverty and neglect, while the dojo stood as a beacon of order and purpose. Its walls, though weathered, were clean and well-maintained. The cobblestones leading to its entrance were swept clear of the usual detritus that clogged the nearby gutters.
It was almost as if the building dared her to look at it. It represented a truth known in the world—like mana cultivators in general, it was above those in its environment—even if that environment was the slums.
As Mirae approached the dojo, she took notice of the small garden out front. Nestled against the dojo's wall, a few feet from the entrance, was a garden she had helped create and work she was proud of. Bright flowers—marigolds and ruby-flowers—added splashes of colour to the otherwise drab surroundings.
"It took you two long enough, I thought I'd have to stall the instructor for you."
2024-11-29 16:27:58 +0000 UTC
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Hector sighed, slumping onto his old rickety bed in a puff of dust. The food had been good, though his father hadn't taken his eyes off him the entire meal. His sister's free education as a Mana-cultivator seemed to not make him too happy. But that didn't matter.
With a grunt, Hector rolled over onto his front and gazed out the window at the dimming sky. His sister was going to be a Mana-cultivator; that was something to be celebrated. Especially by their father—he was always saying how they should do good. But that was hard to do when you were weak and untalented.
Talent. Smiling, Hector tapped his sheets. Talent was something that he wouldn't lack soon enough. The system would give him it in spades. He brought his attention to his golden finger.
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///: System update complete. Would you like to take a look at your new abilities?
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///: +++ [Yes] / [No] +++
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Hector struggled to hold back the smile that came to his lips but in the end, he relented as he mentally clicked yes. He rolled back onto his back and hopped to his feet as the contents on the translucent screen morphed.
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///: [Talent Garden]
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///: This ability allows the user to collect Talent Fragments off a Talent holder. Once the threshold of Talent Fragments is achieved, the user can then form a Talent Seed to be placed in the Mind Garden. Once fully grown the seed will produce a number of Talents one rank lower than the seed's level. The minimum rank being Common.
————————————————
Holy crap, Hector thought. I can now grow Talents, that's insane.
He raced across his ramshackle room and bounded out of his door, making his way to the street—he needed to test this out right now. If he could gain any edge in the upcoming operation, he needed to take it.
"I'm heading out," he yelled, bounding through the kitchen and leaving the house. He didn't wait for a reply from Mirae or his father; she would be home when he came back and his dad would be up to who knows what. If Mirae needed anything, he wouldn't be too far—it was just a quick trip around the area.
Hector walked around the street taking in the surroundings. The cobblestone streets of the Middlec slums echoed with the hollow footsteps of the desperate and the damned. But he moved through the throng with purpose, his eyes scanning the faces of those he passed, searching for Talent holders.
The system, or to be precise his new ability, had said nothing about restraint or incapacitation, so perhaps he could get the Talent fragments without having to fight this time.
As he navigated the cramped alleyways, the stench of rotting refuse and human misery hit his nostrils. Many times he would walk down an alleyway and then stop, being forced to turn and leave due to the stench. The slums were a festering wound on the city's underbelly, a place where hope came to die and dreams were crushed beneath the iron heel of poverty.
But in a way there had been a comfort to that, knowing that he didn't need to try. Just go to the dojo, eke out a good Mana-cultivation level and he could claw someplace in this hell hole for himself. But that wasn't enough anymore.
The system has given me the opportunity to rise well above all this.
Hector frowned as he walked down the street. Ramshackle buildings leaned precariously against one another, their timber frames groaning under the weight of too many souls crammed into too little space. His gaze swept over the crumbling facades, taking in the gaunt faces peering from grimy windows and the hollow-eyed children huddled in doorways.
He had never been that bad, thankfully. His father had made sure of that, working long shifts at the Muddust family refineries for a company that didn't appreciate him.
————————————————
///: No talent found... No talent found x 4
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Talents truly are sparse. I'm glad I can at least grow them. If I had to continue at this rate, it would take forever to get anything good.
His mind drifted to his cultivation, to his level and lack of talent; the slow and sometimes unsteady progress he had been making was at times frustrating. His muscles were stronger than the average person's due to the fact that he was in Gravity Forging realm one. But it wasn't enough, far from it. That was made more than apparent when the Collar Gang broke down their door. He needed strength and fast.
At this point, he was just hoping that there was talent out there that could give what he was looking for. He paused as he came to the end of the street, looking on as a small crowd of people continued to march about their day. It wasn't late but at times it felt like the time of day didn't matter to the slums.
Hector glanced across the road and spotted Diana's bakery.
The bakery's faded sign swung gently in the breeze as the aroma of sweet loaves danced through the area, a refreshing performance for his nose. It was a much needed break from the constant stink that filled the rest of the slums.
Continuing to watch the shop, he considered what to do next. He had still not found anyone with a Talent and it was going to start getting dark soon. He didn't need to make Mirae worry more than she had over the past few days.
It was a problem: Carry on, or go home and try again tomorrow?
But before he could decide, the door to Diana's bakery jingled as it opened. And there, emerging from the shop with a small, paper-wrapped package, was Lincoln.
What a lucky guy. I haven't had anything from Diana's in months.
His lips quirked up with a smile. Lincoln was no doubt running another errand for his mother. A pang of sadness washed through Hector's chest as a distant memory surfaced. "Mother," he said. The words tasted stale.
Shaking his head and putting back on a smile, he took a step forward. But a moment later, he jerked to a stop. At the other end of the T-junction, down the street, shouts came from what looked to be a vendor with his little cart turned over. A group of around four people had cornered him and were shouting in his face. Hector recognized one immediately. Adrian.
He would recognize his round rump anywhere. It seemed as if Adrian and his dump guard had finished at the dump today and were now doing a little cashing in on the vendors that were closing. It would seem that this one had been unable to pay.
The young man cowered on the floor as Adrian and his three cronies stood over him. The wares from his cart littered the ground around him, small trinkets and what looked to be some incense. Vital commodities to ward off the stink of the slum.
Hector frowned as he began to walk over. He had already taught Adrian a lesson once this week—maybe the idiot would give up without a fight. After all, he loved to prey on the weak, and compared to a poor hapless vendor, Hector was to be feared.
He threw a glance to Lincoln who still watched from the bakery door with a frown on his face. It took him a moment to spot Hector but when he did he gave him a nod and made his way over, but Hector raised his hand. He gestured for Lincoln to stop, signalling that he would handle it. The fight from last time had shown that he was more than enough to handle Adrian and his goons.
As he approached, he assessed Adrian and the three other boys. He had taken Adrian's talent last time, so it stood to reason that he would be weaker than in their previous conflict in the dump. And Hector had even acquired another talent, one that was sure to give him an edge in the coming conflict.
Not that there would be much of one.
Hector took in a deep breath before shouting, "Adrian, you worthless mutt. What are you doing?"
The chubby boy turned, his pudding-like cheeks red with anger. "Who the — Ghost. Why am I not surprised."
"Maybe because I live around here," Hector said, raising an eyebrow and coming to a stop a few feet away from him. He glanced at the three other boys around Adrian—they were gaunt, emaciated, and no doubt starving. Just the way Adrian liked them.
"What do you want Ghost?" Adrian crossed his arms and scanned him. "I don't know if you can tell but I'm a bit busy right now."
"I see that," Hector said, gesturing towards the vendor. "But I think the man has had more than enough so why don't you and your other mutts back off."
Adrian sneered as he uncrossed his arms and chuckled. "The other day at the dump must have been quite the confidence boost for you. I can't believe one lucky punch has got you making demands of me. That's hilarious." He fixed Hector with a glare. "Get lost Ghost, before I have to hurt you."
Is he forgetting how I laid him out?
He looked to Adrian's goons; each of them had a look of confidence on their faces. They actually thought that they were a threat. Then Hector realized: these guys weren't the same ones from the dump; the fool had somehow convinced some more people to join his little gang.
It wasn't a surprise—the hungry were a lot easier to convince than those with full bellies. "Hey, it was a fair fight. It's not my fault that I dropped you in one punch," Hector said, watching how the three grunts reacted. If they heard that Adrian had already lost to him maybe they would reconsider.
At least if they are smart they will reconsider. Though something tells me the hunger has stripped them of all rationality.
The three other boys seemed to not even register what he had said, as they looked at Adrian as if waiting for something. A smile crept to Adrian's lips, and he let out a bark of laughter. "You didn't lay me out. We both know that. I let you and your freak of a friend leave with your lives. It seems I may have been a bit too forgiving."
Hector scowled but found the anger he was beginning to feel give way to some humour.
He's truly pathetic. I almost feel sorry for him. Though I get it, you can't look weak around starving dogs.
"Okay Adrian, this is how it's going to go. I'm going to count to ten, and if you and these starving idiots aren't gone by the time I'm done, I'll refresh your memory of what happened last time. How does that sound?"
The boy's face somehow became redder as he jiggled with anger. His eyes flickered around as if looking for something. Whatever it was, a smile came to his face and he crossed his arms. "I don't need a ten second warning. Get him, boys."
This guy has lost his mind.
He dropped his stance as the moves for Orion Fist played through his mind. The starving boys charged him as one, which was good for them as anything less and they stood no chance. He shot forward and delivered a knee to the first boy's empty stomach.
Before the second and third could react, he hooked a leg around one of their necks, swivelled and slammed him to the floor with a crunch. The power of Quickening Brace activated and time seemed to crawl.
He wasn't moving any faster, but his thinking had increased. He could see where he would end up, giving him an idea. He slowly adjusted himself, lining his fist up. And when time snapped back into motion his fist slammed cleanly into the jaw of the final boy, laying him out with a thud.
Hector stood in place with the boys littered around him like discarded trash, locking eyes with a wide-eyed Adrian. "Your turn," he said, unable to stop the smile from coming to his lips.
Adrian growled, then roared as he charged towards Hector with his teeth bared. Hector ducked to the side but wasn't quick enough as Adrian grabbed the side of his tunic and dragged him in. Hector kicked off the cobblestone and delivered a knee to his gut. It did barely anything—his knee sunk into Adrian's blubber, losing most of its energy. It did stagger him, giving Hector a moment to back up, but it was ineffective.
It seems I'll have to aim for his head if I want to do any damage.
2024-11-29 16:23:30 +0000 UTC
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Emela searched around the hall, looking for what? She did not know. The only people who may have supported her could say nothing—Nyx was but a maid and her mother didn’t have much weight against these giants.
She looked to Ulrich, to the modest smile that graced his lips. It was fake. He could not hide the lust that lurked just beneath the surface, the disregard for who she was as a person. He would not be a good husband.
What choice do I have? If my family were to abandon me, where would I go?
The slums were not an option—as soon as they found out who she truly was; she did not doubt that Hector and her friends would abandon her. The Great Houses and, to a certain extent, all noble families saw the people of the slums as nothing more than slum rats and treated them as such. So, they had no love for the nobles. If anything, they would gladly put a sword in the back of any noble.
Furthermore, with no support from her family, she had no resources. As a cultivator, she would be able to get by to a certain extent, but she didn’t like her chances as an abandoned Frostkeep. Family members now could turn assassins in the future, as she became an eyesore to a glorious family name.
Her lips trembled as the urge to throw up coiled inside of her. But the words. She had to say them. She had no option. “I—I accept the marriage.”
A small smile passed over the first elder’s face as he nodded to Drion’s mother. They had gotten what they wanted. Murmurs passed through the crowd as Drion strode past her and whispered, “Make sure to be a good wife now, sister. The family is watching.” He then continued, walking past her and stopping right before the crystal-like steps.
Her father’s voice boomed through the hall. “You are dismissed.”
The mana in the air seemed to come alive. It swelled around her, churning into a tornado of mist and frost. Her body became light. Weightless. Then with a thud, her feet landed on soft carpet, and the mist and frost cleared.
She now found herself standing outside the Great Hall. The oak doors were now closed, with runes humming along their surface. Nyx stood next to her and her mother a few paces away.
“I’m sorry, my love. I knew you were to be married, but not to them. If I had known...”
Emela sighed and looked absent-mindedly at the great oak doors. “There was nothing you could do Mother, there was nothing anyone could do.”
“Mistress,” Nyx said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I will be with you, don’t you worry.”
Emela smiled and squeezed her hand back before turning to her mother. “About my punishment, do you think—”
“No, my love, if anything, I have more of a reason to do this. You are going to need strength for what comes next.”
Silence fell as the lamps running along the hallway crackled. It was going to be a long night.
***
“So grime-grain and sprouts for dinner, huh?” Hector asked. He and Mirae walked into the kitchen and he placed the flower basket on the table with a thud. The stale smell from the sewage outside leaked into the room as he walked over and closed the kitchen window.
“Do we have to?” Mirae asked with a pout as she walked out of the kitchen, her long white hair bouncing behind her. She was heading to her room and Hector was eager for an answer, so he followed. “I should have something in the garden, right?”
“I mean, even if you do, there’s no guarantee that it’s ripe.” Hector walked behind her until she entered her room. He stopped at her door and leaned against its frame as she began to rifle around her drawers. Mess. One thing that she often made, but she would always clean it up straight away.
“Yeah, but still. I feel like my skin is starting to be made of grime-grain,” she said, pinching her forearm. She then shook her head and continued searching through the drawers, looking for something. She paused, looking up with a frown. “Didn’t you once say that as a cultivator you need more than grime-grain to become stronger? Stands to reason that the same would apply to me.”
Hector sighed, lightly slapping his forehead and dragging his hand down his face. He had said that with a lot more confidence back then. But time had proven that grime-grain was not what was holding him back. A lack of talent was. But now he had the system. Things were different. “Okay, okay. If you are quick, you can go see what we have in the garden.”
Mirae let out a cheer, and Hector levied a serious gaze against her. “Make sure that it’s ripe. I don’t want to spend all of tomorrow on the bucket again.”
The girl nodded and ran towards him. She jerked, stepping past him, and continued full pelt down the hallway. The mess she had made of her drawers long forgotten.
She’ll clean it up, I hope. System, how long till the upgrade is complete?
————————————————
///: update progress... 99.89%
————————————————
A smile came to his lips. He pushed off the door frame and made his way back to the kitchen. The update would soon be complete—he could have a look at it after dinner and see what it had unlocked.
He entered the kitchen and made his way to the cupboard on the far side of the room, pulling it open. A stale scent assaulted him, forcing him to crinkle his nose as he reached for his target. An old heavy brown sack filled with the dry sandpaper-like flakes known as grime-grain.
Now I’m kinda hoping she finds something. I don’t think I can eat another bowl of grime-grain.
He gripped the sack and tugged. The sack scratched across the wood before falling to the ground with a heavy thud, kicking up a plume of flakes. He shook his head and made his way over to the sink, grabbed the pot from the cupboard beneath it, and whipped it onto the stove with a clang.
The pot’s rough exterior, marked with years of use, looked at him as he considered it. If she brought back something good, perhaps the grim-grain could be a palate cleanser. That would mean that he wouldn’t need to make too much.
As he nodded his head, a loud bang and a crash caused him to freeze. He turned, frowned, and made his way over to the window of the kitchen, looking outside with concern. It couldn’t be Mirae. She was in the back garden, but then...
His eyes went wide as he watched his father—haggard, clothes torn, and face bruised—stumble up the dirt and cobblestone path. He had already slammed through the front gate and was fixing to do the same to the front door if Hector didn’t do something.
Hector slammed the bottom of his fist on the counter—this was getting bad—before rushing over to the front door and opening it for his father. His father fell into his arms as soon as the door opened and hacked as Hector held him.
“S-sorry about that, son. I didn’t think you guys would be home yet.” He let out a few more coughs, patted Hector on the chest and stood up, his legs shaky.
“Dad... what happened?”
He looked at Hector with a weak smile and gently shook his head. Silent. He then turned and walked over to the far cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whisky.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea right now?” Hector said, eyeing him. The bruises on his face were new. “You should get some rest before you start drinking.”
“It’s only a sip. You know, a small drop to cool the pain. I’m not aiming to get drunk or anything. Don’t worry.” He fetched himself a glass from the adjoining cupboard before making his way over to the new table—freshly collected from the dump this morning—and slumping into the chair. He cocked his head to the side as he poured himself a glass. “Making dinner, are we?”
“Yeah,” Hector said, walking back over to the stove and lighting the fire underneath. He glanced back at his father. “Mirae is outside fetching some stuff from the garden—who did that to you, was it the Collar Gang?”
“Hector.” He frowned, taking a swig of his whisky before slamming it down on the table. “Drop it,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“Why won’t you trust me? I’m almost an adult, for crying out loud. When will you let me help you and stop leaving me in the dark like I’m some child?”
“I’m not having this discussion with you. I said drop it.” His father then set his jaw and looked out the kitchen window as the sound of the crackling fire from the stove filled the room.
Why are you such a stubborn old fool at times? How am I meant to help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on?
Silence settled in. Hector brought the pot over to the sink and twisted the nozzle. A small mana array triggered at its underside, and a bout of water gushed out in a wave, slamming into the pot and filling it in moments. He twisted the nozzle, then brought the pot back over to the stove and left it to boil.
A few strained silent moments later, Mirae bundled in, carrying a basket filled with fresh vegetables. Tomatoes, carrots, and even a whole cucumber. A few bell peppers rested on top of the pile, their coloured skin making his mouth water. It wasn’t much, but they could definitely make a soup from it.
“I brought the best-looking ones. I could have brought a little more, but you said only ripe ones—oh, hey Dad.” She said, smiling at their father as she hefted the basket onto the table. He smiled at her, the past conversation forgotten. She brushed a strand of white hair from her face as she regarded him. “Drinking? Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
“Well, you know, a sip a day keeps the healer away.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it does, and you look like you could use one,” she turned to Hector with a pointed look, as if asking what happened. He shook his head and moved over to look through the basket.
“It’s just a few bumps and scrapes, nothing too serious. Don’t worry your little head about it one bit,” their father said with a grin.
Does he think she’s stupid? Smiling like everything is okay isn’t going to mean anything.
“If you won’t tell me about what happened, can you at least say how work was?” Hector said, picking up a carrot and examining it. “I remember the other day you said you got a promotion.”
“Ah, yeah, the promotion.” His father took another swig of the whiskey before slamming the cup down onto the table. “I thought I had the promotion, but apparently Zehira gave it to someone else. Something to do with attitudes at work, damn Muddusts. Those sewage wastes don’t appreciate anyone. But I got to keep my job, so there’s that at least.”
Hector glanced at his sister and raised an eyebrow before moving back over to the sink with a handful of carrots and the cucumber. “So no promotion. Good to know you are still stuck sorting herbs.”
Is that what happened? Did he take a loan, thinking he would receive a promotion?
“Anyway, enough about me,” his father said, glancing at his sister. “How were the flower sales today? Did Pippa join you like she said she would?”
“Um, about that,” she said, glancing from Hector to their father. “Yes, I sold flowers, no, Pippa didn’t turn up, and I’m now training to be a Mana-cultivator.”
Their father coughed and sputtered, splashing spittle over the table. “You’re doing what now?”
2024-11-29 16:19:00 +0000 UTC
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Hector's meeting with the group drew to a close amidst the chattering of the market crowd. They had come up with a concrete plan for the festival. Even Lincoln had contributed in the end, choosing to take a more active role.
It had been decided that all six of them would split up into pairs and take a direction—moving around as one large group would draw too much attention. Emela and Nyx would take the east, Hector and Lincoln would take the west, and Marcus and Jodie would take the south.
The pairs would allow each person to cover the other's back. The guards could be anywhere and having someone nearby to keep a lookout could prove invaluable. Furthermore, with each taking a specific direction it would be easier to locate each other if something went wrong.
Hector slumped down onto the edge of the fountain and let out a sigh. Mirae smiled at him with a bright beaming smile, and around him, each of his friends stood in silence amidst the winding down of the plaza market.
"Well then," he said, his eyes drifting past his friends and to the streets leading away from the square. "I guess we have it all figured out. If anything does happen we will have to adapt on the fly."
"I know we've already been over this but are we sure that we want to do this," Lincoln said, looking between each member of the group.
"Lincoln, I swear I'm going to hit you," Jodie said, cracking her knuckles.
Hector sighed and shook his head, "we've got this people."
***
Emela stood with her back straight before the great oak doors of the Grand Hall. The door was intricately carved with various runes which hummed with power, symbols of the protection array that covered most of the building.
Okay, this shouldn't be hard. I just have to explain to Father that I can do more for the family unmarried than I can married.
She glanced to her side. Nyx stood ever vigilant, eager to put down any threat that may occur—though the only threat here was Emela’s own family. But she would be of no use in the upcoming battle of words against Emela's father and the rest. She was but a maid, after all.
Nyx patted down her frock—a piece of clothing she seldom wore—and smiled. "Are you nervous mistress?"
"Shouldn't I be, after all the rest of my life is about to be decided for me."
Nyx tilted her head as she bunched her lips. "I suppose so, but whatever happens mistress, I will be by your side through all of it."
"I sure hope that is the case."
The soft crackle of the lamps around them filled the silence that followed.
Emela had been waiting for some time now. Not one person had come to inform her as to why she was waiting so long, though that did speak of how much the family valued her. She opened her mouth to comment but froze.
In the corner, by the door, a burst of cold wind and mist flooded out of nowhere, breezing in like a torrent of ice. And from this mist stepped her mother, Catherine. "I'm glad to see you’re on time, my love. I had feared that you would be late, but I'm glad to see that the other night was nothing but an accident."
"As am I mother," Emela said, flexing her fingers as her mother's cold aura washed over her. A layer of frost formed on the carpeted floor, and she took a step back not wanting to be within her orbit again.
A coy smile came to her mother's lips as she crossed her arms and locked eyes with her. "I've come up with a suitable punishment for you. As I said last night it will be administered after your father's announcement."
Dread crawled up Emela's throat threatening to choke the words as they came out of her mouth. "And what will my punishment be, if I may ask," she said, throwing a quick glance to Nyx, who had taken a step closer to her with a look of concern. It was appreciated though ironic that it was levied against her mother—the person meant to protect her.
"No, my dear. I think I will keep that piece of information to myself. Besides, it's time to go in," she said, turning.
The heavy oak doors creaked and let out a low rumble as they began to open. Waves of mana flooded through the hallway as the array circuit was broken. Emela's fringe whipped about as Nyx held down her frock. All the while, her mother stood calm, like a sturdy rock in a wild lake.
Moments later the wind settled, and a deep voice boomed out of the meeting hall. "You may enter."
Her mother turned to her, nodded, smiled and walked in, a light shroud of mist in her wake.
"Come along Nyx, let's get this over with," Emela said, following behind her mother.
As Emela entered the great hall, a crowd of eyes fell on her. Elders, enforcers and various members of her family that held more power than they deserved. But even the weight of this crowd was nothing compared to the man who sat at the end of the hall on his elevated seat with blue crystal-like stairs leading up to it.
She could feel the pressure he was giving off even upon entering the room. She had long entered his orbit. Her skin prickled as the mana in the air seemed to fall still. Waiting. Her father's power was unquestionable.
In his orbit he was law. Even her mother's mist had retracted to a thin layer that hovered just above her clothing. His orbit covered the entire hall, and probably a bit more. This was the power of a Mana Ignition cultivator.
As she walked down the hall, her heart racing more than she’d hoped, she glanced at the stands running along either side of the hall. Murmurs, at first a little, then they picked up as more and more of her so-called family recognized her.
"And here I thought she had been shipped off to Escal. Time as a serving woman would have done the girl well," said a voice. Her gaze flickered to it. An Elder—one that caused her gut to twist with disgust as she locked eyes with him.
Grandfather to her perfect first brother, Drion. Elder Garen held no love for her. He would often comment that she was nothing more than a waste of resources, which would have been better spent strengthening his genius of a grandson. The man was a pathetic old fool.
She swallowed and continued forward, resisting the urge to look back to Nyx for support. Instead, she let her mind wander. Thinking of the Middlec slums and the freedom she had there. Thinking of Hector and her other friends. The plans they'd made, and the relief she would have when she could go back there.
After a few moments of walking amidst the murmur of the crowd, she came to a stop, a few paces away from the crystal-like stairs. She looked up at her father, sitting high above and waited for him to speak.
But instead of speaking the air began to tingle as she felt a pressure on her chest. It was light, intended to make her pay attention. The hall immediately fell silent, and the pressure receded. "Emela Frostkeep. I have brought you here to officially recognize your engagement to the Muddust household. Do you have any objections?"
A wave of murmurs once again washed through the hall. Her chest tightened, eyes narrowing as her lips contorted with disgust. The Muddust house. A low to medium ranked family in the city that specialized in refining average standard pills in bulk. Their pills weren't widely used in the central parts of Middlec, but it was not hard to find a cultivator in the outer parts of the city that didn't use them.
No. Not only am I to be married, but to such a lesser house. Why would Father do this?
Her gaze flickered to her mother. She frowned and Emela noticed a look of confusion crossing her features. "Lord Patriarch, surely you do not mean the lower house headed by Blaine Muddust. They are a middling family at best, would it be wise to—"
"Your thoughts are appreciated Catherine," said a voice. It came from one of the balconies within the stands that stood out with its ornate blue crystal dragon, run along its edges acting as railings. And sitting in the balcony was first elder Rodrick, second only to the Lord Patriarch himself. "But this has been decided by the inner family. Your words and opinions are not needed." Rodrick combed his bony fingers through his short slicked back white hair and regarded her for a moment. "I believe the patriarch is still questioning Emela."
The man may have worn beautiful blue and white robes trimmed with gold, but there was nothing beautiful about him. Whether it was his scrawny nose or callous appearance, he was a man who had little love for things he could not use.
Emela gulped and focused on her father's cold blue eyes, his features like a block of ice, cold and sharp. "I—I do not wish to marry the Muddusts," she said, forcing the words out of her mouth.
"If you are not to marry, we have no use for you, Girl," said another voice from the opposing stand. They sat in a similarly ornamented balcony to the first elder. Elder Margaret. She was the mother of Drion and the Lord patriarch's first wife. "You have failed to make progress, and if we continue to waste resources on you it would be an embarrassment. So marriage seems to be your only option."
"Indeed, Emela. In marrying the Muddust, you would also be serving your family," the first elder said, narrowing his eyes at her. He reached to his side and brought up a cup, taking a sip, never moving his eyes from her. "If you do not wish to serve the family then you are not part of the family."
Her mother went to speak, but a look from the first elder evaporated any words she may have had. She looked back at her daughter, frowned and lowered her head. It had become clear she could do nothing to help.
"So, Emela, do you wish to be a part of this family?" The first elder said.
I wouldn't even keep my name. Would I even be part of this family? I just want to go back to the slums.
She grit her teeth and shifted her weight on the carpet beneath her.
"Oh come now, dear sister," a voice said from behind her. She turned. The doors to the great hall were still open, and through them she could see two men walking towards her. The one who had spoken was perhaps the person she wanted to see the least. Drion.
With a cocky smile on his face, he strode into the great hall, his long white hair trailing behind him. He wore his usual blue and white battle robes, clean and trim displaying the house insignia. A few paces behind him was a boy she had never seen before—he had brown ruddy hair and wore battle robes that were a mix of brown and black, though she did recognize the house insignia. He was a Muddust.
"I have just been speaking to Ulrich here," Drion said, gesturing to the boy behind him. "And he seems quite excited to be your betrothed." Drion had a look on his face that said he was enjoying every bit of her suffering. She supposed that with Talent such as his, and the pressure that came with it, she was a good outlet.
"It is good that you are here Drion," her father said, for the first time since she'd entered, some interest seemed to have been sparked in him. He then glanced back at her, "Your betrothed is here. Do you accept marriage? Give me an answer?"
2024-11-29 16:13:42 +0000 UTC
View Post
Hector smiled as he walked down the street looking over his stats. Jodie and Mirae followed behind him. It was a hard fight but it had been more than worth it in the end.
————————————————
///
————————————————
Hector Jacaranda
———
Cultivation level: [Gravity Forging - 1]
Spirit Root: Moon
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STATS
├─ Body │ Tier 0 │ Level ( I )
├─ Mind │ Tier 0 │ Level ( - )
└─ Spirit │ Tier 0 │ Level ( - )
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EQUIPMENT
└─ None
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TALENTS
└─ Hearty Body +0 [•○○] (1/3) — Quickening Brace +0 [•○○] (1/3)
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TECHNIQUES:
└─ [Orion Fist] (Journeyman: 90%) — [Orion Leaping Strike] (Novice: 20%)
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///
————————————————
Hector had acquired the Talent [Quickening Brace]. And it was as he thought. The skill was related to speed. Specifically, when he had the intention of striking a target, time would seem to almost slow down allowing him to deal another physical blow on his enemy. It was a strong Talent, though it did have the downside of taking an hour to become usable again. But that could be remedied by finding another [Quickening Brace].
Hector kissed his teeth as he sidestepped a man lugging his cart of goods down the main street. The streets weren't packed but there was definitely a good handful of people. Probably not the best place to stand and gawk over his stats.
But he couldn't help himself; he was growing. And when the system finished upgrading he would grow even more. A thought then came to his head: when he was fighting that group, the man hadn't used his Talent once. It didn't consume mana, but he seemed not to even realize that he possessed the Talent. It was strange—perhaps one had to train themselves in order to use it, or at the very least be aware that they could.
I'll have to do some testing in the future, Hector thought.
He glanced at his side, and a smile came to his lips. Mirae walked beside him, lugging her basket along with both hands clasped firmly around its handle. She had a determined look on her face, no doubt her future journey as a Mana-cultivator had sparked a fire within her.
"Thanks again Jodie," Hector said, turning his head to his other side with an appreciative look. "You've given us—"
"Oh shut it," Jodie said, brushing her ginger hair behind her ear. "You've spent too many years training while staring out that window. It's a distraction to you and to the rest of the dojo. This way you can focus on actually getting better. Or one day I'm gonna surpass you and you'll never catch up."
Hector's mouth hung open amidst Jodie's chuckle as she gracefully sidestepped another pedestrian. The idea of her surpassing him wasn't far-fetched but it was uncomfortable. Not because he didn't think she could, but because with her battle insight, she could very well do it.
A gust of wind blew down the street, blowing through Jodie's long ginger hair which she had let down after leaving the dojo. She frowned and cursed, grabbing her hair before looking at Hector. "But don't worry, I doubt I'll be surpassing you any time soon."
"I—most definitely will," said Mirae, grunting as she hefted the basket so it could more comfortably rest on her hip. "....Brother, you know I love you right?"
"Give it," Hector reached forward and took the basket from her, and she cheered and jumped, hugging his arm.
"See this is why I love you."
"Okay, whatever. Come on, we have to hurry up—we don't want to keep the guys waiting."
***
Hector placed the basket down, resting it up against the wall of Hilda's fountain. He didn't need to hold it in his hands, and Mirae didn't want to hold it on her lap. But that was fine, she'd had a tough day and if she didn't want to hold her flower basket, she didn't have to.
I hope we don't forget it here, It's not much but these flowers could pay for our next bowl of grime-grain.
His mouth went dry at the thought. They wouldn't always have plums to combat the dry taste. He slumped down onto the edge of the fountain, careful not to kick the basket, and looked to his friends. "So, about the pickpocketing operation. We have the general plan right?" he asked, inclining his head to Marcus. "We meet up at his dad's stall. Then go about our separate ways, picking the pockets of anyone we come across—but especially nobles."
"Yeah, about the plan. I'm having my doubts," Lincoln said, wringing his hands. His gaze darted about as he stammered. "I didn't mind at first. I mean, the festival or the farm, it didn't matter. But thinking about it again, it's the Hilda festival we're talking about. Are we forgetting that the place will be crawling with Phoenix Company initiates, just looking to make themselves look good?"
Hector frowned and regarded Lincoln—his hair was a mess and his tunic was tattered. Not any different from how he usually was, but his behaviour was strange. Sure it would be harder with the Phoenix Company present, but that didn't mean the operation should be scrapped. "So what are you suggesting?"
Lincoln glanced at Jodie, before looking straight to the ground and taking a breath. "I think we should reconsider the farm."
"No!" Jodie said, shaking her head. "We discussed this last time."
"But—"
"But what, Lincoln," Jodie snapped, taking a step forward on the cracked plaza tile. "If you are so desperate to go and beat up some Farmerhands, go and do it. But no one here is going with you." Jodie's eyes scanned the group, as if looking for someone to challenge her.
Emela cleared her throat and gestured towards Lincoln. "I think he's just worried for our safety. The Phoenix Company are no pushovers. Even if it's the initiates, we should still be careful. Actually, it leads into what I wanted to bring up with you all today." She strode over to the fountain's edge and gently set herself down next to Hector, and crossed her legs.
Nyx walked up to Emela and stood at her side with her usual placid look. Emela again cleared her throat before she continued.
Is she getting sick or something?
"I think there are people and places at the festival that we should avoid targeting. Specifically higher-end areas," she said, giving a pointed look to Jodie. "Not everyone is a target we can handle, and some areas will be worse for us than others."
Hector tapped his foot on the tile, resisting the urge to stand up and pace. She was right, and to a certain extent so was Lincoln. The Hilda's Festival, while not the biggest event in Middlec—the Middlec tournament was still at least two years away. The festival was no small street party. The Phoenix Company paid for a lot of it and would certainly want to ensure that it went off without too much of a hitch.
Hector rested a hand on the fountain's edge and looked first to Lincoln. "If you don't want to do this I get it. But I have to help my dad. To be honest, taking part in this operation goes against what he's taught me. But I can't sit around and do nothing." Lincoln nodded and looked to the ground like a disappointed child.
Hector then brought his attention to Emela. "You seem to have a plan already if you've been thinking about who to avoid."
"Well—"
Before she could finish, Nyx leaned down and whispered something into her ear. Emela pursed her lips and seemed to reconsider whatever it was she was about to say. "I haven't got too much of a plan. I want to avoid some people and areas, that's all."
Okay, that's kinda weird. But then again it's Nyx and Emela.
He sighed as he pushed off the rim of the fountain and walked over to Marcus, placing a hand on his back while gesturing to sit in his now vacant spot. Marcus had been getting more and more anxious as the conversation continued, and Hector didn't need him zoning out while they all tried to come up with a plan.
Emela raised an eyebrow at his actions but said nothing, while his sister gave Marcus a bright beaming smile and nudged the flower basket out of the way with her foot. The basket almost tipped over but before it did, she hefted it onto her other side and thumped it down onto the plaza tile.
"So we don't have a serious plan, but a general one. I can't say I like that," Hector said, frowning as he began to pace back and forth. Each step loosened the tightening anxiety twisting in his gut. "We need roles, we need operation sites, we need to have an escape route in case it all goes to hell."
"Hell?" Jodie asked. "Where is that?"
Hector shook his head as he continued pacing. "Never mind that, I want us all to establish roles now." He looked at all five of the people before him and considered what he knew about them.
"I can bring lunch," Mirae said enthusiastically. "It's not much but a few hard-dough sandwiches made from the fruit in our garden should be alright."
You know what. I'd rather her do that than be involved with anything else.
He nodded at his sister and gave her a warm smile. "So, we have our chef, good. Anyone else got any roles they want to fulfill?"
Jodie cocked her head and rocked back on her foot as she crossed her arms. "I don't want to sound rude but aren't we just taking people's money and running off—if we’re seen. If not, walk off. No need to draw attention." She smiled at his sister. "I don't think anyone needs a defined role aside from our sweet Mirae."
She then turned to Hector. "What I think we should be discussing is how we are going to split the loot." She glanced at everyone, her gaze looking eerily similar to instructor Kamble when he wanted to make sure everyone was paying attention. "I don't mind having it so sixty percent of the total haul goes to Hector. As he's said, he's in a bit of a pickle right now, and I'd rather not hear about Mr. Jacaranda being beaten to death."
A brief silence passed over the group as they let what Jodie said settle in. Mirae let out a low whimper and Hector walked over to comfort her. Memories of what she'd said in the kitchen surfaced in his mind. She'd seemed so certain he would die, and it looked like she hadn't gotten over that.
"Jodie," Emela said, narrowing her eyes at the ginger girl. "Can you not be more careful with how you phrase things? It's not ladylike at all."
Jodie huffed and shrugged her shoulders. But Hector couldn't blame her—Jodie's brashness was sometimes needed. She would often be the one to jump in and help with a fight, no questions asked. Though he was sure that was mainly because she loved to fight.
"No, no. I agree with Hector," Marcus said, playing with the ends of his suit. "We will be using my dad's booth as a meeting spot, but we won't know where anyone will be going or doing. If something bad happens, how will we know where to look for the others? I think we need a clear plan and contingencies."
"I agree as well," Emela said, giving Marcus a quaint smile. "I think we should pair up. With each pair working a specific area of the festival."
"That sounds good," Hector said. "Anything else?"
"I think one of the areas we should avoid pickpocketing in is the central area of the festival," Marcus said, looking up from playing with the ends of his suit coat. "Specifically the area with my dad's stall. If something goes wrong there then it's over and my dad will kill me."
"That would be the least of your worries if they link your dad's stall with the operation," Jodie said with a chuckle, but still nodding in the end. "That has to be one of the areas we avoid doing stuff in. We don't want to draw the guards or the Phoenix company to our HQ."
Hector smiled and nodded. It seemed that ideas were starting to flow, even from Jodie. He looked up at the mid-afternoon sun. There was still some daylight to burn—it was time to get a concrete plan.
"Alright, guys, I want to hear what everyone thinks," Hector smiled at Lincoln, giving what he hoped was reassurance. "Especially you Lincoln, we need to work together on this."
2024-11-29 16:07:28 +0000 UTC
View Post
“Oh, come now. Don’t you have anything better than this? I need something beautiful for the girl that I’m going to bed tonight,” the man said. Hector couldn’t see the man’s face as he stood facing his sister, but the clumped-up brown hair and dirty slacks spoke of his hygiene level. His mud-brown shirt had a few stains, no doubt from eating the garbage scum like him usually dined on.
He was a waste.
“I’m sorry. But this is all I have. If you come back tomorrow, I could have something more to your liking.” His sister’s shaking body sent waves of something violent through Hector, but he couldn’t let it out, not like he did in the dump yesterday. Control was needed. But this fool was antagonizing her, and he couldn’t be allowed to get away with it so freely.
“Listen, I need something now. Where do you get these from? I can follow you there. Perhaps I’ll find something I like,” the man said with a sickening chuckle—it was as if a chicken was choking in his throat.
Hector drew up to the man, cracking his knuckles before resting a hand on his shoulder. “As she said, you can come back tomorrow and perhaps there’ll be something you like.” The man turned with a scowl on his pock-marked face. “But to be honest, I don’t like your attitude, so I don’t want you near her ever again.”
“And who the hell are you?” the man said, slapping Hector’s hand to the side. “Don’t come over here messing with my business and don’t touch me. Now if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of something, so you can go piss off before I make you.”
That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear. System, scan him.
————————————————
///: No talent found…
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“Figures,” Hector said, smiling. As instructor Kamble always said, they should use their techniques to defend themselves and the innocent, and this man had just threatened him—a form of violence. Defence was his only option now.
Hector squinted at the man, willing the system to acquire his stats. The last thing he needed was to recklessly attack someone in a higher realm than himself—he’d need to use his head, if that was the case. But looking at the man, he doubted he even cultivated.
————————————————
///: Acquiring target stats…
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///
Cultivation level: None
Talent: None
///
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The system’s message brought a smile to Hector’s lips as he looked past the man and nodded at his sister. She frowned, her eyes narrowing at him as if to say, don’t do what you’re about to do.
“Hey,” the man said, jabbing a dirty finger into Hector’s chest. Hector scowled, crinkling his nose, as a pungent smell wafted through the air. His movement seemed to have released the odours trapped within his clothing. “I told you to piss off. Imma count to ten, and if you aren’t gone, you’ll be in a world of trouble.”
Hector nodded as his sister’s mouth fell open. She understood what this idiot did not—he’d crossed a line. Threatened twice, and attacked once. Hector had more than all the justification he needed. A surge of energy rushed through his body as his muscles tensed.
A crisp thump snapped through the air as his fist slammed into the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling onto the cobblestone. The force of the blow put him on the ground with a thud, as if he were no more than a sack of potatoes. He stilled. His face was one of absolute shock, seemingly not believing he’d been laid out. The glazed look began to fade from his eyes, but Hector’s ears pricked as he heard footsteps thundering down the cobblestone streets of Fangdale.
“You little dirt wallop. How dare you lay hands on one of my boys,” said a man as he charged down the street, two more scruffy-looking men following behind him.
“Was that really necessary?” Mirae said, adjusting her basket with both hands and looking at him for an explanation. “We’re meant to be avoiding trouble. Being good, what would father think?”
He wouldn’t think much at the moment. Too preoccupied hiding secrets he thinks we can’t handle.
“It wasn’t my fault. You saw it. He attacked me,” Hector said, rolling his shoulders and getting ready to meet the coming fight. He didn’t have time to try the new technique that instructor Kamble had shown him. Now would be a good time—he’d need all the practice he could get.
How did it go again?
Images played in his mind. The feet spacing, the movements, all of it laid out bare in a simple and easy-to-follow format. For a technique that would give an edge, it seemed rather trivial. But then again, looks could be deceiving. The man laid out on the cobblestone had learned that the hard way; he had probably thought Hector was nothing more than a brat coming to play hero.
Hector took in a deep, refreshing breath of slum air—the vile taste making him want to gag—and Mirae took a step back as the group of men drew closer. Across the street, he spotted Able at the dojo window. His eyes were wide as he looked from Hector to the approaching group of thugs. He then turned and scampered away, probably off to go and tattletale to instructor Kamble.
Seems I won’t have much time. System, scan them for Talents.
————————————————
///: No talent found… ///: No talent found…
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Makes sense, Hector thought. He frowned. He didn’t get his hopes up, but it was still a little disappointing. At the very least, it got him into a habit, so there was that at least. He moved his focus to the last man and scanned him with the system.
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///: Talent found [Quickening Brace[•○○] (1/3)]
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It seems I spoke too soon.
The man on the right of the leading man had a talent. While Hector didn’t know what it did from its name, he guessed it had something to do with speed. Though he wouldn’t think that from his gaunt face and stick-thin arms and legs. A stiff wind would probably blow him over.
A man like that was no doubt like the fools that followed Adrian. He was just looking to survive. It seems the man at the front of the group provided that—him or the guy Hector had laid out on the floor.
As the first man closed in, Hector made his plan of attack. The lead man would have to go down first; he was bigger and more well-fed, which meant he had a lot more energy to fight than the other two. Hector cursed, wishing Lincoln was here—they could split it as they did before. But now he’d have to put in some effort.
He kicked off the cobblestone and launched towards the big man. The man swung his fist back, giving Hector the perfect opportunity to slip to the side. Hector slammed his palm into the man’s shoulder, knocking his momentum.
The other two men went for a tackle, but he slipped them and launched into the air, hooking his leg around the big guy’s neck and throwing him into one of the smaller ones. They clattered to the floor in a heap as he turned his attention to the man with the Talent.
“Shouldn’t waste the good opportunity.” In an instant, Hector lowered his stance, power ballooning in his legs before he exploded forward. His knee cracked into the man’s chin, sending him head over heels through the air. The man slapped onto the wet cobblestone with a pained groan—the idiot wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.
I think that was wrong. Kamble’s one was more of a double kick.
Hector spun as a large fist filled his vision. His knees bent and the big man’s punch brushed past his face with a whistle. If that had hit, it could have been bad. Not wasting a second, he flipped backwards, his foot slamming into the man’s chin, sending him stumbling backwards.
“What is with this kid?” The big man said, rubbing his chin. He glanced at the two men on the floor and then to the one man left at his side. “What are you waiting for? Grab him.”
The man’s eyes went wide, seemingly pleading with the big man, who shrugged. He then took a step forward, rushing past the man before swivelling and grabbing him by the collar of his tattered brown shirt. The man screamed as he was launched through the air towards Hector. Poor unfortunate fool. Hector wouldn’t catch him, and the floor was more than eager to. He ducked out of the way, readying himself. That was clearly nothing more than a distraction.
As he looked to where the big man stood, he hadn’t moved. Instead, he stood with a smile on his face, as if he’d caught something in a trap.
“Hector, behind you!” cried Mirae, but it was too late.
Pain exploded from his side as he staggered forward. The first man he’d laid out on the floor had gotten up at some point. “How dare you sucker punch me!” he yelled.
Before Hector could reply, a fist crashed into the side of his face. He’d been distracted, and the big guy had wasted no time. He crashed to the floor and heaved as a foot slammed into his side, throwing him back across the cobblestone and slamming into a wall.
Okay, how are they playing fair? I mean when did I even sucker-punch him? That was a full-on knockout blow.
His sides ached with pain as his head throbbed. He may have had one cultivation level on these guys, but boy could they hit hard. “I should have focused on the big guy. I need to stop wasting opportunities,” he muttered, tasting the blood and dirt in his mouth.
“Now it’s time to end this, you little dirt wallop,” the big man said, striding towards him with a proud look on his face. What was there to be proud of? He was a grown man attacking a teenager.
The man approached Hector, his shadow looming over him like a mountain of muscle. “First I want you to apologize, and then I’ll deal with you nicely,” he said, cracking his knuckles.
Hector spat a glob of blood onto the cobblestone and looked up at him as if he was an idiot. Why would he waste his time apologizing to someone like them? The fight was done, and even if it wasn’t, the apology would not be enough. So they could go and choke.
“What, not feeling in the mood to talk? Don’t worry, I can beat it out of you.” As the man readied his foot for a stomp, a small figure barreled into his side, achieving nothing. His sister bounced off the man and crashed onto the cobblestone, her basket of flowers spilling across the ground. “Wait your turn, little one. I’ll get to you.”
Over my dead body. You big bull.
Energy rushed through his body as he struggled to his feet. His sides ached and his face was beginning to swell, but that would not stop him. The man had attacked his sister and that would cost him. His feet shifted in place as he played back the instructor’s movements.
“I see you are ready for another round, being welp. Let’s—”
In an instant, Hector’s body shifted forward in a blur, his knee cracking into the man’s nose, disintegrating it into nothing but a lump of skin and fragmented bone cartilage. He landed on the ground and hopped back as the air stilled, before the big man crashed to the cobblestone with a loud wet thud. Blood leaked from his nose profusely, coating his face like a red mask.
That still wasn’t right, Damnit. I need to figure this out.
“What... crap,” Hector’s original target said. He took one look at the man, glanced at Hector, and then turned, running down the street amidst the stares of onlookers.
“Well, it seems you got the beginning of the move down,” Kamble said, approaching with the small crowd from the dojo. Jodie was a few steps behind him, with a frown on her face. Kamble glanced over the unconscious bodies and shook his head. “I don’t recognize these guys; they must be new to this part of the slum. Idiots.”
That’s the beginning of the move. Well, all right. I just have to keep practicing.
Jodie walked over to Hector and gave him a light punch in the shoulder. “You’re ahead of me for now, but I’m going to reach adept level with this technique before the competition even begins, so you better stay focused.”
Hector chuckled, wincing at the spike of pain from his side. “Don’t worry, I was never one to fall behind, anyway.” He then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Besides, anything that can help with the upcoming operation will definitely have my focus.”
Jodie probably didn’t need telling, but it would be good to keep her mind on what was important at the moment. The competition was fine, but his family’s debt came first. He turned to Mirae. She was bent over with her basket, collecting flowers. “Are you all right, Mirae?”
“I couldn’t be better. I’m more upset about the flowers—and that horrible welt on your face. But mostly the flowers,” she said with a huff. “But I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”
“Come on Mirae. Don’t be upset, I was just protecting you.”
“I know.” She stood up and adjusted the basket, leaning it against her waist. The flowers that had spilled had all been placed neatly back inside. “I just feel pathetic. I mean, I have to stand out here just so you can keep an eye on me.”
“You should start cultivating,” Jodie said, stepping forward. “I’m sure instructor Kamble is eager for more students, especially with the current hardships of your family.” Jodie turned, eyeing the instructor with a provocative look.
“We don’t have the funds,” Mirae said, her voice barely a whisper, but those with cultivation could pick it up with ease.
“Instructor, surely there’s a place in our dojo for the sister of one of our greatest fighters. No expenses, right?” Jodie narrowed her gaze at Kamble as she raised an eyebrow.
The man looked from her to Hector, and then to Mirae. His eyes held a conflicted look as he swallowed and wrung his hands. “I—”
2024-11-29 16:03:46 +0000 UTC
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Emela flew back and slammed into the floor with a grunt as her sword clattered to the side. Standing a few feet away, Noella looked at her with a contemptuous smile. "Oh come now, dear sister. I barely even touched you."
That's what you call barely, you toad.
She pushed off the ground and staggered over to her sword, as Noella watched on. She was enjoying this, she always did. It was as if she wanted to punish Emela for the simple fact that she was older. Who the hell raised her?
Emela walked forward and got back into position. She didn't need to ask who raised her as the apple never fell too far from the tree. The girl was exactly like her trash heap of a mother, Ulara. Emela raised her sword, readying for another round.
All she needed to do was land one hit, without getting knocked back. That would be more than enough to hurt this toad's pride. It may not mean much in the grand scheme of things but she would have something to smile about tonight as she went to bed.
"Begin," Shallowcold called from the side of the training grounds as she stood with the two maids.
Emela charged forward, the wind rushing past her ears. The morning sun glinted off her blade, its edge thrusting towards her sister. A burst of mana shot through her spine and into the sword. She wouldn't hit her using the little knowledge she had of the technique. No. But she could with something Noella wasn't expecting.
Noella stood with a smile on her face, lightly raising her sword, and preparing to unleash her technique again.
But that smile froze as mana raced through Emela's hand causing it to buckle with pain as her sword shot forward, darting towards her.
Noella's eyes went wide as she dived to the side narrowly avoiding Emela's blade, which pierced into the ground a few feet behind her.
"Are you trying to kill me!" She screeched, hopping to her feet and levelling her sword at Emela. "If that's the game you wish to play dear sister then I shall oblige you."
Emela's eyes went wide as her sister charged at her, her eyes fierce with intent. She was going to stab her, and it wouldn't be as simple as the spare intended.
But as Emela closed her eyes a gust of wind tickled her cheek. The clang of metal forced her eyes open. And there, before her stood Captain Shallowcold. A small dagger rested in her hand as she casually blocked Noella's blade.
"Are you serious?" Shallowcold asked, her eyes boring deep into Emela. "What did I say earlier about your control of Mana? Now here you are using that in a battle. I don't know whether to call you resourceful or an absolute idiot."
Hopefully a bit of both, Emela thought as she lowered her head.
A smile came to her lips. She'd seen Noella's face as she jumped to the floor like the toad she was. She was scared and she felt shame. Emela had gotten her goal, at this point not being run through by her was a bonus.
"And you," Shallowcold said, fixing Noella with an intense glare. "Were you trying to seriously harm your own sibling. Do I need to inform the master of this?"
"So what if I try to harm her? She is a talentless waste, the family would be better off if she was gone." Noella said sliding her sword back into its scabbard and fixing Emela with a glare. "The only value she has to the family now is that of an alliance tool. Don't forget your place, dear sister, because someone will remind you of it. Don’t forget the lesson our dear brother Drion gave you last time."
As Shallowcold went to respond, Noella turned around and stormed off across the training grounds. The pathetic maid Matilda scrambled behind eager to soothe her mistress's temper as per usual.
"Are you pleased with yourself," Shallowcold said, stowing away her dagger. Her gaze followed Noella as she passed through the archway, before turning to Emela. "I hope you realize, that you have just earned yourself twenty laps of the training grounds."
And it was more than worth it, Emela thought. But frowned as she marched off to the side of the training grounds to meet up with Nyx.
"What happened, did you lose control of your mana again?" Nyx asked as Emela set her sword down on the bench.
"No. I did it on purpose this time. I needed a win, even if it was a little pathetic."
Nyx furrowed her brow but said nothing as she picked up Emela's sword and cradled it in her arms. Emela wasn't sure what the girl was thinking, but knowing her she was evaluating whether it was even a good plan. It wasn't—the throbbing pain in Emela's hand reminded her of that.
"Okay, I have to go and do twenty laps of the training grounds now, would it be okay to ask you to bring me some water?"
"Of course, mistress, it will be here when you return."
***
Hector eyed up his opponent before him. Jodie was in good form today, her ginger hair tied in a bun, her green eyes shining with a fierce light. She was in her prime, but that did not mean much to him. After all, he was her opponent today and he would not yield.
"Ready?" squeaked a voice from the duelling mat's edge. There, with one arm raised in the air was Able. A short boy with a tuft of blonde hair, he wasn't much of a combatant. Hector had learned as much when he sparred against him a few months back. The poor boy could hardly handle one punch— it was unknown why instructor Kambell even kept him in the dojo.
He must be his illegitimate son or something. If you squint, they kind of have the same eyes.
Hector threw a quick glance out of the window. His sister stood outside selling her little basket of flowers. He nodded. The fight shouldn't take too long, and she looked alright. More importantly, Fangdale Street wasn't exactly known for its crime— the fear brought about by the dojo kept most vagrants at bay. Most but not all. The collar gang didn't fear the dojo.
His lips pulled into a tight smile and he nodded at Able. The boy then lowered his arms, signalling for the fight to begin.
Jodie took a step back. She was starting the same way as usual, always one to analyze and wait for the opponent to make a mistake. But Hector rarely made mistakes. He shot forward, the wind rushing past him as he opened with a punch.
She took a step back again, anticipating the kick he threw a second later. A mere distraction. Hector swivelled on his heels, hooking her arm with his leg and tugging her forward. She reeled as he slammed a fist into her chest, staggering her.
His feet slid across the mat as a smile came to his lips. "You can't be leaving yourself open like that Jodie. People like me punish you for it," he said, sparing a quick glance out the window to check on his sister.
"Oh shut it. The fight isn't even halfway over." She charged towards him, and he laughed. Now was not the time for her to lose her cool. Hector punched forward, aiming for her face, but frowned as he felt a foot to the gut.
With a grunt, he staggered back and narrowed his eyes at the smiling Jodie. He looked to Able, whose mouth hung open—he apparently barely noticed what happened himself. But when was that not the case? "Okay, I'll give you that one," Hector said, lowering into his stance and throwing another glance out the window.
His sister had a bubbly smile as she completed a transaction. The hard work she'd put into raising those plants had actually paid off. But it wouldn't go far in repaying their father's debt. "Okay!" Able said, raising his arm. "A point apiece." The boy had a smile on his face as if he was the one on the mat fighting. "Ready—"
The training room door slammed open. At the head of a group of students was instructor Kamble. He had a fierce look on his face as he stormed over to Hector and Jodie. "I've just heard the news and I am as furious as you are. We're going to fix this."
"What?" Hector said, throwing a look at Jodie. "Who told you?"
"Most of the slum is talking about it, boy. How could I not hear?"
I mean they did attack us quite publicly. But I didn't think anyone in the slum really cared.
He looked at the instructor with warmth in his eyes. The old man had more of a heart than he realized, but Hector didn't wish for him to do anything reckless. "I don't know what you're planning, sir, but I wouldn't recommend getting involved. The Collar Gang are tricky to deal with."
"Huh? What does this have to do with the Collar Gang?"
Hector frowned. "It was them who beat my father yesterday morning."
The righteous anger in Kamble's eyes faded, and pity replaced it. "Oh, my dear boy. I didn't know about that, I'm sorry. I was talking about the fact that Dale has reached the journeyman stage with Phoenix Barrage Kick."
An awkward silence settled into the room as Hector turned to Jodie, who shook her head and then massaged her temple. He spared another quick glance out the window to check on his sister before turning back to his instructor. "I see. I didn't even know he was practicing the Phoenix Barrage Kick."
"Yes, yes, it was news to me as well." Campbell scratched the side of his neck and coughed. "About your father, I'm sorry to hear what happened. But I fear I won't be able to help much where it concerns the Collar gang. A few low-leveled thugs I can handle, but they are a bit different. It won't mean much to you now but in the future, you'll understand."
I understand that you're weak and don't want to get your butt kicked. But I can't blame you.
Kamble was only in the sixth level of gravity forging realm—to an average Middlecean slum dweller, he was to be feared. But with more organized groups such as the Collar Gang, he didn't amount to much. So there wasn't anything he could do to help Hector.
The instructor clapped his hands and the group behind him dispersed, forming a line at the edge of the training room. "No Lincoln today?" he asked, looking between Hector and Jodie.
"No," Jodie said, rolling her shoulders and wiping the sweat off her brow. "He said he had some errands to run for his mother today."
"Shame," the instructor said, striding to the edge of the mat and getting into a stance. "I guess I'll be teaching the new technique to you two then." He gestured to the group lining the wall. "That lot will take a bit longer to learn it and I feel you two will pick it up the fastest."
Hector glanced over to the group lining the wall and activated his system. It had taken him some time to get into a habit of scanning everyone he came across, as the system was something he hadn't fully grown accustomed to as of yet. It was there but he had other pressing issues—but that needed to change. After all, he wasn't the same Hector he was before.
He had scanned Abel earlier and he came back with negative results and sadly this group did as well.
————————————————
///: No talent found…///: No talent found…///: No talent found…
————————————————
Why is it so hard to find anyone with Talent in this slum? Hector wondered.
He had somehow managed to find four yesterday. But today, even though it was still early, he hadn't managed to find any.
————————————————
///: Sufficient scans have been completed…Upgrade of System now initiating.
————————————————
Oh, maybe I should have been scanning more people. If I had known it would get an upgrade, I wouldn't have wasted so much time.
"Alright, both of you watch me closely," Kamble said, steadying his breathing. "This is called Orion Leaping Strike. It is normally used to catch opponents off guard. I'm sure it will give you an edge in the upcoming competition, especially if you face Dale."
Focused, Hector watched the instructor as he moved around the mat. He analyzed his moves, feet placement, fist placement, where his head went and where it wasn't. He soaked it all in, committing everything to memory. If he could master this move, then it was one more card to play, especially in the pickpocketing operation in the coming days.
As the instructor moved, soaring through the air and doing a double kick amidst the cheers and excitement from his fellow disciples, Hector spared a glance out of the window and frowned. A young man was talking to his sister, not suspicious by itself. After all, maybe he wanted to buy something for his girlfriend, but this transaction was taking too long.
"And that's how you do the technique, any questions?" The instructor said with an expectant look.
"No," Hector said, striding over to the edge of the mat and putting on his slippers. "One-second instructor. I just have to go take a look at something."
2024-11-29 15:59:43 +0000 UTC
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Emela and Nyx moved from shadow to shadow, careful to avoid the eyes of any of the pedestrians on the street. It was late in the evening so the chances of them being spotted were low—any Mana-cultivator walking the streets at this time already had a set destination. They wouldn’t be paying too much attention.
There is nothing like a nighttime run.
Under normal circumstances, her family would lose their minds if they saw her doing something like this. As a lady of the Frostkeep family you act with poise, her father would say—if he acknowledged her at all. And to a certain extent Emale did, but when it came to the art of freedom, of being yourself. Nothing could compare.
“We are coming close to the compound walls,” Nyx said, racing along at Emela's side. “make sure you have enough momentum to leap.”
“Don't worry, I know. Besides, it is far easier for me to clear the wall than you.”
Nyx set her jaw and continued running forward. When the two of them reach the end of the streets pavement they lept into the air. Emela sailed higher than Nyx—which was a given, she had a higher mana cultivation level after all.
The two landed with a soft thud at the edge of the Frostkeep compound. Emale sighed. They had made it, not that she doubted it. All they had to do now was get past the guards.
Gulken, the captain of the compound guard and a fourth-level Core Formation mana cultivator would be on duty tonight, so it should be easy enough to get back into her room—the man liked to ensure that the main exits and entrances were heavily guarded and was laxer with the perimeters.
“Ready,” She said turning to Nyx.
The girl nodded and stalked forward and Emela followed, making sure to keep low and sticking to the bushes. The manor of the Frostkeep family sat in the middle of this forested compound—a design choice all of the great families chose. They know doubt thought, it made them seem a bit more ethereal.
Emela stopped as Nyx held up her hand, she pointed forward gesturing to a moving light in the distance. A torch. A patrol of Frostkeep guards was a head—one of the few they had to avoid on the way back.
The two of them waited, for them to pass. If they rushed they would increase the chances of getting caught. A snap of a twig sent, a shiver down Emale’s spine and she whipped around, finding a squirrel bouncing out of a bush.
Oh, its just a rodent. It’s fine.
Nyx looked back at her and frowned, then shook her head and gestured for them to continue on.
The two of them bound through the dense shrubbery with ease, stopping as they spotted another patrol. Emela never understood, why their family had so many guards running up and down, they were in the centre of Middlec. No one could touch them here, the main reason she and Nyx had even got this far was because they had the correct mana signatures to enter and exit the formation at the compound's edge.
“They’re almost gone, get ready,” Nyx said. Her blue eyes focused on the passing guards.
A bush rustled and Emale whipped around as her heart hammered in her chest. Only to frown as a badger trundled out of the bush shaking its head furiously. The cute creature spotted the two and turned heading deeper into the forest.
A lot of creatures out tonight, Emela thought, as she watched it disappear into a bush.
“Time to go,” Nyx hissed shooting forward. Not wanting to get left behind—not that Nyx could. Emela stuck close sailing through the bushes just behind her.
Nyx had an affinity for the night. One of the many skills that she had displayed growing up with her. It was an unexpected boon for Emela, allowing her ever-loyal Nyx to help her with escapades, during the hours of the night.
Furthermore, Nyx was also a serious person much like Emela herself. She would help to ensure Emela didn’t go too far off course and upheld her appearance as a lady of the Frostkeep family—even if her friends in the slums weren’t aware of her true origins.
The two continued to zip through the forest, approaching the left side of the manor where her room window was located. Smiling, Emela noted the family guards' absence, which could only mean that the hard part was over.
“We are almost there mistress Emela,” Nyx said glancing back at her. “Shall I run you a bath when we get back?”
Emela nodded. A bath would do her good. Her friends, as lovely and free as they were, lived in a place surrounded by filth. And as the saying goes. If you play with mud don’t be surprised when you come back dirty. These were words, Emela strived to adhere to.
She glanced, down at her still white tunic, the warding talisman having kept all the muck of the swerve off of her. She wore pieces of white clothing every time she went to the slums as a test—and as proof—that no matter what, no matter where. Her environment would never sully her.
“Mistress,” Nyx said pulling Emmel from her thoughts.
“Yes, sure. Run me a bath.” She said as they stopped in some bushes. Her room window could be seen two stories up from the bushes. “You did leave it unlocked didn't you?”
“Of course. Are you ready?” Nyx’s body tensed, before she shot into the air, like an arrow and touched down on the windowsill.
A wave of calm washed over Emela. The trek home had been uneventful as usual, and she was glad for that. She tensed her body and leapt into the air, arcing onto the windowsill as Nyx pushed the window open. “Did you leave, my garments out before we left?” Emela asked.
“Yes, Mistress.” Nyx hopped off the large windowsill and raised a hand for Emela to take, “I’ll start the bath now, and then help you get dressed.”
Emela reached forward, taking Nyx's hand, and hopped down onto the frost-white carpet of her room. A wave of satisfaction washed over her as she relished the fact that, again, she had made it back and no one was any the wiser.
With a sigh, she slipped her sandals off and padded over to her bed as Nyx went to the side room to start her bath. Emela smiled, anticipating the warmth that would soak her tired muscles and the sweet smell of roses. She ran her fingers along one of her braids resting on her chest as she glanced down at the garments laying on her white sheets.
They had been a gift from her mother. A white silk dress customary for a lady of the Frostkeep family, embroidered with the family crest on its breast and accented with ice-blue patterns on the cuff. It was beautiful.
"Allimon is truly a splendid designer. Isn't he?" Said a voice.
"Yes, that's why it's one of—"
Emela froze as the colour drained from her face. That voice. She turned her head slowly, dreading what she would find.
How had I not noticed, how long had she been following me? It didn't make sense; there were no signs. You have to be kidding me.
She turned, and standing by the windows with a playful smile on her face, dressed in white form-fitting leather was her mother. She stood with her arms crossed and her blonde hair tied up into a bun, her blue eyes seeming to see right into Emela's soul.
"Hello, my love," she said, tilting her head to the side. "You look surprised to see me."
More than a little surprised, you're meant to be asleep, Emela thought.
"No, no mother," she said, taking a step back on the carpet. "I was simply, startled is all."
"Oh, so you knew I was following you?"
"Ah," Emela said, glancing back at the side room. Nyx was still in there running the bath, but she could really use her help. She had to get her mother to leave but without her figuring out where she went, she didn't want to lie to her, how could she? A lady's word was important. "I wouldn't say I knew, but you are here. So." She cringed—what did that even mean?
"Damn," her mother said with a sigh, shaking her head as she glanced out the window. The moonlight reflected off her snow-white skin. "And here I had thought that the squirrel and the badger might have outed me."
She looked back at Emela and her eyes steeled as a pressure exploded from her and bore down on Emela, causing her knees to bend a little. "Where were you today, my darling? Your father has been looking for you."
"I—"
The door to the side room burst open and Nyx ran in with a panicked look on her face. When she saw Emela's mother she froze and glanced between them. "Mistress Catherine, what brings you here tonight?"
"I'm here to see my daughter, Nyx. You may carry on with your duties." She fixed Nyx with a glare and some of the pressure on Emela lessened. Nyx's face seemed to tighten as the pressure was spread to her.
Emela took another heavy step back on the carpet—she had to get out of her mother's orbit. Even though she wasn't going full force, this small pressure from someone that was at least at the third level of the Core Formation realm was suffocating. "Mother, father was looking for me," she said, hoping to pull her focus back on her, this wasn't Nyx's fault.
The woman sighed and casually glanced back over to Emela. "Yes, he had an announcement to make. Something to do with your engagement."
Its already decided? I thought I had at least another month left. How can Father have decided already and to who?
"But that's not important," her mother said, looking her up and down. Her eyes seemingly analysing Emela's body. "Where have you been?"
"How can you say that, this is my future we are talking about," Emela said, taking another step back. The pressure had begun to loosen. From her studies, she understood that a Core Formation mana-cultivator at her mother's level typically had an orbit of about two meters. So she had to be close to the edge by now.
Her mother narrowed her gaze at her and smirked. "My dear I love you, but you've known this was coming for a long time. You are nowhere near as talented as your siblings and you are better off finding your place in a lesser house."
A pain welled up in Emela's chest, dull and throbbing. It was one thing to hear this from others, but her own mother. "I—I, well... who is it I am to marry?"
"For that, you can wait until tomorrow to find out. Your father is having them come to the meeting hall tomorrow to announce it to the rest of the family." Her mother's gaze relaxed and the pressure on Emela dissipated as if it were never there in the first place. Emela let out a breath and moved over to Nyx's side as her mother continued. "You don't have to tell me where you have gone, but you will be punished for coming in so late."
Her form flickered and she appeared by the bedroom door, "Be thankful, that it was I who discovered you. Anyone else, and you would be having this discussion with your father. And I trust you know how that would end."
Emela nodded at her mother's words, lowering her head.
"Get some rest, my dear, you have a long day tomorrow. And I should have your punishment ready for you after the announcement tomorrow." With that, Emela watched as her mother opened the door and glided out of the room.
"Well, that could have gone worse," Nyx said, brushing a loose strand of black hair from her eye. She turned to the side room door and gestured towards it, "Are you ready to go and wash up?"
Emela sighed and slumped her head onto Nyx's chest, muffling her voice. "Thanks, Nyx. What would I do without you."
***
The early morning sun beat down on the dry dirt of the training ground as Emela stood in the middle of the grounds with her sword pointed forward. The cool morning wind rippled through her bangs as birds sat on the training ground walls and sang their summer song.
"Keep the sword straight, girl. If I see it slacking, that will be ten laps around the field," said Captain Shallowcold, standing at the end of the training ground with her arms crossed next to a training dummy. The long scar across her right eye from a battle she never talked about was particularly menacing. The sunlight seemed to intensify it and her cold grey eyes.
The captain's gaze narrowed as she watched Emela. She shifted her weight onto her other foot as a light breeze buffeted her battle robes. "You have still yet to make any progress past the novice stage with the Frost Ice Dance technique, while your siblings are already pushing the adept level."
Why am I not surprised? I'm sure they would reach the grandmaster rank if you pushed them a little more.
She glanced over at Nyx who stood at the side of the field by the stone archway. She had her usual blank look on her face as if all of Emela's suffering was unrelated to her. Emela sighed, refocusing on her sword, and taking a step forward.
She kicked off with her back foot, the tip of the sword piercing the air with a whistle, and as she channelled her mana into the blade—the technique fell apart. Her sword shot forward, sinking into the dirt with a clang as she staggered, barely able to stay on her feet.
Shallowcold let out a heavy sigh and strode over to Emela, "What in the great lake’s beauty was that young lady? Have you no control over your own mana?"
"I did, it simply—"
A sharp cackling from the other side of the field caught Emela and the captain's attention. The ugly wench Noella, Emela’s half-sister, and her toad of a maidservant had arrived. The girl wore another new battle dress no doubt paid for by her mother and Emela made out the family crest embroidered on its left breast.
The seventh child of Emela’s father and the most annoying by far. Noella was a terror to be around.
What does she want now? Emela thought, walking over to her sword and plucking it from the dirt.
"Mistress Noella, I have no training scheduled with you today. What brings you here?" Captain Shallowcold said. Emela could see the confusion on her face. She had no idea why this annoying girl was here either, and Emela hoped that would mean she would send her away.
"No, no, captain. I was passing by is all, and I noticed Emela seemed to be struggling with the novice stage of her technique," Noella said, with a sly smile directed at Emela.
"We all know that's a lie," Nyx said as she arrived at Emela's side and stared down Noella. "You only came here to cause trouble."
"Shut up, you filthy street urchin," spat Noella's maid, Matilda.
Emela took a step forward, but the captain stood in her way. "If you are here to help as you say perhaps a spar is in order?" The captain said, looking between Emela and Noella.
"That's a wonderful idea," Noella said, clapping her brutish hands. She acted as if coating them in white dust did anything other than make her look desperate for attention—not that Emela’s father starved her of any.
"It's decided then," Shallowcold rested her gaze on Emela and smiled. "Best get into position then."
2024-11-29 15:55:07 +0000 UTC
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