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.
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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.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
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 were 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 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.