The week off ended up being quite productive for Hector. In a way, he’d have to thank his dad for giving him the opportunity to just focus on getting stronger. Not that it did much for his dump-diving skills, but that was another issue.

  Over the week, he’d gained fourteen new Talents—some of them were repeats, but a lot of them weren’t. Plus, he’d had another five growing that would pop tomorrow. So it was all tip-top. Though one downside was that the week would be over tomorrow and he’d have to let all the stress back in.

  Hector raised the yellow pill in the air. Its glass-like surface caught the sun’s rays as the light came through his room window. It was finally time to see how effective the [Personal Purification] Talent would be.

  He’d been cultivating all week—that and growing Talents. Only stopping to, occasionally, go talk to Mirae. His sister had been supportive of him, and even she agreed their father had taken it a bit too far. But what could they do?

  He adjusted himself on his meditation mat and let out a sigh. If this went bad, he’d be in a coma for a while, or throwing up in a ditch, or curling up in a ball in pain.

  But if it went well.

  Then today could be the day he made it to Gravity Forging Two. He was close to it—his core was on the cusp of another expansion. The gravity of the cluster of mana motes in his soulscape had increased over the week. Not by much—even though it progressed much faster—but it was getting close.

  Hector tossed the pill into his mouth. A tangy orange-like flavour exploded across his tongue, with a subtle acidity to it. Not wasting a moment, he gulped it down and beat his chest as he struggled to swallow.

  As the pill landed in his stomach, he pulled on the [Personal Purification] Talent and a warmth spread through his body. It surged from his head and coiled in his stomach before spreading to his toes. It was like he’d taken the perfect comforting gulp of tea.

  Am I going to feel like this for the next four hours? If so, then maybe I should just leave this Talent active as much as possible.

  An energy ballooned in his stomach, climbing for a breath before dispersing through him in a wave. It was probably the pill. It wasn’t much, at least not as much as he’d hoped. He’d heard stories of people being able to go up one minor rank on two to three minor rank pills.

  With this amount of energy, he’d need at least ten to twelve. But that wasn’t a problem. A tightness in his soulscape radiated within him. This would be enough. Hector smiled as the chatter of voices outside his window filtered in. The sun was out today—he’d have to go enjoy some of it to celebrate.

  “Here it comes,” he muttered.

  But as the tightness expanded within him, a sharp snap came from the hallway. Mirae’s scream followed a moment later.

  Hector shot to his feet and raced towards the door.

  He moved fast, too fast, slamming his shoulder into it with a grunt and wrenching it open to see what was up. Had someone broken in? If they had, they’d be in for a—

  Mirae lay on the ground, one foot in a hole, as she picked at the wood, trapping it. She turned her head, her white hair falling away, revealing a face fraught with frustration. “Hector, I thought you said you’d fix this?”

  He frowned, dropping his head and scratching at his eyebrow. He’d been meaning to, but things had just come up. As he went to answer, an energy rushed from his chest and seeped through his body. His muscles became tighter, and his reactions became that much faster. A smile came to his lips.

  “Gravity Forging-Two. Finally,” He muttered, clenching his fist. Even his grip was bursting with energy.

  “Hector. Would you mind helping me with this?” Mirae asked, gesturing her head toward her trapped foot.

  “Ah, yeah. Sorry.” Hector scuttled forward, staggering slightly but catching himself. The new speed would take a second to get used to. He dropped to his knees. The old oak boards groaned in protest as he slammed down and started pulling at the wood, trapping her foot.

  “Careful,” Mirae said with a hiss, as a sharp bit of wood came dangerously close to pricking her.

  “Sorry,” Hector said, prying a piece up and sliding her foot out. “There, all done.”

  Mirae climbed to her feet and dusted off her brown shorts, while Hector shook his head and smiled weakly. She needed new clothes—those tattered things wouldn’t hold much longer.

  Hopefully, he’d have a few extra coins left after paying their father’s debt.

  “I better get to fixing that then, shouldn’t I?” Hector said, getting to his feet and dusting off his black trousers. Small chunks of splinters flicked away, dropping onto the wood, and he sighed. He’d have a lot to do today.

  “Well. I don’t know what you’ll be able to get done today,” Mirae said, glancing towards the garden door. Her eyes dropped to the ground, and she let out a sigh.

  “What’s up?”

  —— —— ——

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  A black robin landed on the window, tweeting an annoying song. Bobbie swivelled in his chair, raising a hand and scaring it off. He didn’t need it crapping all over his window—this place was expensive as is—the last thing he needed was to hire cleaners.

  “You alright, Boss?” Mark, a blond-haired man and his second in command, asked, reclining and resting an arm on the back of the leather couch that sat in his office. Bobbie glanced at the other one and shook his head.

  “Where is Brulin? He should have been back an hour ago.” Bobbie asked. “It’s not like him to be this late.” He pushed off his chair and moved over to one of the many shelves that lined the room. He’d placed Brulin’s assignments in here earlier today. It should be…

  Paper flapped, and the door to the office creaked open. “Ah, boss, look who finally turned up.”

  Bobbie frowned and turned his head towards the office door. “You’re late,” he snapped at the large man, who lowered his head.

  “I’m sorry, Boss,” Brulin said, “I had to fetch someone. Apparently, they have some more information on the Farmhand situation.”

  “They do, do they,” Bobbie said, sliding the file he’d been holding back onto the shelf. He then moved back to the desk and sat down slowly, grabbing a cigar that rested atop it. Mark leapt up from the couch and raced over to cut and light it for him.

  Nodding at Mark, Bobbie took a deep drag, the mana-infused spices filling his lungs. It wouldn’t do too much for him—attaining Gravity Forging Eight had made even these spices weak, but the flavour was still there. He shook his head. If only he could get his hands on the stuff used by those nobles.

  “Speak,” he said, levelling a pointed look at Brulin. If this wasn’t worth his time, the whelp would serve in the casinos for the next month.

  “Carter, come in,” Brulin said, stepping to the side and allowing a young man to walk in.

  Carter Mills. He’d been a recent addition to the Collar gang—Bobbie had been looking at his file earlier. Good at fighting and dependable when it counted, it didn’t hurt that he was Gravity Forging Four. A bright future compared to the dolt standing behind him. Brulin was messing up a bit too much lately. He was putting the family to shame.

  Bobbie raised an eyebrow at the boy. He’d told them everything that had happened already. Had something new come up?

  “Boss,” the boy said, his eyes lowering to the ground. “I think I know who attacked us back at the Farmhand supplier. I’d been trying to figure out where I’d seen one of those guys before, but when some guys and I were talking the other day, it hit me. It was the Ghost.”

  “Ghost?” Bobbie asked, reclining in his seat and tapping his cigar ash into a small pot on his desk.

  “It’s a nickname given to Cain Jacaranda’s son,” Brulin said, crossing his arms. “He’s an okay fighter, trains at the mono fist dojo. But apparently, his hair throws some people off. Both of Cain’s kids have it.”

  “Ah, so it’s them. That’s quite something—this should make things easier.” Bobbie turned to the side, glancing out the window. The chatter of the moving crowd below filtered in—the outer slums were lively today. He then turned his head back to Brulin. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “Sorry, boss?”

  Bobbie frowned as the idiot glanced at Mark, who shook his head.

  “The debt is for the family, right?” Bobbie turned back to his desk and tapped out the cigar. “The way I see it—the boy now thinks he’s a man. And I don’t think a man needs his father babying him any more. Right?”

  “Yes, boss,” Brulin dropped his head.

  “Good. Cain’s shift at the Muddust refinery will be over soon. Go pay him a visit.” Bobbie then raised his hand and signalled for Carter and Brulin to leave.

  “Speaking of Muddust, sir. Isn’t it about time for our meeting?” Mark asked, reclining back into the couch and resting his arm on its back.

  Bobbie nodded. “The little princeling is here to bother me again.” Bobbie’s ear pricked as a flapping came from behind him, followed by a tweet. The damn thing was back. He reached forward, picked up the fading cigar and spun, whipping his hand out.

  The cigar sailed through the air, slamming into it. The bird didn’t let out a sound as it exploded into feathers and gore. Some of it splattered onto the windowsill. “Damn, now I gotta hire a cleaner,” Bobbie grumbled.

  —— —— ——

  Cain stepped through the factory gates and turned his head back to glance up at the large wooden sign that hung on the side of the building. Muddust Refiners. Reading it sent a second wave of anger through him as he imagined Vivic Muddust, his floor manager, sitting in his office laughing.

  The man was one of the worst parts about working in that herb-choked dump—to be honest, the entire Muddust family was. But that was life—you wouldn’t always love what you do. All you could do was remember why you did it.

  “You alright there, Cain?” asked a dark-skinned man with a sharp bowl cut, pulling out a breadstick from his pants pocket dyed with herb residue. Umbar, his fellow herd processor, had a weak smile on his face as he walked over.

  Cain paused. Did he appear so down that the usually grumpy Umbar took pity on him? “I’m fine,” Cain said, waiting for the man to walk over. The two then walked past the factory gate, moving down the road. “Just thinking is all.”

  “I heard Vivic giving you another earful today,” Umbar said, crunching on a stick. He swallowed, then shook his head. “Not good stuff, not good at all.” He pulled another breadstick from his pocket and held it out to Cain. “Want one?”

  “No, I’m alright,” Cain said, raising a hand in rejection. His gaze then moved, travelling over the wrecked streets and the coughing homeless lying in corners, rotting away. Men like him could work, could struggle to feed their families. But in the end, nothing was stopping them from falling like these people did.

  But we still can’t become desperate. We can’t become cruel monsters who feed on the weak who already have nothing.

  His hand moved into his pocket, and his fingers brushed against the smooth fabric of the coin purse that sat there. He’d found it in the shed, resting against the back wall, likely thrown there. Hidden. Had one of his children been stealing? There was no way they could gather six pieces of silver.

  He loved the two of them, but there was no way they could gather this much money. Not with selling a few flowers and picking through the Middlec city dump. But who? Was it Hector? He did frequent the shed they—

  “You there, Cain?” Umbar asked, resting a hand on Cain’s shoulder.

  Cain jerked, shaking his head, his lips tightening into a smile. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just thinking, is all.”

  “Uh-huh.” Umbar retracted his hand and took another bite from a breadstick. Crumbs gathered at the corners of his lips before flittering down, catching on his stained brown shirt. Cain shook his head as he walked.

  Umbar was a lucky man, with only one priority in life.

  Himself.

  In a way, Cain envied that. But he had a family to look after and a promise to keep. When his wife returned, everything needed to be in order. Hector and Mirae had to be ready. But first, he’d need to have another talk with his foolhardy son.

  “There you are, Cain,” a voice said.

  A moment later, Brulin stepped out of an alleyway, the sun reflecting off his bald head. Behind him, four men followed, all of them smiling faintly, as if they were waiting for a good show. But why were they here—he should still have some time?

  “Brulin, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Cain threw a glance at Umbar and gestured for him to step back. The man wasn’t involved, and he didn’t need to involve innocents. If the Collar gang thought they could drag the poor man in somehow, they wouldn’t miss that chance.

  Umbar complied. That was to be expected—the man wasn’t a do-gooder. He’d barely stepped into the first level of Gravity Forging.

  “So, Cain,” Brulin said with a chuckle. “I wonder if you know what your son’s been up to?”