TALENT BEYOND LIMIT: Stacking Many Talents

Bran’s circumstances changed after his father’s breakthrough.

The news moved through the Talent Hall quickly. Bran’s father had entered Bone Tempering.

He was still below the level formally recognized as a true martial artist, since that distinction began with Internal Organ Tempering, but Joe had long since learned not to confuse below martial artist as weak. A Bone Tempering practitioner was already formidable by the standards of Green Hollow and the surrounding villages. Ordinary people did not casually provoke one, merchants could find good use for one, and relatives who had previously shown limited interest suddenly had reasons to strengthen the relationship.

That was exactly what happened to Bran’s family.

Several relatives from his mother’s side had established themselves in Blackwood through trade and transport. They had never completely ignored Bran’s household, but before his father’s advancement there had been little reason to spend heavily on a boy whose martial future looked ordinary. Once his father entered Bone Tempering, the calculation changed. One strong practitioner in that branch of the family suggested that helping produce another might be worth the expense.

Bran became the obvious investment.

The difference appeared first in his meals. He began eating at the paid Hall canteen every day, then recovery medicines started appearing after difficult training. Nourishing preparations followed, not constantly but often enough that Joe recognized their smell when Bran passed nearby.

His progress accelerated.

Not magically. Bran had already spent years training, and money could not replace the foundations he had built during that time. What the new resources did was shorten recovery, replenish blood energy more quickly and allow him to repeat serious training sooner than he could have on ordinary village food.

Joe found that part interesting.

Money did not directly become martial ability. It bought more opportunities to turn work into martial ability.

Within several months, Bran reached the requirements for Skin Tempering.

Unfortunately, his personality improved much less than his martial prospects.

For years Bran had been one of the younger boys lingering around stronger trainees, quick to smile when someone else failed but careful about whom he openly challenged. Now his father had entered Bone Tempering, his relatives in Blackwood were sending money, and Bran himself had crossed into body tempering before the end of his supported years.

He began acting as though the Hall had finally confirmed that he had always been superior.

At first it was small enough that Joe mostly ignored it. Bran would claim a better section of the yard even when younger trainees had already started there, telling them that Skin Tempering practice mattered more than foundation work. He would finish with equipment and leave it for another boy to carry back to the shed, not because he needed help but because he enjoyed watching whether the boy dared refuse. Sometimes he sent younger trainees for water while he rested, and if one complained he laughed and asked whether carrying a bucket was somehow harder than becoming a martial artist.

Hall stopped him whenever he saw it. Bran always obeyed while Hall was standing there, which was part of the problem. He understood the boundary well enough to avoid crossing it openly, so most of the bullying happened between formal sessions or while Hall’s attention was elsewhere.

The poorer trainees learned to move before being told twice.

Joe noticed.

Simon noticed much more.

By then Simon had spent close to a year in Skin Tempering. Most of the easier areas of his torso and limbs had already undergone repeated tempering, and he was working through the weaker regions while trying to make the results more even. Hall still described him as Initial Skin Tempering, but Simon was clearly approaching the point where most of his body would be under regular tempering and Middle Skin Tempering would no longer be far away.

That mattered whenever Bran tried using his new realm as a source of authority.

Bran had only just entered Initial Skin Tempering.

Simon knew exactly how much that did—and did not—mean.

”Why do they keep doing what he says?” Simon asked one evening after Bran sent a younger boy to return a pair of weights he had carried out himself.

Joe glanced toward the boy. ”Because saying no costs them more than carrying the weights.”

”Hall would stop him.”

”If Hall saw everything.”

”Then they should tell him.”

Joe looked at Simon. ”Would you?”

”Obviously.”

”Your father isn’t borrowing grain from Bran’s relatives, your uncle doesn’t work for someone connected to them, and you aren’t wondering whether a Bone Tempering practitioner might remember your family for the wrong reason.”

Simon was quiet for a moment, then frowned. ”That doesn’t make it right.”

”I didn’t say it did.”

That was where they differed less than Simon probably thought.

Joe understood why the younger boys lowered their heads.

Simon understood it too.

He simply hated accepting it.

The situation worsened once Bran had enough Skin Tempering practice to feel the benefits himself.

The change in his body was still limited. He had only established the first true tempering response and begun working repeatedly through several easier regions, but even that was enough for him to notice that ordinary knocks hurt less and that parts of his torso could take punishment better than before.

The small improvement became much larger inside his head.

He began offering younger students ”corrections” nobody had asked for. Sometimes the corrections were legitimate, which made the behavior harder to challenge. Other times he pushed someone lower into a stance until the boy’s legs shook, slapped an arm back into position or ordered a trainee to repeat exercises after the assigned session had already ended.

Hall told him twice to stop pretending to teach.

Bran stopped in front of Hall.

He did not stop everywhere else.

Then Hall left for Blackwood.

Theodere had already been away for several days dealing with the merchant escort business, and Hall departed early one morning after receiving a message from town. A senior assistant remained in charge, but one man could not watch every part of the compound at once.

Joe noticed Bran notice the difference.

Nothing happened during the morning session.

By midday, Bran had three younger trainees behind the equipment shed.

Joe recognized all of them. They came from poorer households near the southern side of Green Hollow, and the smallest wore training clothes that had passed through at least one older brother before reaching him.

Bran had been bothering the same three for weeks.

This time he had decided to teach them.

”You keep dropping your shoulder,” Bran told the smallest boy. ”Again.”

The boy was breathing hard. ”We already finished our set.”

”I didn’t ask whether you finished.”

The boy looked toward the main yard.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Bran shifted slightly into his line of sight.

”Again.”

The boy raised the weighted practice pole. His arms were already trembling, while the other two stood nearby holding equipment Bran had ordered them to carry.

Joe had started walking toward them when Simon arrived from the opposite side.

”What are you doing?”

Bran looked over. ”Helping.”

”They have an instructor.”

”Apparently not a very good one.”

The smallest boy tried to lower the pole.

Bran caught one end and pushed it back upward.

”Did I say stop?”

The boy nearly lost his balance.

Simon stepped between them and pulled the pole away.

”He said he’s done.”

Bran’s expression changed. ”This doesn’t involve you.”

”You’ve been bothering them for weeks.”

”I’m training them.”

”No. You’re enjoying the fact that they’re scared to tell you to leave them alone.”

The other two boys immediately looked away.

That told Joe more than anything they could have said.

Bran glanced toward them as well. ”Are you scared of me?”

Neither answered.

Bran smiled. ”See?”

Simon looked disgusted. ”That’s your proof?”

Bran reached for the pole.

Simon moved it behind himself.

”Give it back.”

”No.”

The word changed the atmosphere.

Bran had become accustomed to weaker trainees eventually giving way. Even when someone complained, they normally complained while moving.

Simon did not move.

Bran stepped closer. ”You think because you entered Skin Tempering before me, you’re better?”

Simon stared at him. ”No. I think I’ve been doing it long enough to know that entering Initial Skin Tempering doesn’t suddenly make you important.”

That landed harder.

Bran’s face tightened.

”My father reached Bone Tempering.”

”Good for him.”

”My family is investing in me because I’m worth it.”

Simon looked him up and down. ”Then act like you’re worth it.”

Joe closed the remaining distance more quickly.

Bran shoved Simon.

Simon took one step backward and stopped.

”Don’t.”

Bran glanced briefly toward the younger trainees. Being warned in front of them made the insult worse.

”Or what?”

Simon should have walked away.

Joe knew it.

Simon probably knew it too.

But Simon looked at the smallest boy rubbing both arms after being forced through extra repetitions, then back at Bran.

”Or I’ll make you.”

Bran swung first.

The punch landed high on Simon’s shoulder and turned him slightly, but Simon answered almost immediately with a strike to Bran’s side.

The surprise on Bran’s face lasted only an instant.

Initial Skin Tempering had made parts of him tougher.

It had not made him invincible.

Then the fight became serious.

Bran was stronger than he had been months before, and regular medicine had allowed him to train more aggressively. Parts of his torso had already undergone enough repeated tempering that Simon’s first body strikes produced less reaction than expected.

But the difference between them was larger than Bran understood.

Bran had only recently established Initial Skin Tempering. Simon was nearing the end of it.

Simon had tempered more of his body, repeated those cycles far more often and spent much longer learning how the stage affected movement, balance and endurance. He had spent much longer working with the same foundations and understood how to use them better under pressure.

Bran had resources.

Simon had depth.

Bran rushed forward after absorbing two strikes unusually well.

Simon shifted rather than meeting him head-on, caught the movement as Bran’s weight travelled too far forward and swept one leg from underneath him.

Bran hit the packed ground hard.

Several students shouted.

He came back up furious.

A fist caught Simon across the cheek, then another landed near his ribs. Simon answered with a strike to Bran’s chest that did little, shifted slightly lower on the next attempt and received a much stronger reaction.

Bran recoiled.

Both boys noticed.

Initial Skin Tempering was incomplete.

Some regions had been worked repeatedly.

Others had barely begun.

Bran became more careful after that, but Simon had already learned where the advantage ended. The fight changed from angry swinging into something more deliberate, with Simon using his better foundation and longer Skin Tempering experience while Bran relied more heavily on strength and the few regions he trusted to absorb punishment.

Joe was nearly close enough to intervene when the senior assistant’s voice cracked across the yard.

”Enough!”

Simon stopped first.

Bran tried to move around the assistant toward him and was caught firmly by the shoulder.

”I said enough.”

Bran froze.

Simon had a darkening mark across one cheek and kept one arm slightly closer to his ribs. Bran’s lip was swelling, dirt covered his clothes and one side of his torso clearly bothered him more than the other.

Neither looked invincible.

The assistant surveyed the scene before turning toward the three younger trainees.

”What happened?”

Simon answered immediately. ”Bran dragged them back here and started ordering them through extra training. He wouldn’t let him stop when he was exhausted.”

Bran laughed once. ”I was correcting his stance.”

”He didn’t ask you.”

”He didn’t have to.”

The assistant turned toward the smallest boy. ”Did Bran force you to train?”

The boy opened his mouth.

Then he looked at Bran.

Joe saw the answer change before it came out.

”No.”

Simon stared. ”What?”

The assistant looked toward the second boy. ”Did Bran threaten any of you?”

The boy shook his head.

”He was helping.”

The third spoke before being asked.

”Simon got angry.”

For several seconds Simon simply looked at them.

Joe had seen his brother take punches with less visible shock.

”You were just—”

”Simon,” Joe said.

His brother looked toward him.

Joe shook his head once, not because the boys were telling the truth but because forcing them to admit it while Bran stood beside them would accomplish nothing.

Joe stepped forward. ”I saw part of it. Bran was forcing him to continue after he said he was finished. Simon told him to stop, Bran shoved him and then Bran struck first.”

The assistant rubbed one hand across his forehead.

”Anyone else?”

Several students had gathered.

Nobody volunteered.

One claimed he had arrived only after the first punch, while another said he heard arguing but could not tell what it was about.

The truth had already become expensive.

Hall returned the following afternoon.

Bran’s father arrived before sunset.

Joe had seen the man only from a distance before. He was broad through the shoulders, with gray beginning around his temples and none of the exaggerated appearance Joe might once have expected from a Bone Tempering practitioner.

The difference appeared in everyone around him.

People moved aside.

Nobody needed to be told.

Mike was summoned to the Hall, and Joe and Simon went with him.

Bran sat beside his father.

Hall already looked tired when the conversation began.

”There are conflicting accounts. Joe says Bran was forcing the younger students to train and started the fight. The three students themselves say Bran was helping them and Simon became angry.”

”They’re scared,” Simon said.

Hall looked at him. ”I know that’s possible.”

”Then why are we acting like—”

”Because possible isn’t proof. If I punish Bran based on your household’s account while the people you claim to be defending deny anything happened, then tomorrow I can do the same thing to you when someone stronger brings me a better story.”

Simon hated the answer.

Joe did too.

That did not make Hall wrong.

Bran’s father folded his arms. ”My son was attacked while trying to help younger students.”

Mike looked toward him. ”Your son hit mine first.”

”According to your sons.”

”According to what happened.”

The Bone Tempering man’s expression cooled, and Hall stepped in before the disagreement became another contest Joe’s family could not afford.

”The fight is proven. The cause is disputed. Both participated after it began, so both lose training privileges for several days and both will handle equipment duty afterward.”

Bran’s father remained dissatisfied.

”My son is in Skin Tempering and using medicines that cost money. This fight interfered with his training.”

The first amount he demanded as compensation was absurd.

Hall rejected it immediately.

That did not end the discussion.

Bran’s father argued that the family had invested heavily because Bran’s supported years were nearly over. Mike argued that Simon had been injured as well and should not pay for defending children who were now too frightened to admit what happened.

The amount eventually came down.

It remained more than Mike could easily afford.

He borrowed part of it.

Joe discovered that only because he saw his father return from a neighbor’s house carrying a small cloth pouch and refuse to meet Lily’s eyes when she asked whether everything was settled.

The money hurt.

The apology was worse.

Bran’s father insisted the dispute would not be considered fully closed until Simon’s household acknowledged the offense.

Lily argued until Mike finally told her, quietly but firmly, that he wanted the matter finished.

Two evenings later Bran and his father arrived at their home.

Simon had been ordered to remain inside because Lily did not trust him to speak without restarting the argument.

Mike stepped onto the road.

Joe followed several paces behind.

Mike bowed.

”My son should not have allowed the dispute to become a fight. Please forgive the trouble and injury caused, and let the matter end here.”

The wording was careful. Mike did not say Simon had been wrong to intervene, did not call Bran innocent and did not admit that Bran’s version of events was true.

It hardly mattered.

Bran’s father accepted the apology.

Bran’s mouth curved slightly.

Joe saw it.

That smile remained with him longer than the fight itself.

After they disappeared down the road, Mike stayed outside for a moment before straightening fully.

Joe stood beside him.

”You didn’t do anything wrong.”

”No.”

”Simon didn’t start it.”

”I know.”

Joe realized his hands had tightened into fists.

Mike noticed.

”Don’t do something stupid because you’re angry.”

Joe looked at him. ”You had to borrow money and apologize because three scared children lied.”

”Yes.”

”And we’re supposed to accept that?”

Mike remained quiet for a while before answering. ”We’re supposed to understand what we can change today and what we can’t. Being right doesn’t always mean you can afford to prove it.”

Joe understood every word.

That was why it hurt.

Until then, most hardships in Green Hollow had been impersonal. Crops could fail, winters could be difficult, money could run short and martial progress could take years, but none of those things looked at his family and decided they could be pushed because nobody strong enough would answer.

Joe had understood inequality before.

He had understood class, money and power.

Understanding his father’s bowed back was different.

When injustice happened to someone distant, restraint sounded reasonable and risks could be weighed calmly. When the fire reached your own family, rationality did not make the burn hurt less.

Joe looked toward the empty road.

He would not chase Bran.

He would not challenge a Bone Tempering practitioner.

Doing either while weak would merely make Mike pay for Joe’s anger as well.

But Joe remembered Bran’s smile, his father’s demand, the younger trainees looking at the ground and Mike borrowing money before bowing for something Simon had not begun.

One day, when the consequences of Joe’s choices could fall on Joe alone, he intended to settle that account.

For now, he is too weak.

That truth was painful, but it gave the anger direction.

Inside the house, Simon sat unusually quiet. He had spent years believing that if he became strong enough and did the right thing, other people would eventually recognize it. The fight taught him something less comfortable: he had been stronger than Bran, and he had still lost where it mattered.

The next morning Simon trained before Joe woke.

Joe joined him shortly afterward.

Neither need to explain why.