TALENT BEYOND LIMIT: Stacking Many Talents

Simon visited Mira two evenings later.

Joe knew because Simon spent an unreasonable amount of time deciding between two shirts.

“You’re going to Edwin’s.”

Simon looked over.

“How did you know?”

Joe glanced at the shirts.

Simon followed his gaze.

“That proves nothing.”

“You have worn the same guard undershirt three days in a row.”

“I changed it yesterday.”

Joe returned to his medicine notes.

“That was not the important part.”

Simon muttered something unkind and left shortly before sunset.

Joe waited ten minutes.

Then he changed clothes.

The worn brown coat came first.

Old boots.

A cheap cap.

He loosened his shoulders, shortened his stride and allowed a slight heaviness into his right leg.

The transformation remained unimpressive in a mirror.

That was precisely why it worked.

There was no dramatic disguise for someone to remember.

Only a tired-looking man in ordinary clothes.

Joe altered his breathing before leaving the courtyard. Longer pauses between breaths while standing still, shallower rhythm while walking, enough to change the subtle rise of his chest without depriving himself of air.

Holding a breath briefly while someone passed proved unexpectedly useful.

People noticed movement.

A still body produced fewer recognizable patterns.

Joe stored that observation.

-----------

The southern district grew quieter after dark.

Starlight had ended, taking the late-night crowds with it. Warehouses closed earlier again, and only taverns, food stalls and a few businesses serving night workers remained bright.

Joe did not follow Simon.

He already knew Simon’s usual route from Edwin’s residence.

Instead, he went ahead.

The first likely location was empty.

So was the second.

At the third, Joe found them.

Three men waited near an abandoned cart shed where the road narrowed between a storage wall and a drainage channel.

The red-cord man was there.

So was the broad warehouse fighter.

A third man Joe recognized from Bret’s tavern.

Joe walked past without looking at them.

Nobody reacted.

He turned at the next street, circled behind the warehouse row and returned through an alley that gave him a view of the shed.

Then he waited.

Almost fifteen minutes passed.

The broad man became impatient first.

“He usually leaves by now.”

“Maybe he’s staying.”

“Bret said he comes back alone.”

The third man spat into the gutter.

“Then Bret can wait.”

Joe remained still.

Confirmation.

Enough.

The red-cord man said, “Nobody gets stupid. Rough him up and leave. No blades unless he pulls one.”

That was useful too.

Bret really had asked for an assault rather than murder.

It did not improve Joe’s opinion much.

A person arranging violence did not get to control every consequence merely by stating his preferred limit beforehand.

Joe looked toward the road.

Simon would probably reach the district within twenty minutes.

There was no reason for him to reach this corner at all.

Joe stepped from the alley.

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The three men looked toward him.

The broad one frowned.

“Road’s closed.”

Joe kept the false gait as he approached.

“It doesn’t look closed.”

“Then use another road.”

Joe stopped several paces away.

The red-cord man studied him.

“What do you want?”

“Simon.”

The atmosphere changed.

Small.

Immediate.

The broad man straightened.

“Who’s Simon?”

Joe almost smiled.

They were not particularly good at this.

“The guard you’re waiting for.”

Nobody answered.

Joe looked at the red-cord man.

“Bret Vane sent you.”

The third man moved first.

Not toward Joe.

Toward the alley mouth, checking whether anyone else was present.

That told Joe they were more worried about witnesses than about him.

The broad man stepped closer.

“You should leave.”

Joe looked at him.

“I will.”

The man relaxed slightly.

Joe continued, “After you do.”

That was enough.

The broad man reached for him.

The fight lasted seconds.

Joe shifted inside the grab, turned the man’s balance and put him onto the ground before he could understand what had happened. The second man rushed immediately.

Joe struck once.

Controlled.

Far below what Bone III could produce.

The man collapsed against the wall and stayed there.

The red-cord man reached beneath his coat.

Joe saw the motion.

He crossed the distance before the weapon cleared the clothing.

One impact knocked it away.

Another sent the man to his knees.

Silence returned.

The broad man tried to rise.

Joe pushed him back down with one hand.

His eyes widened.

That reaction interested Joe.

He had used very little strength.

To them, it was apparently enough.

--------

“Who hired you?”

The red-cord man stared at him.

Joe waited.

No anger.

No raised voice.

The man looked toward his companions and made the practical decision.

“Bret.”

“Bret Vane?”

“Yes.”

“Did Garrick know?”

That hesitation mattered.

“No.”

Joe watched his face.

He believed him.

Or at least believed the man had no reason to think Garrick knew.

That matched everything else Joe had observed.

Bret used his father’s name constantly.

Garrick protected his son indirectly.

That did not mean Garrick approved every stupid thing Bret did.

Important distinction.

Joe looked at the broad man.

“What were you supposed to do?”

“Hit him.”

“How badly?”

“Enough he couldn’t work a few days.”

“And if he fought back?”

Nobody answered.

Exactly.

Plans became vague whenever consequences began.

Joe looked down at the red cord tied around one man’s wrist.

“What is that?”

The man instinctively covered it.

“Crew mark.”

“Gang?”

“No.”

The answer came too fast.

Joe did not pursue it.

Not tonight.

There were always more layers.

For now, he knew enough.

He stepped back.

The men remained where they were.

The broad one asked, “Who are you?”

Joe had considered several possible answers while practicing disguise.

All of them were unnecessary.

“Tell Bret the arrangement failed.”

The red-cord man stared at him.

“That’s it?”

Joe looked at the three of them.

“If you decide to try again, you’ll probably meet me again.”

No threat needed embellishment.

They had already experienced the relevant portion.

Joe turned and walked away.

Nobody followed.

---------

He changed his gait three streets later.

Changed direction twice.

Paused near a food stall.

Removed the cap.

Then entered a public bathhouse through one entrance and left later through another wearing his normal posture beneath the same coat.

Past Life Memory kept track of every step.

Who had seen him.

Where.

Which posture.

Which direction he had appeared to travel.

Disguise was becoming less about looking different and more about controlling the story witnesses unknowingly constructed.

A tired laborer entered the southern district.

Someone else left it.

Joe liked that.

----------

He reached Edwin’s street before Simon.

That had been the goal.

Joe bought two skewers from a late food stall and stood eating one beside the road.

Simon appeared perhaps twelve minutes later.

Alone.

Completely unaware.

He saw Joe and frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Eating.”

“I can see that.”

Joe held out the second skewer.

Simon took it.

“Why are you near Edwin’s?”

“I wanted food.”

“There are food stalls near our house.”

“This one is good.”

Simon bit into the meat.

Considered.

“Actually, yes.”

Joe almost smiled.

They walked home together.

Simon talked about Mira.

Mostly.

Apparently Edwin had been distracted during dinner and Mira had been annoyed that her father continued working through Starlight week.

Joe listened.

He said nothing about the men who had been waiting for Simon three streets away.

There was nothing Simon could usefully do with that information tonight.

---------

Bret’s reaction came the next afternoon.

Joe saw him across the guard courtyard.

The red-cord man must have delivered the message.

Bret looked different.

Not frightened.

Angry.

And uncertain.

His eyes moved around the compound several times as though searching for someone he could not identify.

When Simon crossed the yard, Bret watched him.

Simon noticed.

“What?”

Bret said nothing.

That was new.

Simon continued walking.

Joe followed several steps behind.

Bret’s attention moved to him briefly.

No recognition.

Of course not.

The man Bret had been told about walked differently.

Joe found that deeply satisfying.

---------

The incident also answered another question.

Garrick probably did not know.

That complicated things.

Joe had been gradually grouping father and son together because their interests overlapped.

That was intellectually lazy.

Garrick abused legitimate authority to pressure Simon after Bret complained.

That was Garrick’s choice.

Bret hired outside men to assault Simon.

That appeared to be Bret’s choice.

Related problems.

Not identical ones.

Joe adjusted his thinking accordingly.

A person should be judged for what he actually did.

That rule worked in both directions.

----------

Bone III completed near the end of autumn.

Joe felt the final imbalance settle during an evening circulation.

The third tempering had refined the skeleton beyond anything an ordinary Bone practitioner in Blackwood would consider necessary.

He waited several days before returning to the warehouse.

Twelve hundred kilograms felt easier than it had after Bone II.

He increased the load.

Twelve-fifty.

Then thirteen hundred.

The frame rose steadily.

Joe held it.

His muscles worked hard now.

Not near failure.

But finally working.

He lowered the load carefully.

One thousand three hundred kilograms.

Bone III had opened more of the muscular strength Muscle Great Completion had already created.

And the change between layers remained balanced.

Skin held.

Muscle held.

Tendons and joints adapted.

Perfect Body integrated everything.

Joe thought again about the discovery from Bone II.

Repeated tempering could not continue independently forever.

The deeper he went, the more obvious the reason became.

Each layer depended upon the previous ones.

His path only looked unreasonable because every layer behind the current one was equally unreasonable.

Joe smiled.

He would need more examples before turning that into a general rule.

But the shape of it was becoming clear.

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That night, the panel showed another small change.

Disguise — Lv1 — 63%

Joe examined the number.

The skill had progressed much faster once he used it in a real situation.

Every Hard Work Pays Off.

Of course.

Practice with actual stakes contained more information than walking past clerks for amusement.

He dismissed the panel.

Bret had crossed another line.

Joe had responded without the guard knowing, Simon knowing, Edwin knowing or Garrick knowing.

Nothing had appeared on an assignment board.

No report existed.

No senior officer could dismiss the incident because officially it had never occurred.

That was new.

For most of Joe’s life, authority had seemed like terrain.

Something fixed around him.

A wall.

A family.

A guard office.

A contract.

A stronger practitioner.

You learned its shape and moved around it.

Now he was beginning to understand another possibility.

Some obstacles only looked like terrain because everyone agreed to treat them that way.

Bret had believed his father’s position allowed him to reach outside the guard and create consequences for Simon.

Joe had simply reached farther.

He did not need to overturn the table yet.

But for the first time, he had moved a piece without anyone at the table knowing he had touched it.