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TALENT BEYOND LIMIT: Stacking Many Talents

Chapter 96: Great Completion · Oct 14, 2026

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Chapter List (126)

Page number / 3

101 Chapter 90: Enough 2026-10-14
102 Chapter 91: Hidden Force 2026-10-14
103 Chapter 92: The Wronged Sister 2026-10-14
104 Chapter 93: The Case 2026-10-14
105 Chapter 94: Outside the Rules 2026-10-14
106 Chapter 95: No One Strong Enough 2026-10-14
107 Chapter 96: Great Completion 2026-10-14
108 Chapter 97: A Date to Leave 2026-10-14
109 Chapter 98: The Eastern Road 2026-10-14
110 Chapter 99: Stonegate 2026-10-14
111 Chapter 100: When the Road Broke 2026-10-14
112 Chapter 101: The Missing Road 2026-10-14
113 Chapter 102: Ashbourne 2026-10-14
114 Chapter 103: A Place to Start 2026-10-14
115 Chapter 104: Enough to Matter 2026-10-14
116 Chapter 105: The Minimum Worth Showing 2026-10-14
117 Chapter 106: Routine Verification 2026-10-14
118 Chapter 107: The Years That Were Missing 2026-10-14
119 Chapter 108: Buying Years 2026-10-14
120 Chapter 109: Two Timelines 2026-10-14
121 Chapter 110: What They Were Allowed to See 2026-10-14
122 Chapter 111: Twenty-Nine Point Eight 2026-10-14
123 Chapter 112: After Perfection 2026-10-14
124 Chapter 113: A Small Escort 2026-10-14
125 Chapter 114: Courtesy Comes in Different Grades 2026-10-14
126 Chapter 115: The Weight Behind the Name 2026-10-14

Bone IX did not feel like Bone VIII.

Joe noticed that within the first three circulations.

The eighth tempering had still behaved like refinement.

Blood Energy found weakness.

Joe corrected it.

The body adapted.

The ninth refused to remain that simple.

Blood Energy entered one region of the skeleton and the response appeared somewhere else.

A minute imbalance near the hip changed how force traveled through the opposite shoulder.

A weakness in the lower spine altered tension through both legs.

Even the ribs mattered differently now, not because they were fragile, but because the entire frame had become strong enough that tiny mismatches between regions finally became visible.

Joe stopped the session.

Not from pain.

From understanding.

The ninth tempering was not asking:

Where is the bone weak?

It was asking:

Where does the skeleton fail to behave as one structure?

That was a different problem.

Joe smiled.

Now this felt familiar.

Skin IX had done the same thing.

Muscle IX too.

The final pass was never simply more.

It was integration.

-----------

Deepwinter gave him time.

The western roads grew quiet beneath snow, and guard work shifted inward toward gates, warehouses and shorter patrol circuits.

Garrick’s disappearance remained unresolved.

His name still appeared in reports.

Search requests remained open.

But the urgency had faded.

Another senior officer took most of the western scheduling.

Halven absorbed part of the training work.

Tomas redistributed everything else.

The guard did what institutions always did eventually.

It continued.

Simon found that unsettling.

“Twenty years here and they divided his work in two weeks.”

Joe looked up from his bowl.

“What should they do?”

“I don’t know.”

Simon frowned.

“Take longer.”

“That would make the work worse.”

“I know.”

He ate another spoonful.

“Still feels strange.”

Joe understood.

A person could matter greatly and still be replaceable in function.

Those were not contradictions.

Garrick had been a father.

Senior officer.

Late Bone martial artist.

Problem.

Victim of his own final decision.

Now he was also an empty line in the duty structure that someone else needed to fill.

The world rarely stopped long enough to honor complexity.

--------------

Bone IX progressed slowly.

Even with One Effort Equals a Hundred, Joe could not simply force circulation faster.

Every valid effort returned enormous progress.

The difficulty was ensuring the effort was valid.

A crude correction in the ninth pass could improve one section while creating a mismatch elsewhere.

So, Joe became more patient.

Talents were no longer behaving like separate advantages.

They had begun to resemble parts of one system.

Joe found that more significant than any individual effect.

He still never wrote it down.

Some information belonged nowhere except memory.

Stolen story; please report.

------------

Near the middle of Deepwinter, Tomas summoned him.

That had become less alarming after the Garrick investigation.

Joe entered the office.

Tomas pushed a document across the desk.

“Read.”

Joe did.

Temporary promotion track.

Not officer rank.

Not yet.

But a formal senior medical-support position attached to patrol planning and field readiness.

Higher pay.

More authority over medical preparation.

Reduced routine gate work.

The possibility of advancement into guard administration later.

Joe finished reading.

“This is good.”

Tomas stared at him.

“That usually means someone is about to refuse me.”

Joe smiled.

Tomas sighed.

“Why?”

“I haven’t refused yet.”

“You made the face.”

“What face?”

“The polite one.”

Joe had not known he possessed a specific refusal expression.

Apparently Tomas did.

He placed the paper down.

“Why me?”

“You’ve been here long enough to answer that yourself.”

Joe waited anyway.

Tomas leaned back.

“You’re reliable. You don’t panic. Your medicine work saves us money. Your assessment finally confirms you’re not weak.”

Officially.

Joe said nothing.

“And” Tomas continued, “Garrick’s absence left gaps.”

There it was.

Not charity.

Need.

Joe respected that more.

Tomas tapped the document.

“You would still patrol when necessary. But most of your work would shift toward readiness, injuries, supply evaluation and supporting teams going west.”

Several years ago, Joe would have accepted immediately.

Better pay.

More useful work.

Less random danger.

Access to records.

Institutional influence.

Exactly the kind of opportunity a village boy should seize.

Joe looked at the paper again.

Nothing about it was bad.

That was the problem.

He still did not want it.

“I plan to leave Blackwood.”

Tomas stopped.

For perhaps the first time since Joe entered the guard, he had genuinely surprised him.

“When?”

“After Deepwinter.”

“For Green Hollow?”

“No.”

Tomas understood quickly.

“State capital.”

“Yes.”

“How long have you planned that?”

“A while.”

Tomas rubbed his forehead.

“Of course.”

Joe waited.

“Does Simon know?”

“Yes.”

“Theodere?”

“He knows I won’t stay forever.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No.”

Tomas leaned back again.

“Why the capital?”

Joe chose an answer that was both incomplete and true.

“Better medicine. Better martial information. Proper Spiritual Root testing.”

Tomas’s eyebrows rose slightly at the last one.

“You’re paying for private testing?”

“Yes.”

“Expensive.”

“I’ve saved.”

Tomas studied him differently.

Perhaps recalculating all the years Joe had lived cheaply.

Then he nodded.

“That makes sense.”

No speech about loyalty.

No accusation that Joe owed the guard his future.

Joe appreciated that.

Tomas pulled the document back.

“I’ll leave the offer open until spring.”

“I probably won’t change my mind.”

“Probably?”

“Nothing is certain.”

Tomas snorted.

“There’s the polite face again.”

-------------

Simon took the news differently.

“They offered you what?”

Joe explained.

“And you said no?”

“Yes.”

Simon stared.

“That sounds like a good position.”

“It is.”

“Better pay?”

“Yes.”

“Safer?”

“Probably.”

“Medicine authority?”

“Yes.”

Simon looked personally offended.

“You hate good things.”

Mira laughed from the other side of the room.

Joe drank his tea.

Simon continued.

“I would take that.”

“You should.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It seems exactly the point.”

Simon glared.

Then quieted.

“You’re really going.”

There it was.

Not an idea anymore.

A date approaching.

“After Deepwinter.”

Simon leaned back.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Edwin thinks he’s going for six months too.”

“He did.”

“And now?”

“Still there.”

Simon nodded.

That was apparently the answer he expected.

Joe did not promise to return quickly.

Promises made against one’s own likely future were not kindness.

Mira reached across and took Simon’s hand.

Simon looked at her.

Then around the house.

His house.

His wife.

His guard career.

The sealed Bone inheritance waiting for Muscle Completion.

A family he intended eventually to bring from Green Hollow.

He had reasons to stay.

Joe was glad.

------------

Bone IX entered its final stage near the end of Deepwinter.

Joe’s appetite became ridiculous.

Exercise demanded more than medicine.

Meat.

Grain.

Fat.

Sleep.

Perfect Health could accelerate clean recovery, but it did not create matter from nothing.

Perfect Body could integrate what he earned.

It could not build bone from empty air.

Joe ate enough that the canteen workers began charging him extra.

Reasonable.

He paid.

Then returned to cultivation.

The last several sessions became almost meditative.

Blood Energy passed through the skeleton.

Not one bone.

All of it.

The feet aligned with the lower legs.

The knees with the thighs.

Pelvis with spine.

Ribs with shoulders.

Shoulders through arms and hands.

Tiny discontinuities that had survived eight complete temperings became increasingly difficult to find.

Then, during one late night circulation, something changed.

Not dramatically.

There was no burst.

No sound.

The body simply stopped offering another meaningful correction.

Joe circulated again.

Nothing.

A third time.

Blood Energy traveled cleanly through the entire layer.

No weak point drew it.

No transition responded disproportionately.

No region lagged behind.

Perfect Body settled over the finished structure as though recognizing a completed design.

Joe opened his eyes.

He already knew.

The panel confirmed it.

Bone Tempering — Lv.5 Perfection

The panel described mastery.

Joe’s body told him the other truth.

Nine passes.

Bone Great Completion.

--------------

He waited ten days before testing.

Longer than before.

There was no reason to hurry.

Bone IX needed time to integrate.

When Joe finally entered the warehouse, he began below his previous maximum.

Two thousand kilograms rose almost casually.

Two-two.

Two-four.

The freight frame complained before Joe did.

He inspected it carefully.

Then reinforced the loading arrangement.

Two-six.

The weight rose.

Joe felt the entire body engage.

Not individual muscle groups.

Everything.

Two-eight.

Harder.

Still controlled.

He held it.

Lowered.

Joe stood quietly afterward.

Around 2.8 tons.

Perhaps more with perfect conditions.

He had no interest in discovering the absolute limit by breaking warehouse equipment or himself.

The number was enough.

It created another strange comparison.

A newly advanced Internal Organ practitioner might possess roughly sixteen hundred kilograms of raw whole-body strength.

Joe now exceeded that by an absurd margin.

Yet Theo’s practice post remained in his memory.

An Jin.

Force that did not simply collide with outer defense.

Joe could overpower many newly advanced true Martial Artists physically.

That did not mean he could afford to become careless around one.

If Joe landed first with full intent, raw strength alone could end such a fight very quickly.

If he stood there admiring that fact while taking An Jin through his defenses, he could still be injured.

Strength parity had already passed.

Realm parity had not.

Good.

There was still something ahead worth learning.

-----------

Joe left the warehouse and walked through Blackwood.

Deepwinter was loosening.

Water dripped from roof edges during daylight.

Snow along the main streets had turned gray beneath wagon traffic.

Merchants had begun discussing which eastern routes would reopen first.

The city looked ordinary.

Joe arrived here at fourteen.

Skin Middle on paper.

Little money.

Almost no martial information beyond Green Hollow.

Simon had brought him.

The Hall had fed him.

The guard had paid him.

Theodere had taught him.

Edwin had opened another road.

Blackwood had given him nearly everything he had originally come seeking.

Food.

Training.

Income.

Medicine.

Information.

Connections.

Time.

Now it was offering him a better position if he stayed.

Joe smiled faintly.

That was how he knew it was time to leave.

Not because Blackwood had nothing left.

Because staying had become comfortable enough to become its own reason.

At eighteen, Joe had completed Skin nine times.

Muscle nine times.

Bone nine times.

His reserve remained near five gold despite the final cultivation expenses.

His public record showed Muscle Completion.

Edwin waited somewhere east in a city large enough that Blackwood’s strongest families became merely local names.

And beyond Bone stood Internal Organs.

An Jin.

True Martial Artists.

Proper Spiritual Root testing.

More complete inheritances.

More dangerous people.

More information.

Joe looked toward the eastern road.

Deepwinter was almost over.

For the first time, he no longer thought of leaving Blackwood as preparation.

Preparation was finished.

Now he needed a departure date.

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