TALENT BEYOND LIMIT: Stacking Many Talents

The first problem Ashbourne gave Joe was embarrassingly ordinary. He did not know where he was going. Edwin’s address looked complete enough on paper. It listed the East District, a street, a property number, and two additional location markings that presumably made perfect sense to anyone familiar with the city. Standing outside the southern freight yard with two travel bags, Joe understood each part individually and still had no idea which road to take.

Ashbourne offered little help. Porters moved loaded carts through the freight gates while drivers shouted over one another in the road. A carriage collected several passengers, pulled away, and was replaced almost immediately by another. Behind Joe, caravan workers were still arguing over cargo damaged during the Greyspine crossing.

He looked east at rows of unfamiliar buildings and decided there was little value in learning the city by getting lost in it. A transport booth stood near the yard entrance. Joe carried his bags over and showed the clerk Edwin’s address.

The man read it, glanced at the luggage, and handed the paper back. ”East District. You’ll want a carriage.”

”Is it that far?”

”You could walk it, but with those bags, I wouldn’t.”

That was enough. Joe hired a carriage. The freight district remained around them longer than he expected. Warehouses gave way to wholesale shops and workshops, but traffic stayed dense enough that the driver rarely had room to move quickly. Joe did not mind. After years in Blackwood and the long journey east, he had no reason to rush his first proper look at Ashbourne.

One broad street appeared almost entirely devoted to medicine. Bundles of dried herbs hung beneath awnings while workers carried sealed crates through wide doors. Smaller shops displayed bottles and packets in their windows, but several establishments were large enough that their storefronts advertised entire categories of products: recovery tablets, strengthening tonics, medicinal extracts, preserved ingredients, and concentrated foods intended for martial practitioners.

Joe’s attention lingered. Blackwood had taught him medicine on a much smaller scale. Even Edwin’s workshop had prepared most things in batches small enough to manage by hand. Ingredients were weighed, boiled, ground, mixed, and divided according to immediate need.

Ashbourne had organized the same basic work around volume. Bottles were standardized, tablets packaged by the box, and ingredients delivered in crates rather than baskets. Some establishments looked closer to small factories than workshops.

That interested Joe more than their size. Someone had solved the problems created by producing medicine repeatedly and in quantity: concentration, preservation, consistency, storage, and supply. His thoughts went briefly to the spirit stones hidden in one of his bags. The connection was premature. He could barely sense what was inside them, much less manipulate it safely, and damaging a resource he might never replace would be foolish. Even so, the medicine district showed how narrow Blackwood’s methods had been. Entire approaches to cultivation support existed that he had never had the opportunity to study.

More importantly, Ashbourne could support martial practitioners at a level Blackwood simply could not. The streets changed as the carriage continued east. Heavy freight traffic became less common, warehouses gave way to clinics, offices, enclosed workshops, and martial schools, and the buildings gradually stopped crowding one another.

That last difference became the clearest sign of wealth. In the denser districts, prosperous businesses occupied larger buildings or additional floors. Farther east, gardens appeared between houses, then courtyards, then properties with enough unused ground to separate them from their neighbors entirely.

A boxy automobile passed them on one of the wider streets. A few minutes later, Joe saw a vegetable seller pushing a wooden cart along the same pavement, ringing a brass bell as he walked.

The contrast no longer surprised him. Ashbourne seemed perfectly comfortable allowing several stages of development to exist beside one another. By the time the carriage entered the East District, the noise of the commercial areas had faded. Mature trees shaded portions of the road, and most houses stood behind low walls or iron gates. Brick and rendered masonry were more common than timber, though tiled roofs and enclosed courtyards remained familiar.

The driver eventually slowed in front of a pale two-story house.

Joe checked the address once more. ”This is it.”

The property was not among the largest on the street. A modest garden occupied one side of the front courtyard, while a paved drive passed along the other side of the house toward a covered structure at the rear.

An automobile stood beneath it. Edwin had done well for himself. Joe paid the driver and carried his bags through the gate. Before he could knock a second time, the front door opened. Edwin stood there.

He looked much as Joe remembered him, though his clothes were better cut and Ashbourne appeared to have treated him well enough that he had gained a little weight. Neither change softened the alertness in his expression.

He looked Joe over before stepping aside. ”You took your time.”

”Greyspine delayed the caravan.”

”I heard there had been trouble on the road. Come in.”

The house was comfortable without being ostentatious. Electric lights illuminated polished floors and a tiled entrance, while the furniture looked expensive because it was well made rather than decorative. A long bookshelf occupied much of one wall, filled with medical references, manufacturing texts, commercial ledgers, and several bound periodicals Joe did not recognize.

A private telephone sat on a side table nearby.

Edwin followed Joe’s gaze. ”You’ve been inside for less than a minute.”

”I haven’t touched anything.”

”Yet. Guest room is upstairs on the left. The washroom is beside it. Put your things away and clean up before you start examining my books.”

The familiarity in his tone was enough to make the house feel less foreign. The guest room was larger than the one Joe had used in Blackwood. It held a proper bed, a cabinet, a writing desk near the window, and a door with a solid lock.

Joe unpacked only what he needed. Clothes went into the cabinet, ordinary documents into a drawer, and several medical tools onto the desk. The Montclair inheritance remained concealed inside his travel bag with the six spirit stones beneath it.

Joe trusted Edwin. That did not mean Edwin needed to know everything immediately. He still understood too little about the dead Montclair descendant, the value of what he had found, or the risks attached to possessing it. Revealing the discovery now would create questions he could not answer and might involve Edwin in something neither of them understood.

Joe secured the bag and went to wash. Hot water came directly through the pipes. He remained beneath it longer than necessary. His previous life had contained many conveniences he had barely noticed while he possessed them. Losing them had corrected that particular lack of appreciation.

When he came downstairs, dinner was already on the table. Edwin allowed him to eat for a while before asking about the journey.

”What happened in Greyspine?”

”A large animal movement crossed the road while the caravan was inside the mountains. Something farther in frightened blooded beasts and ordinary animals at the same time. We happened to be in their path.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

”Casualties?”

”Several.”

Edwin’s expression tightened. ”You weren’t hurt?”

”No.”

”Good.”

Joe did not elaborate. Edwin watched him for a moment, perhaps noticing there was more to the answer, but chose not to force the issue. The conversation moved to Blackwood. Edwin wanted to know about the workshop first, so Joe explained that production remained stable, the manager had continued the old supply arrangements, and the distribution relationships Edwin left behind were still functioning.

”Any trouble after I left?”

”Nothing serious. The manager knows the work, and most suppliers preferred continuing an arrangement that was already profitable.”

”And your share?”

”Still useful, although cultivation has become more expensive.”

”That tends to happen.”

Edwin knew enough about martial medicine to understand that higher progression demanded more money without needing Joe to explain exactly where that money was going. After dinner, he cleared part of the table and unfolded a city map. It covered far more ground than Joe had expected. The freight yards occupied only a small portion of the southern district. Edwin traced the route the carriage had taken toward his house, then pointed out the central government offices, several major commercial roads, and the older districts farther north and east.

Joe studied the layout before asking about the reason he had come to Ashbourne in the first place.

”Where can I get a registered Spiritual Root test?”

Edwin marked a location near the boundary between the central commercial area and the eastern districts. ”There are several testing halls, but use this one. Their assessments are officially registered, so if you ever need proof later, you won’t have to pay to repeat the process.”

”You tested there?”

”Years ago. I didn’t have a Root.”

Edwin said it without regret, as if the question had been settled long enough ago to lose its importance.

”How much does the assessment cost?”

”About one gold.”

The price was higher than Joe liked, though not enough to affect the decision.

Edwin noticed his expression. ”You’re paying for the documentation as much as the test. If the result matters later, recognized paperwork will save you trouble.”

Joe studied the route carefully enough that he could find the hall without assistance the next morning.

Edwin left the map open between them. ”What do you intend to do after the test?”

”If I don’t have a Root, nothing fundamental changes. I’ll continue with martial cultivation and medicine.”

”And if you do?”

That answer had become more complicated in Greyspine. Before finding the Montclair records, Joe would have regarded the discovery of a Spiritual Root as a reason to begin looking for a qi-cultivation method immediately. Now he knew there was another decision to make first.

”I won’t begin immortal cultivation immediately.”

Edwin’s attention sharpened. ”Because of Root Kindling?”

Joe nodded. That confirmed Edwin at least knew the term.

”How much do you know about it?” Joe asked.

”Only the general principle. Martial cultivation can be used to improve an existing Root before a certain age. I’ve never had reason to learn the details.”

”Neither had I until recently.”

Edwin considered the answer but did not ask where the new information had come from.

”If your test comes back positive, don’t assume delaying qi cultivation is automatically the better choice. Kindling takes resources, and time matters too. Improving a Root may help later, but every year spent preparing for it is also a year not spent cultivating qi.”

Joe agreed with the principle. The Montclair inheritance suggested much the same thing. Its rooted descendants had not been expected to remain martial artists indefinitely. Martial cultivation had been preparation for what followed.

”I need the result first,” Joe said. ”Until then, I don’t even know what I would be improving.”

Edwin accepted that and began folding one corner of the map.

Joe stopped him. ”There’s something else I need to understand.”

Edwin waited.

”What does the martial resource market look like here?”

The question drew a more interested expression. ”What level of resources?”

”Beyond ordinary Muscle medicines. Bone and higher.”

Edwin leaned back slightly. ”That depends on what you need. Food concentrates, recovery medicines, strengthening preparations, specialized herbs, blood tonics, things used during breakthroughs?”

”All of it, eventually. I want to know what can actually be bought and what requires connections.”

Joe already possessed a cultivation path more complete than anything he had expected to find in the city. What Blackwood lacked was the ability to support that path. Even Bone cultivation had strained the resources available there. Internal Organ refinement, especially if he intended to repeat it, would demand better medicines, better nutrition, and materials he might not even know existed yet.

Edwin rested his forearms on the table. ”Basic Bone-level resources aren’t difficult to buy if you have money. There are shops that cater specifically to martial practitioners, and some medical companies produce standardized preparations for the common stages. Internal Organs is where things become less straightforward.”

He turned the map slightly and pointed toward an area east of the main commercial district.

”There are businesses that sell to true Martial Artists, but the better products don’t always sit openly on shelves. Some ingredients are too rare, some preparations are made in small batches, and some suppliers prefer dealing with known customers rather than anyone who walks in carrying gold.”

”Restricted?”

”Sometimes. More often limited. A common recovery medicine can be manufactured by the crate. A rare herb that takes years to mature cannot. If ten wealthy families, three martial schools, and several independent true Martial Artists all want the same thing, the merchant does not need to sell it to a stranger.”

Money opened the market. It did not guarantee priority.

”What about preparation? If I obtain raw materials, are there people who can process them properly?”

”Of course. Ashbourne has medicinal workshops far beyond anything we had in Blackwood. Some specialize in martial preparations. Others work almost entirely for families or schools.”

”Can anyone use them?”

”The ordinary ones, yes. The better ones depend on the work. Some will process your ingredients for a fee. Others won’t touch unfamiliar formulas or expensive materials without knowing where they came from.”

Joe understood the caution. A ruined common herb cost silver. A ruined rare cultivation resource could cost more than a workshop earned in months.

Edwin watched him for a moment. ”What exactly are you planning?”

”Nothing immediate. I’m trying to understand what becomes difficult after Bone.”

The answer was true enough.

”If that’s your concern, the biggest difference from Blackwood is that Ashbourne actually has options. The problem becomes choosing among them and getting access to the better ones.”

”Can money solve most of it?”

”Most common things, yes. Once you start asking for scarce materials, high-grade preparations, or people willing to make something unusual, relationships matter.”

Joe had expected that. A larger city did not eliminate hierarchy. It simply created more layers of it.

”Do you know someone who understands that side of the market?”

Edwin considered the question before answering. ”Possibly. I know a man who married into one of the established martial families here. Not one of the Three Great Families, but his wife’s family has been in Ashbourne for generations. They maintain martial businesses and have regular dealings with suppliers most independent practitioners never see.”

That sounded considerably more useful than another shop recommendation.

”What does he do?”

”Mostly commercial work for the family. Procurement, contracts, introductions, things of that sort. He’s not important enough to decide where the family’s best resources go, but he knows how those resources move.”

That was exactly the kind of information Joe needed. A person did not have to control a resource to explain how it was obtained, who sold it, how prices changed with scarcity, or what kind of relationship opened access.

”Would he speak with me?”

”If I ask, probably. Whether he can help depends on what you need and what you’re willing to pay.”

”Money isn’t the problem.”

Edwin’s expression changed slightly. ”Be careful saying that in Ashbourne.”

Joe understood the warning. ”I mean I planned for cultivation expenses.”

”Good. Keep saying it that way.”

Edwin glanced toward the map. ”Take the Root test tomorrow. Once we know the result, I’ll contact him. Even if you don’t have a Root, meeting him may still be useful if you’re serious about martial cultivation. If you do have one, that may change which resources are worth pursuing.”

Joe agreed. The Root result would not determine whether he continued cultivating, but it could affect how much time and money he was willing to invest before eventually attempting Kindling. They spent a little longer over the map while Edwin marked several medicine districts and warned him away from a market known for selling diluted or mislabeled preparations to inexperienced travellers. After that, their conversation returned to Blackwood, people Edwin knew, and the work that had occupied him since moving to Ashbourne.

Eventually, Edwin told him to get some sleep. Joe returned upstairs. The East District was quieter at night than the commercial areas they had crossed that afternoon, though Ashbourne never became completely silent. An automobile passed beneath the trees outside. Somewhere farther down the street, a dog barked, and electric lamps cast pale pools of light across the pavement.

His travel bag rested beside the desk. Tomorrow’s test would not determine whether he could continue becoming stronger. That question had already been settled. It would determine whether another path existed alongside the one he was already walking.

If he had no Spiritual Root, he would continue with martial cultivation, medicine, and the resources Ashbourne could provide. If he possessed one, then the Montclair records had given him a more complicated choice, one that depended on how far he developed his martial foundation before turning toward immortal cultivation.

Either way, the immediate problem remained practical. He had the inheritance. Now he needed the resources to use it.