TALENT BEYOND LIMIT: Stacking Many Talents

Simon read the message again the next morning.

Then again after breakfast.

The words did not change.

Fourth Western Watch. Tomorrow after evening duty. Come alone.

Mira stood behind him.

“You’re not going.”

Simon folded it.

“I think I should.”

“No.”

Joe continued eating.

Simon looked toward him.

“You too?”

“Yes.”

“He may only want to talk.”

“Then he can talk at the guard compound.”

Simon rubbed his forehead.

Joe understood why his brother hesitated.

The case was over.

Simon had been cleared.

Mary was safe.

The warehouse men were awaiting judgment for their part.

Simon had received something Joe suspected he needed badly: confirmation from people outside the family that he had not murdered Bret out of anger.

Garrick had received the same facts.

But not the same peace.

Simon said, “He lost his son.”

Mira’s expression softened slightly.

“That doesn’t mean you owe him your life.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Joe finally put down his bowl.

“You can go.”

Mira turned toward him.

Simon looked surprised.

Joe continued.

“But I’m going too.”

“The message says alone.”

“I can read.”

“So, he’ll know.”

“Not unless he needs to.”

Simon stared at him.

“You’re planning to hide in the forest.”

“Yes.”

“That sounds ridiculous when you say it normally.”

“It would sound equally ridiculous dramatically.”

Mira almost smiled.

Simon did not.

But he eventually nodded.

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

The Fourth Western Watch had not been used in years.

The patrol line had shifted after the timber roads expanded, leaving the structure stranded above a steep forest ravine. A narrow river ran somewhere below, mostly hidden beneath trees and broken stone. Part of the old platform extended toward the drop, its railing gray and half-rotted from years without maintenance.

Simon arrived near dusk.

Joe arrived earlier.

He stayed far enough away that Simon never saw him.

Garrick was already waiting.

No uniform.

No guard insignia.

That mattered more than anything he carried.

He had come as Bret’s father.

Not as Senior Officer Vane.

Simon stopped several paces away.

“You wanted to talk.”

Garrick looked at him for a long time.

“Yes.”

The old watch creaked softly in the wind.

Beyond it, Blackwood Forest stretched dark beneath the evening sky.

Finally, Garrick said, “I read Mary’s statement.”

Simon waited.

“I read Teren’s.”

Nothing.

“The warehouse men too.”

“I know.”

“They all say the same thing.”

“Yes.”

Garrick looked away.

“Bret arranged it.”

“Yes.”

“He took your sister.”

“Yes.”

“He drew the knife.”

Simon hesitated.

Then:

“Yes.”

Garrick laughed quietly.

There was no humor in it.

“I spent two weeks trying to find something else.”

Simon understood.

“A lie.”

“Anything.”

Garrick’s face tightened.

“Something that made the world less simple.”

Simon said nothing.

Garrick continued.

“When Bret was younger, I thought he would grow out of it.”

His voice had changed.

Not weaker.

Tired.

“I covered things I shouldn’t have covered. Paid people. Spoke to officers. Made problems disappear because I told myself I was giving him another chance.”

Simon looked down.

“The report you filed against him should have been one of those chances.”

Simon remembered that day.

Bret abandoning his post.

The confrontation afterward.

Garrick using an assessment to punish him.

“You blamed me.”

This text was taken from NovelPhoenix. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Yes.”

The answer came without defense.

“I was wrong.”

That surprised Simon more than anything else.

Garrick looked at him.

“My son was wrong.”

Simon swallowed.

“I didn’t want to kill him.”

“I know.”

“I went there for Mary.”

“I know.”

“He had—”

“I know!”

The shout echoed through the trees.

Silence returned slowly.

Garrick breathed once.

Twice.

Then quieter:

“I know everything.”

Simon finally understood why Joe had remained suspicious.

The problem had never been facts.

Garrick had all of them.

“What do you want from me?”

The older man stared.

“My son back.”

Simon said nothing.

Neither could pretend that answer had a solution.

Garrick’s hands slowly closed.

“You walked out of that yard.”

Simon stiffened.

“Mary walked out.”

“Your wife still has you.”

“Garrick—”

“My son went into the ground.”

Simon’s sympathy disappeared.

Not completely.

Enough.

“That wasn’t my choice.”

Garrick took one step.

“No?”

“Bret made it.”

Something in Garrick broke.

----------

He moved.

No weapon.

No warning.

Blood Energy surged through a body tempered to Late Bone, and years of guard experience turned that strength into one direct attack.

Simon barely reacted.

Joe did.

For years, restraint had become instinct.

Shorten the stride.

Reduce acceleration.

Let the ground remain intact.

Allow other people to see effort.

Never let the body written in his hidden reality contradict the body written in official records.

Joe abandoned all of it.

His first step struck the old timber platform hard enough to split weathered wood beneath his foot.

Garrick turned at the sound.

Too late.

Joe entered between them.

Their arms collided.

The impact cracked through the watch.

Garrick was driven backward.

Three steps.

Four.

His eyes widened.

Joe remained where he had stopped.

Behind him, Simon had not even finished raising his hands.

Garrick stared at Joe.

“Move.”

“No.”

“This isn’t about you.”

“You’re trying to kill my brother.”

Garrick’s face hardened.

“He killed my son.”

“After your son abducted our sister.”

“I know!”

Joe studied him.

Then there was nothing more to discuss.

“You were given the truth.”

Garrick’s breathing slowed.

“You were given the law.”

No answer.

“You were given time.”

Garrick settled into his stance.

Joe felt something inside himself become very quiet.

“And you came anyway.”

--------

Garrick attacked him.

This time prepared.

Joe immediately understood why the man had remained a senior officer for so long.

His movements were compact.

Efficient.

No wasted flourish.

He changed angles when Joe blocked, shifted his weight cleanly and never committed more than necessary.

Against an ordinary Bone practitioner, experience like that would matter enormously.

Against Joe, it bought seconds.

Garrick struck toward his ribs.

Joe redirected.

Another attack followed instantly toward his head.

Joe slipped aside.

The third changed midway.

Better.

Much better than Bret.

Better than Alex.

Probably better than anyone Joe had fought seriously in Blackwood.

For several exchanges, Joe allowed himself to see it.

Years of accumulated combat instinct.

Timing.

Judgment.

Position.

Then Garrick tried to pass him.

Toward Simon.

Joe stopped studying.

He released everything.

Muscle Great Completion contracted without restraint.

Bone VIII carried the force.

Perfected Dynamic Foundation aligned his movement from foot through hip and torso with almost nothing lost between them.

Joe accelerated.

Garrick saw him coming.

Experience made him defend correctly.

It did not make him strong enough.

Joe broke through the defense and struck.

One full-power blow.

A sharp, ugly impact ended the exchange.

Garrick collapsed immediately.

He did not move again.

---------

Simon stared.

The forest seemed unnaturally quiet afterward.

Joe crouched.

Checked once.

Then again.

No breathing.

No pulse.

The injury left no ambiguity about whether Garrick might rise later.

He was dead.

Joe stood.

Simon was looking at him now instead of Garrick.

“What…”

Joe waited.

Simon pointed at the body.

“He’s Late Bone.”

“Was.”

“Joe.”

Wrong answer.

Joe knew it immediately.

Simon stepped closer.

“You just killed a Late Bone martial artist.”

“Yes.”

“With one strike.”

“Yes.”

“You’re Muscle Completion.”

Joe exhaled.

“Officially.”

Simon froze.

“Officially?”

There it was.

Joe had survived years without having this conversation.

Apparently that streak ended tonight.

“How strong are you?”

“Very.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Answering like you’re some eighty-year-old hermit.”

Despite everything, Joe nearly smiled.

Simon did not.

“What realm?”

There was no believable reason to maintain the Muscle lie anymore.

Not after what Simon had seen.

“Bone.”

Simon stared.

Joe let him.

“Bone?”

“Yes.”

“You’re eighteen.”

“Yes.”

“When did you reach Bone?”

“A while ago.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed.

“That answer should be illegal.”

Joe said nothing.

Simon looked back at Garrick.

Then toward the broken board beneath Joe’s first step.

Then at Joe again.

“How far into Bone?”

That answer remained private.

“Far enough.”

“Joe.”

“No.”

Simon stopped.

The firmness of it surprised him.

Joe’s expression softened slightly.

“I’ve hidden things about my cultivation for a reason. I’m telling you more because you saw this. Not everything.”

Simon stared another few seconds.

Then, unexpectedly, nodded.

He didn’t like it.

But he understood secrecy.

At least enough.

“You were stronger than Garrick this whole time?”

“Not the whole time.”

“Recently?”

“Yes.”

“And you let me worry about him.”

“His fists weren’t what made him dangerous.”

Simon looked confused.

“His office was,” Joe said. “His rank. His authority. Other officers. Reports. Assignments. Reputation.”

He looked down at Garrick.

“Tonight he left all of that behind.”

Simon understood then.

Garrick had spent years sitting behind institutional power.

Tonight he had voluntarily reduced the conflict to one thing.

Strength.

And he had chosen the wrong family for that.

-----------

Simon sat on a section of old foundation.

For several minutes he said nothing.

Then:

“He knew.”

Joe knew what he meant.

“Yes.”

“He knew Bret kidnapped Mary.”

“Yes.”

“He knew the guard cleared me.”

“Yes.”

“He admitted Bret was wrong.”

“Yes.”

Simon rubbed both hands over his face.

“And still tried to kill me.”

Joe waited.

Eventually Simon lowered his hands.

“With Bret, I kept thinking afterward that maybe I hit him too hard.”

Joe said nothing.

“The investigation helped.”

“I know.”

“It wasn’t just us telling ourselves we were right.”

Joe nodded.

Simon looked toward Garrick.

“This is different.”

“Yes.”

Garrick had received every opportunity Bret never gave Simon.

Time.

Evidence.

Distance.

Institutional process.

Twelve days to decide what kind of man he would be after learning the truth.

Then he had brought Simon somewhere isolated and tried to kill him anyway.

Simon looked at Joe.

“You didn’t hesitate.”

“No.”

That disturbed him.

Joe could see it.

He did not apologize.

Garrick had attacked Simon.

There had been nothing complicated about Joe’s response.

---------

Eventually Simon asked the question Joe had been expecting.

“What do we do now?”

Joe looked at Garrick.

Reporting the encounter truthfully would protect Simon again.

It would not protect Joe.

An eighteen-year-old officially recorded at Muscle Completion had just killed an experienced Late Bone senior officer in moments. That fact alone would tear open every layer of concealment Joe had built.

Where had he obtained a Bone inheritance?

How long had he possessed it?

Why had he hidden his realm?

How far had he actually progressed?

What else was false?

People would start looking.

Theodere.

Edwin.

The guard.

The Black family.

Perhaps even the magistrate.

Eventually, someone more dangerous than Garrick would ask the right question.

“We can’t report this one.”

Simon looked at him.

“He attacked us.”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re justified.”

“You are.”

Simon frowned.

Then understanding came.

Joe’s cultivation.

His official record.

The impossible difference between what the guard believed him to be and what Simon had just witnessed.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

Simon looked back at Garrick’s body.

For a long moment, neither brother spoke.

Then Simon asked quietly, “What happens to him?”

Joe’s gaze moved past the ruined railing.

The abandoned watch stood above a steep forest ravine, its lower reaches already disappearing into Deepwinter darkness. Somewhere far below, hidden by trees and stone, water could be heard moving through the gorge.

Simon followed his gaze.

His expression changed.

“No.”

Joe said nothing.

Simon turned toward him.

“With Bret, we told the truth.”

“And the truth protected you.”

“It would protect me now.”

“Yes.”

“But not you.”

Joe nodded.

Simon looked sick.

That bothered Joe more than he expected.

Simon could kill when he had no other choice. He could stand in front of officers afterward and describe exactly what he had done. What he could not do easily was step outside the law afterward and decide for himself which truths the world was allowed to know.

Joe hoped he never became comfortable with that.

“I hate this,” Simon said.

“So do I.”

Simon gave him a doubtful look.

Joe accepted it.

“I dislike the necessity more than the secrecy.”

“That sounds more like you.”

Fair.

Simon stared at Garrick again.

“He knew Bret was wrong.”

“Yes.”

“He knew Mary was threatened.”

“Yes.”

“He knew the investigation cleared me.”

“Yes.”

“And he still brought me here.”

Joe nodded.

Simon closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again, some of the conflict remained, but the decision had settled beneath it.

“This stays between us.”

“Yes.”

Neither brother spoke while they dealt with what remained.

There was no satisfaction in it, no sense of victory, and nothing either of them would ever remember fondly. Garrick was already dead. What followed changed nothing about that.

Before they left the abandoned watch, the ravine below received one final shadow.

Simon remained beside the broken railing afterward, staring into the darkness.

Joe did not.

He had already checked Garrick twice. He did not need the forest to confirm what his own hands had done.

After a while Simon stepped back.

“Let’s go home.”

They walked toward Blackwood without speaking.

Behind them, the old watch returned to silence.

Garrick had chosen a place without officers, witnesses, or records because he had wanted to settle his son’s death outside the law.

In the end, that same choice was what allowed him to vanish outside it.

----------

The next morning, Garrick missed duty.

By midday, people noticed.

By evening, Tomas had sent someone to his house.

Simon listened to the first questions moving through the guard compound.

Had anyone seen Senior Officer Vane?

Was he inspecting a route?

Had forestry requested him?

Did he have family outside town?

Joe continued his medical work.

Nobody asked him anything.

Not yet.

That evening, Simon came to Joe’s room.

“They’re going to investigate.”

“Yes.”

“You knew they would.”

“Yes.”

Simon leaned against the door.

Joe looked up.

“You all right?”

“No.”

A refreshingly Simon answer.

Joe waited.

Simon continued.

“But I keep thinking about what he said.”

“What part?”

“That he knew.”

Joe nodded.

Simon stared at the floor.

“He could’ve stopped.”

“Yes.”

“He had almost two weeks.”

“Yes.”

“He could’ve hated me forever and still stopped.”

“Yes.”

Simon exhaled slowly.

Then looked up.

“I don’t feel guilty the way I did about Bret.”

Joe understood.

Bret had died because Simon reacted during chaos.

Garrick had died because Garrick carefully created his own final situation after knowing every relevant fact.

Different roads.

Same destination.

Simon opened the door.

Then stopped.

“Bone.”

Joe looked at him.

Simon pointed.

“We’re discussing that later.”

“No.”

“Definitely later.”

“Good night, Simon.”

“You’re terrible.”

The door closed.

Joe smiled despite himself.

Outside, Blackwood was beginning to search for Garrick Vane.

That investigation would become tomorrow’s problem.

Tonight, for the first time, Simon knew one important part of the truth.

His younger brother had not merely grown talented.

He had become frighteningly strong.

And Joe had still shown him almost nothing.