Chapter 60: Feeding the Monster

Joe completed Skin Tempering IV thirty-seven days after his sixteenth birthday.

Even after watching the progress happen every day, the speed felt unreasonable.

The final section was along the back of his neck.

It had always been an awkward region. The skin there needed to remain highly flexible, moved constantly with the head and shoulders, and was difficult to observe directly. During his first tempering, Joe had worked on it cautiously for weeks.

This time he stood in the courtyard before sunrise, guided blood energy into the remaining uneven strip and completed one careful effort.

Insight followed immediately.

Too much pressure near the base of the skull.

Joe corrected it.

Second effort. The weak transition disappeared. Skin Tempering IV settled.

Joe slowly rolled his shoulders. Cold air moved across his neck.

The sensation was unusually clear. He could feel the difference between the exposed upper portion and the warmer region beneath his collar, even while ignoring the information when he wanted to.

That ability to filter sensation had improved almost as much as sensitivity itself.

Joe dragged a finger along the side of his neck.

No stiffness. No crude thickening.

Perfect Body continued doing exactly what he hoped: every region became more durable while remaining suitable for its actual function.

The face remained soft enough to move naturally.

The eyelids remained thin.

The palms stayed flexible.

The soles remained springy rather than becoming dead slabs of hardened tissue.

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Skin IV had not turned him into armor.

It had made his skin extraordinarily good at being skin.

Joe checked the panel. The fourth pass was complete.

Then he began Skin V and the line appeared in the panel.

The first effort produced progress. Less than an equivalent Skin IV effort. Still obvious.

Joe smiled. The returns were diminishing, but they were nowhere near zero. So, the experiment continued.

The problem was that his medicine supply had not enjoyed the same breakthrough.

By late Deepwinter, the courtyard shelves contained more empty jars than full ones.

Joe had already purchased additional herbs twice. His guard salary disappeared almost immediately each month, and the remaining gold from his recipe sale fell fast enough that Simon eventually noticed.

They were eating dinner when Simon asked, "How much money do you have left?"

Joe looked up.

"Enough."

"That's not a number."

"Why do you care?"

"Because you had more money than either of us had ever seen, and now every third person delivering something here is carrying herbs."

Joe considered lying.

There was little point.

"Less than half."

Simon stopped chewing.

"Less than half?"

Joe nodded.

"You spent five gold?"

"Not all on medicine."

"What else?"

"Food."

Simon stared at him.

Joe added, "Mostly medicine."

Simon put down his bowl.

"Are you secretly dying?"

"No."

"That would actually explain this better."

Joe laughed.

Simon did not.

"Joe."

"I'm training."

"I know you're training. Normal training doesn't cost five gold."

Joe looked toward the courtyard.

"Mine does."

That was all he was willing to explain.

Simon muttered for the rest of dinner but eventually let it go. Joe understood his concern. Ten gold coins had been enough to support an ordinary guard for years if spent carefully.

Joe was turning the same money into tissue improvement in months. The absurdity became even clearer when he visited the guard supply room. The quartermaster knew him by now.

"Again?"

Joe placed his monthly token on the counter.

The older man checked the record.

"You bought your full herb allowance twelve days ago."

"New month."

The quartermaster squinted at the date board.

Then grunted.

"Right."

He brought out the permitted quantities of common recovery bark, redroot and two cheaper nourishing herbs.

Joe looked at the bundles. Before sixteen, they would have seemed generous. Now they represent perhaps several days of serious cultivation.

"Can I buy more at full price?"

"Not through guard stores."

"Why?"

"Because we're not a medicine shop."

Joe looked at the shelves behind him. They looked very much like a medicine shop.

The quartermaster followed his gaze.

"No."

Joe took the herbs.

The guard benefits were still useful. Free training grounds, subsidized meals, equipment, instruction and cheap medicine all had real value.

They simply belonged to another scale.

The system was designed to help hundreds of guards maintain ordinary martial progress.

It was not designed to support Joe.

He left the compound through the northern gate and entered Blackwood's morning streets.