Chapter 58: Quite Pleased With Himself

Chapter 58: Quite Pleased With Himself

The dull edge slid across Silas’s forearm and left no mark.

He lifted it away, released Iron Skin, and checked the skin under the lamp. No broken surface, no swelling. The pressure had still been uncomfortable, but now he could judge how much without having to guess at the damage afterward.

Four days had passed since Hugo’s visit, and Silas had learned exactly what the Talent did badly. It didn’t protect his eyes. It couldn’t stop a heavy impact from moving him. Covering more of his body cost more mana, and a lapse in concentration could leave a patch unprotected at exactly the wrong moment.

It did, however, give him a chance against a glancing edge that would otherwise cut straight into him.

He practiced raising it before contact, releasing it afterward, then bringing it back while moving. Understanding had come faster than habit. He still sometimes tensed his muscles, as though that would help the surface harden.

This time, he kept his shoulders loose and simply followed the mana.

The protection settled evenly across his forearm. He could feel exactly where it ended, adjust that edge, and let it fade without losing the whole effect at once.

[Iron Skin — Assimilation: 100%.]

[Permanent acquisition complete.]

Silas set down the practice tool and grinned.

He had been checking since breakfast. Now he left the finished figure open a little longer.

Five permanent acquisitions now. Remote Grasp, Shadow Passage, Burst Motion, Split Focus, and Iron Skin.

The temporary slot was empty again. The second slot stayed locked, but he was halfway to the ten distinct assimilations it required.

He stood and carried the rounded tool out into the corridor. After making sure nobody was coming, he raised Iron Skin across one wrist and pressed the blunt end against it.

The effect held outside the door.

Silas ducked back inside before anyone could find him experimenting on himself in the hallway. He put the tool away, washed, and ate the lunch he had let go cold.

His appetite had become quite good lately. He noticed it halfway through the meal, remembered how food used to sit like a stone in his stomach, and finished the rest with particular satisfaction.

Cultivation that evening felt different from the very first circulation.

He sat with his back supported and followed Steady Current along its familiar route. He had finished the second Ilyr fruit in Kerr’s approved portions.

Split Focus had made it easier to track the whole circulation while correcting a weak section. With Iron Skin now permanent, he felt another improvement in how readily the mana answered.

Silas slowed down rather than drawing in more.

He remembered how badly he had wanted his first Core, and how he had strained after sensations he didn’t understand. This time, the Core was already there. He could feel its first internal ring, more settled and substantial than it had been when Sorel confirmed his Middle stage.

The current completed its route. He refined what he could, let it settle, and began again.

On the next pass, a familiar unevenness barely slowed him.

He repeated the cycle to make sure.

His fingers loosened on his knees. He wanted to keep going until he reached whatever waited on the other side of this, but fatigue was starting to blur the finer distinctions. He finished the circulation and stopped, the urge still unsatisfied.

Before bed, he sent Sorel a short description and asked whether the professor could check his progress the next day.

The reply arrived while he was putting away the lamp.

Appointment after morning instruction. No attempt to force a transition before then.

Silas looked at the time, then at the spot on the floor where he had been sitting.

I wasn’t going to.

He moved the cushion out of the way and went to bed before that became a lie.

Sorel checked his circulation twice.

The small consultation room was warmer than the corridor, with afternoon light falling across a row of empty chairs. Silas sat opposite the professor and tried not to react every time Sorel’s attention lingered on a measurement.

"You’ve made good progress," Sorel said at last.

Silas sat up straighter. "Enough?"

"Close enough to attempt it under supervision." Sorel glanced at his record. "Your control is better. What changed?"

"More practice. The fruit helped earlier, and I’ve been working on following the whole route instead of stopping at every weak spot."

All true. Silas kept his hands still.

Sorel had him demonstrate the circulation again, then corrected how much pressure he was holding through one turn. The adjustment felt smaller than Silas expected. It also removed a strain he had stopped noticing simply because it was always there.

"Continue from that," Sorel said. "Don’t increase the intake yet."

Silas closed his eyes.

Here in Sorel’s consultation room, he had only the reserve and control he’d brought with him.

Mana moved through the channels, returned, and settled into the ring. At first, he kept waiting for something dramatic. Then the familiar fullness grew uncomfortable, and waiting stopped being the problem.

He wanted to push.

Silas let out a slow breath and followed the method instead.

The pressure shifted. A section that had resisted integration accepted the current, and the change carried farther around the ring than ever before. He nearly lost the sequence out of sheer excitement.

"Keep the same pace," Sorel said.

Silas obeyed. One circulation, then another. The ring held its new state, and the strain through his channels eased enough that he finally noticed the dampness under his collar.

When he opened his eyes, the professor was watching him with a small smile.

"Late Rank One," Sorel said.

Silas stared at him, then let his head fall back against the chair.

"Really?" Silas asked.

"You can sit there looking pleased for a minute," Sorel said. "Then we’ll make sure it’s stable."

He took the minute.

Mara answered while Silas was still walking home.

He hadn’t meant to call before reaching his room, but the message he’d started typing felt far too small for what he wanted to tell her.

"Is something wrong?" she asked the moment his face appeared.

"No. I reached Late Rank One."

Mara stopped moving. The background behind her tilted, then steadied as she adjusted her grip.

"Today?" Mara asked.

"Just now. Sorel supervised it. He checked afterward too."

Her smile arrived before she could ask anything else.

Silas slowed beside an empty bench and sat down. He told her about the session, leaving out the Talents that had helped make it possible. She asked whether he was sore, whether the circulation had settled, whether he had eaten.

He answered all three without complaint.

"I’m proud of you," Mara said.

Silas looked down at his free hand, resting on his knee, warm from the afternoon sun. A few weeks ago, holding himself upright through a conversation could leave him exhausted.

"I’m quite pleased with myself," he admitted.

Mara laughed. "I can see that."

He stayed on the bench until she had to go. By then, he had promised to send her the competition schedule, and to avoid ruining his progress by spending the evening testing every limit at once.

At home, he changed into something comfortable and ordered a meal he had been eyeing for days. He didn’t open Returning Edge while he waited.

Nim climbed onto the chair beside him and inspected the empty table.

"Are we waiting?" Nim asked.

"For dinner," Silas said.

"Then why are you smiling?" Nim asked.

Silas leaned back. "I’m hungry."

Nim accepted that explanation. Silas found he liked it well enough too.