Chapter 95: No One Strong Enough

Garrick missed morning duty.

That was unusual.

By midday, it was concerning.

By evening, Tomas had sent two guards to his residence.

The house was empty.

His bed had not been slept in.

Nothing obvious was missing except the clothes he had worn the previous evening.

No travel bag.

No official papers.

No request for leave.

No assignment explaining where a senior officer had gone.

By the following morning, Garrick Vane was officially missing.

Simon heard the announcement while standing in formation.

He kept his face still.

Joe, several rows away, did the same.

-----------

The first search was ordinary.

Gates.

Taverns.

Warehouses.

Forestry offices.

Relatives.

Known contacts.

The western road.

Garrick had spent decades in Blackwood. Hundreds of people knew him well enough to answer questions about his habits, and dozens knew places he visited regularly.

Nothing emerged.

By afternoon, the questions changed.

When had anyone last seen him?

Was he upset?

Had he argued with anyone?

Had Bret's death affected his work?

That brought Simon into the investigation immediately.

Nobody pretended otherwise.

Tomas summoned him before sunset.

Simon entered the administrative room alone.

Halven sat beside Tomas.

A clerk waited with ink and paper.

Tomas did not waste time.

“When did you last speak with Garrick?”

Simon had prepared for this.

“At the compound.”

“What about?”

“Bret.”

“What did he say?”

Simon paused.

“That he knew what the investigation found.”

Halven watched him.

“And?”

“He was angry.”

“Did he threaten you?”

Simon hated the question.

“No direct threat.”

True.

Garrick had not threatened him at the compound.

Tomas leaned back.

“Did you think he blamed you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you blame him?”

“For Bret?”

“For the assignments. His treatment of you. Anything.”

Simon considered.

“I didn't like what he did.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

Simon looked at Tomas.

“No. I didn't want him dead.”

That answer came easily.

Tomas nodded once.

Then came the strangest question.

“If Garrick attacked you, could you defeat him?”

Simon almost laughed.

Halven actually did.

Tomas glanced sideways.

Halven shrugged.

“He's early Muscle.”

“I know what realm he is.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because I prefer his answer.”

Simon shook his head.

“No.”

That was perhaps the truest thing he had said all evening.

Without Joe, Garrick would have killed him.

Tomas dismissed him shortly afterward.

Outside, Simon leaned against the wall.

For the first time, being underestimated felt comforting.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

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Joe was called the next morning.

His interview lasted less time.

“Garrick had problems with your brother,” Tomas said.

“Yes.”

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

“You resented him?”

“Sometimes.”

Halven looked amused.

Tomas did not.

“Did Garrick ever threaten you?”

“No.”

Also true.

“Your current realm is Muscle Completion.”

“That's my recorded assessment.”

Tomas looked up.

Joe realized the wording had been slightly too precise.

Halven noticed too.

“You planning another assessment already?”

“Eventually.”

Halven snorted.

“At least wait long enough that the clerks don't think the last one was pointless.”

Joe smiled.

Tomas returned to the subject.

“Could you defeat Garrick?”

Joe allowed himself one heartbeat.

“No.”

Not under the identity sitting in that room.

Tomas apparently agreed.

The questioning moved on.

Had Joe seen unfamiliar martial artists recently?

Any disputes in the medicine trade?

Any reason a Black family member might target Garrick?

Joe answered what he knew.

When the interview ended, Tomas had learned almost nothing.

Which was exactly how investigations sometimes worked.

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

Renford was questioned too even though it was just a formality.

That interested Joe.

The guard did not accuse him publicly, but the reasoning was obvious.

Simon had married into Edwin's branch.

Garrick's son had kidnapped Simon's sister.

Bret had died.

Garrick had openly resented the outcome.

And Renford was a true Martial Artist.

He possessed both a connection to the dispute and enough strength to make Garrick disappear.

The problem was that Renford had spent the relevant evening at a Black family dinner attended by more than a dozen people.

He had left late.

With two relatives.

And had been seen entering his own residence afterward.

Several other Black-family martial artists were checked more quietly.

None fit.

Simon heard about it and looked uncomfortable.

“They actually considered Renford.”

Joe nodded.

“He fits better than you.”

“That's not reassuring.”

“It should be.”

Simon stared.

“Your idea of reassurance needs work.”

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

The detained warehouse men from Bret's case were questioned again.

That produced no new suspect.

It did produce one useful fact.

Garrick had spoken privately with the red-cord man after Bret's death.

“What did you tell him?” Tomas asked.

The man apparently answered without hesitation.

“Everything.”

“That Bret planned the abduction?”

“Yes.”

“That Mary Vale was held there?”

“Yes.”

“That Bret drew the knife?”

“Yes.”

“That Simon struck him afterward?”

“Yes.”

The statement entered the record.

Joe heard about it through Daren.

Simon heard too.

Neither spoke about it.

There was nothing left to establish about Garrick's knowledge.

He had known.

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The Fourth Western Watch was found on the sixth day.

A forestry team checking abandoned structures noticed the damaged platform and reported it.

Tomas went personally.

Halven accompanied him.

So did two veteran guards and several forestry workers familiar with the ravine.

They searched as far below the watch as terrain allowed.

The riverbank.

The slope.

Downstream stretches accessible through the forest.

No Garrick.

No body.

No clear trail.

Deepwinter had helped erase what little the ground might once have offered. Wind had moved leaves and needles across the old path. Frost hardened exposed soil. The ravine itself ran through broken stone and dense woodland before the water bent farther west.

The watch gave them something else.

Proof of violence.

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

Halven discussed it in the canteen that night.

Joe happened to be eating there.

Simon sat across from him.

Several guards crowded around Halven's table.

“What happened?”

Halven continued eating.

Someone tried again.

“Was Garrick there?”

“Probably.”

“You found blood?”

Halven looked up.

“I'm not discussing evidence.”

That quieted them briefly.

Then Cole asked the question everyone actually cared about.

“Did he fight someone?”

Halven set down his spoon.

“Yes.”

The room changed.

“How strong?”

“Strong.”

“That means nothing.”

“It means enough.”

One guard frowned.

“Garrick was Late Bone.”

“I'm aware.”

“So, another Late Bone?”

Halven considered.

“Maybe.”

“Peak?”

“Possible.”

Someone farther down the table lowered his voice.

“Internal Organs?”

Silence followed.

Halven did not laugh.

That mattered more than his answer.

“Also possible.”

Simon stopped chewing.

Joe kicked him lightly beneath the table.

Simon looked at him.

Joe continued eating.

Across the room, speculation exploded.

A traveling martial expert.

An old enemy.

A criminal organization with a hidden Bone practitioner.

Someone connected to Garrick's earlier service outside Blackwood.

Perhaps even a true Martial Artist passing through the region.

Every theory searched upward.

Nobody looked at Joe.

Why would they?

He was eighteen.

Muscle Completion.

A talented young guard with unusually strong Foundations and a medicine business.

Not someone capable of killing Late Bone Garrick Vane before the man could escape.

The correct answer sat in the room precisely because nobody could imagine it.

-----------

Simon came to Joe's room that night.

He closed the door.

Then simply stared.

Joe waited.

“They think you might be Internal Organs.”

“They don't think I'm anything.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes.”

Simon sat heavily.

For several seconds he said nothing.

Then:

“How strong are you?”

Joe sighed.

“We already did this.”

“No. You said very.”

“Still accurate.”

“Halven thinks whoever fought Garrick might have been peak Bone or a true Martial Artist.”

“Halven doesn't know what happened.”

“I do.”

Joe looked at him.

Simon lowered his voice.

“You didn't struggle.”

That was harder to dismiss.

“No.”

“You weren't even breathing hard afterward.”

“No.”

“Bone,” Simon muttered.

Joe let him think.

Then Simon looked up.

“You're not going to tell me which part of Bone.”

“No.”

“Worth trying.”

Joe smiled slightly.

Simon did not.

“I used to think you were hiding because you were maybe one stage ahead.”

Joe said nothing.

“Then two.”

Still nothing.

Simon leaned back.

“I stopped guessing.”

“That seems efficient.”

“You are extremely annoying.”

“I've heard.”

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

The investigation continued through the next two weeks.

Garrick had accumulated more enemies than Simon realized.

Men he had arrested.

Families angered by confiscations.

Timber smugglers.

Dismissed guards.

Merchants who had lost contracts after inspection.

Old disputes from before Simon and Joe even reached Blackwood.

Most led nowhere.

A few produced new investigations unrelated to Garrick.

None produced Garrick.

Eventually the search changed character.

Patrols still checked western routes.

The case remained open.

But Blackwood could not spend its entire winter looking for one man.

His assignments were redistributed.

His paperwork moved to other officers.

Another senior guard began reviewing western patrol schedules.

Institutions absorbed absence quickly.

Joe had always found that both comforting and cold.

----------

Simon struggled longer.

One evening he said, “With Bret, telling everything felt better.”

Joe knew where this was going.

“The guard investigated. Mary spoke. The men admitted it. Tomas cleared me.”

“Yes.”

“I needed that.”

“I know.”

Simon rubbed his palms together.

“With Garrick, everyone's searching for an answer we already have.”

Joe waited.

“I don't like it.”

“You shouldn't.”

Simon looked at him.

“You really mean that.”

“Yes.”

Joe leaned back.

“If this becomes easy for you, something has gone wrong.”

Simon seemed surprised.

Joe continued.

“You don't need to become comfortable with my decisions just because you understand them.”

That sat between them for a while.

Finally, Simon nodded.

“He knew.”

“Yes.”

“He had time.”

“Yes.”

“He still came.”

“Yes.”

Simon breathed out slowly.

“I can live with what happened.”

Joe believed him.

“Good.”

“I still don't like hiding it.”

“You don't have to like everything you can live with.”

Simon gave him a tired look.

“That sounded annoyingly wise.”

Joe smiled.

“I'll avoid repeating it.”

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By mid-Deepwinter, Garrick's disappearance had become an unsolved case rather than an active emergency.

Rumors remained.

The most popular involved an unknown martial expert.

One particularly imaginative version claimed Garrick had uncovered a smuggling organization led by a hidden Internal Organ practitioner.

Joe heard it from Cole, who believed roughly half of it.

“Could be true.”

“It could,” Joe said.

Cole nodded enthusiastically.

Simon, standing behind him, looked as though he might choke.

Joe ignored him.

Expectation had become another layer of disguise.

People did not merely fail to know Joe's strength.

They rejected the possibility that someone like him could possess it.

That was stronger protection than silence alone.

For now.

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One night, after snow had begun gathering against the courtyard walls, Joe prepared a familiar set of medicines.

Bone VIII had settled completely.

The seventh and eighth passes had refined what remained until even small structural weaknesses were increasingly difficult to find.

Only one remained.

The ninth.

Skin had taught him what ninth tempering meant.

Muscle had confirmed it.

The final pass was never merely another percentage of improvement.

It was where everything accumulated before it was forced to become coherent.

Joe sat cross-legged.

Blood Energy began moving.

Perfect Health maintained the body.

Perfect Body waited to integrate whatever the final refinement produced.

Every Hard Work Pays Off stood ready to return insight from each valid effort.

One Effort Equals a Hundred would make every successful circulation matter far more than it should.

Joe closed his eyes.

Bone IX began.

Outside, Blackwood still had no answer for what had happened to Garrick Vane.

Inside, the answer quietly began the final tempering of his bones.