Chương 276: Chapter 271

"That's Master Davren for you," a Tutor near the benches says.

"Always looking out for the little guy."

"Big heart, that one."

"Mr. Cabbage should be on his knees thanking him." Master Davren keeps his hand on Jacob's shoulder. He stands a full head shorter, and his smile is warm and wide and full of belief in his own generosity.

"Under my wing, Mr. Cabbage, you would learn how a Tutor carries himself. Dignity. Reputation. How to handle students. How to present yourself to the Guild as a professional instead of a flyer enthusiast." There's quite a bit of laughter from the crowd.

"And since your friend over there mentioned something about a woman." Master Davren nods at Lancelot and winks at the crowd.

"Perhaps I could even teach you how to make the ladies look at you properly. Free of charge." More laughter. Louder. Jacob says nothing. He is looking at Korim. The boy is still standing by the side wall, rubbing his forearm where the skin has gone a wrong shade of red. He has stopped punching. He is trying not to be noticed. [Grimoire Analysis.] [Korim. Silver Rank. Punching Form of the Iron Branch.] [13 Flaws detected. 1 Critical Flaw detected.] [Critical Flaw: Mana-channel routing through the Anvil Mana Vein creates a bidirectional discharge loop at the elbow. Energy exits into the strike and rebounds into the joint simultaneously. Progressive tearing has already begun. Secondary pressure is destabilizing the lower channels. Full Anvil Mana Vein rupture under sustained repetition is imminent.] [Symptoms: urinary urgency every twenty to thirty minutes. Blood in urine. Burning pressure behind the elbow. Reduced grip strength on waking.] [The Fix: Channel the Mana through the Rising Sun Veins in order to temper it before it reaches the Anvil Vein. Discharge through the Flowing Earth Vein. Do not route through the joint.] How is it possible? Jacob almost facepalms. Are all the Tutors here complete idiots? He had found a very similar problem in Thalric. And this guy, this Master Davren, was supposed the disciple of Thalric's Tutor. This is… Jacob frowns. Master Davren is still talking.

"Really, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Every man needs a guiding hand. I've trained dozens of students. Korim over there is living proof of what proper instruction produces."

"Master Davren." The name comes out flat out of Jacob's mouth. Master Davren pauses.

"You should probably worry less about new disciples," Jacob sighs and gently but firmly removes the man's hand from his shoulder, "and more about the fact that your apprentice's Anvil Mana Vein is about to rupture." Quiet. Then Master Davren laughs.

"Is that jealousy, Mr. Cabbage?" He shakes his head.

"Are you making up injuries in front of the whole Guild? That's low."

"Korim." The boy stiffens.

"How many times a day do you have to run off and piss?" A few people in the hall laugh. Korim goes red.

"That is absolutely ridic..." Master Davren starts.

"How often?" Jacob says again. He is looking only at Korim. Korim's mouth opens and closes. Then, he looks at Master Davren, and then at the floor. Finally, he sneaks a glance at Jacob.

"Every twenty minutes," Korim says.

"Sometimes less." The laughter stops.

"And the blood," Jacob says.

"Has it started showing up every time yet, or just most of the time?" Korim goes white.

"Most of the time," he says. Two Tutors near the side wall glance at each other. One of them knows the Anvil Mana Vein, and his face changes.

"The Anvil Mana Vein connects the arm to the lower trunk," Jacob says. Not to Master Davren. To the hall.

"His form is routing energy through it in a loop. Every punch sends power out and snaps it right back into the joint. The vein has already started tearing. The blood in his urine is overflow from the secondary channels being dragged apart. If he keeps doing four hundred reps the way he was taught, the vein ruptures." Master Davren's face is red.

"You're making this up."

"Korim." Jacob ignores him.

"Perform one more repetition. Exactly the way you were taught." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Korim hesitates but when he sees Jacob nod confidently, he assumes the opening stance of the Iron Branch and throws the punch.

"Stop." Korim freezes mid-motion.

"There." Jacob points at the elbow, where the transition locks a fraction too early.

"That's where the loop starts. You feel the sting right now." Korim nods. Teeth clenched.

"Channel through the Rising Sun Veins first." Jacob taps the inside of Korim's forearm, tracing a line from the wrist to the inner elbow.

"Let it temper before it reaches the Anvil. Then discharge through the Flowing Earth Vein, down through the palm. Not back through the joint." Jacob steps back.

"Again." Korim adjusts and breathes out before throwing the punch. Suddenly, unlike the tame punch from before, the air whistles wildly. The first punch is incredible, almost as you could expect from an elite Silver-Rank student. But the second one snaps so loudly that a few people in the crowd flinch. And most importantly, it did not hurt. Nobody speaks. Lancelot, leaning against the far wall, tilts his head.

"That's impressive, actually," he says.

"Most Tutors ruin their students behind closed doors. Doing it in the middle of the Guild hall takes real commitment." Nobody laughs. Master Davren stands very still. His three companions have not spoken in a while. The hall has turned without anyone raising a voice or throwing a punch. It just turned. Jacob turns toward the door.

"Korim. Stop practicing Iron Branch until the damage is corrected. If you keep going with the current form, nothing I said today matters." He takes three steps.

"WAIT." Jacob stops. He turns. Korim is on his knees. Forehead on the marble floor. Both palms flat on the stone.

"Please," Korim says.

"Please accept me as your student." Jacob looks down at Korim. Then he lifts his eyes to the clerk behind the counter.

"Is one formally pledged student sufficient for Tutor token release?" The clerk blinks and looks at Jacob, then down at Korim on the floor, and finally at his ledger.

"He can't do that." Master Davren steps forward. His voice is loud but the warmth is gone from it.

"He has no Guild standing. Korim is under my instruction. This is poaching. He can't just walk in here and..."

"I asked the clerk," Jacob says. The clerk is sweating with the whole hall watching as he reads the rule book twice over.

"One pledged student is sufficient for same-day token release. Students can undo the contract with their Tutor at any moment unless penalties were added," the clerk says. Jacob looks at Korim, who says, "there's no penalty, sir."

"It's your choice, then." Master Davren turns on the boy.

"Korim. Stand up. Apologize. You are embarrassing yourself and you are embarrassing me. You're panicking now and you are going to regret this." Korim does not move.

"I told you about the pain, Master Davren." His voice shakes.

"That is not what I..."

"The blood started two weeks ago. I showed you. You told me it was nothing. You said it would pass."

"Korim, that is enough." Korim lifts his head. His eyes are wet.

"I would rather be shameless for one day than broken for the rest of my life." Master Davren reaches for Korim's arm. He doesn't get there. Jacob is between them before anyone sees him move, one hand already on Master Davren's shoulder with his fingers closing hard. Master Davren's legs almost buckle. The grip feels like someone bolted a steel beam to his collarbone. Master Davren tries to pull away and nothing moves, and the panic that shoots through him tells him that Mr. Cabbage is higher Rank than him. How?!

Master Davren panics. How's this buffoon so strong?!

"Your student would have died pissing blood," Jacob says quietly, close enough that only Master Davren hears.

"Step back." He lets go. Master Davren steps back. He does not reach for Korim again.

Korim signs the pledge on the clerk's counter with a shaking hand, and the quill leaves a blot at the end of his name, but he signs it anyway. The clerk stamps the form and pulls a small wooden token from the drawer, setting it on the counter. Tutor Ocabj. Certified. Ashenmere District. Jacob picks it up, turns it over, and puts it in his pocket.

"Thank you," he says to the clerk. He turns to Korim.

"Let's go." Korim stands on stiff legs and follows him to the door. Lancelot pushes off the wall and falls in behind them. He has a piece of bread in his hand that was not there a minute ago.

"Boss."

"What."

"Nice and quiet."

"Shut up."

"Very discreet. Very low-profile. Just like the plan."

"I know, Lance."

"I'm just saying, if we wanted the entire city to know about Mr. Cabbage, we couldn't have done a better..."

"If you finish that sentence, I am going to take that bread and shove it so far down your throat that you'll be tasting crumbs for a week."

"Understood," Lancelot says, and takes a very large bite. They step into the morning street with Jacob pulling his hood up and walking fast. Korim jogs to keep up while Lancelot keeps pace without effort, chewing. Jacob reaches into his pocket and turns the token over between his fingers. So much for the quiet cover.

By noon, the story has changed three times. At the training circles near the eastern gate, a swordsman tells his sparring partner that Mr. Cabbage fixed Korim's arm with a single touch and the boy wept on the floor for ten minutes. In the market, a fishwife tells her neighbor that a wandering Tutor stole Master Davren's apprentice in front of the entire Guild and Master Davren did nothing because Mr. Cabbage broke his shoulder with one hand.

At the Sleeping Goose, the innkeeper tells two drunks that his lodger, the one above the kitchen, is apparently some kind of hidden master who has been living there this whole time and only now decided to reveal himself. None of the versions are accurate. All of them are more interesting than what happened. But the most important thing is that they spread fast.

Doran finds Maelin at the training yard that afternoon.

"You heard?" Maelin nods. He is not grinning.

"Thalric wasn't swindled, then," Doran says.

"Maybe not."