He learned which merchants were hoarding grain, which guards were drinking on duty, and which dock captains seemed suddenly anxious.

Nothing explosive or dramatic, but Pax grasped something fundamental: power rarely announces itself; it builds quietly like water pooling behind a dam.

One evening, standing alone in the courtyard after the fires had died down, Pax looked at the chalk mark he had drawn days before. Rain had blurred its edges slightly, but it remained visible.

The weight of responsibility settled more firmly on his shoulders

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Pax quickly realized that hunger was the simplest problem to solve.

Feed a person, and they would listen. Feed them consistently, and they would stay. But transforming mere survival into competence? That was a different challenge altogether.

Each morning, the twenty he had selected gathered in the courtyard after their soup, sitting on overturned crates, broken stools, or simply on the stone floor.

They were people whom the city had long dismissed as useless: beggars with missing teeth, porters with damaged backs, women whose beauty had faded too soon, men whose hands trembled from old injuries or too many cold nights. To Greyvale, they were background noise; to Pax, they were raw material.

He didn't start with grand speeches.

On the first day of training, Pax spoke just one sentence.

"Watch."

He led them outside the courtyard and down a narrow street where a fishmonger was loudly arguing with a customer over spoiled stock. Standing at the corner with his arms folded and eyes calm, he repeated his command.

"Watch."

They stood there for nearly an hour.

People came and went. Voices rose and fell. A city guard passed by twice. A cart wheel broke but was quickly repaired amid curses. Someone laughed too loudly while another cried softly near a doorway.

When Pax finally turned back to them, he posed no dramatic questions.

"How many guards passed?" he asked.

The answers came unevenly.

"Two."

"Three."

"Only one."

Pax nodded thoughtfully, his expression unreadable.

"What color was the fishmonger's apron?"

Silence filled the air.

"What was the woman arguing with him carrying?" Pax pressed further.

Mira frowned. "A basket?"

"What kind?" he probed again.

Her mouth opened but then closed without an answer.

Pax didn't scold them; he didn't praise them either.

"Worthless," he said calmly but firmly. "All of you."

Several flinched at his words.

"Not because you're stupid," Pax continued. "But because you don't look when you think you're looking."

And so began their training.

Every day followed a similar pattern. Pax took them to various parts of the district, markets, docks, alleys, shrines,and made them stand still or walk through spaces without explanation. Afterward, he asked seemingly trivial questions that held deeper significance:

How many steps between two doorways?

Which hand did a merchant use to gesture when lying?

Who spoke first in a group argument?

In which direction did the afternoon wind carry smells?

At first, frustration brewed among them; some complained while others laughed nervously or considered quitting altogether.

Pax let them feel that frustration.

Those who remained learned something subtle: Pax never corrected immediately; instead, he allowed mistakes to linger heavily in their minds until they replayed moments in their thoughts and recognized gaps in their attention span.

"Observation," Pax told them one evening, "isn't just about staring. It's about noticing what your brain wants to ignore."

Then came the lesson on memory.

Pax would said a sentence to one person, who would then pass it along to another, and so on, until it reached the end of the chain. The first attempts were chaotic, names changed, numbers distorted, tones exaggerated.

Pax listened intently, without interruption.

Then he tried again. And again.

"Repeat exactly," he instructed. "Not better. Not clearer. Exactly."

One day, Lennie frowned and said, "But if it sounds wrong,..."

"Then it is wrong," Pax interrupted firmly. "Your opinion doesn't matter. Information doesn't care about your feelings."

That lesson proved tougher than hunger itself.

They learned to suppress their reactions,to nod without agreeing, to endure insults without flinching, and to listen to secrets with no glimmer of desire in their eyes.

During lessons, Pax would intentionally share half-truths and observe who reacted too eagerly or tried to guess the rest.

Those eager participants were corrected first.

Meanwhile, those who remained quiet with sharp eyes and closed mouths advanced more quickly.

One by one, Pax began to compartmentalize knowledge.

No one received full explanations anymore.

Old Rask was informed which docks mattered,but not why they mattered.

Mira learned which taverns overheard merchant gossip,but not what that gossip entailed.

Lennie mapped out guard shift changes, but never discovered how they could be used.

When someone requested more information, Pax simply smiled and replied, "You don't need it."

Initially, resentment bubbled up among them.

But soon came understanding: no one could betray what they didn't possess.

By the end of the second week, Pax decided it was time for a test.

He chose a harmless rumor,small and precise enough to be forgettable: The fishmonger on South Street plans to close early tomorrow.

He shared this tidbit with Old Rask,nothing more.

Old Rask passed it on to Lennie exactly as he had heard it. Lennie then relayed it to Mira. Mira whispered it at a dockside shrine. Pax remained silent throughout this process.

By late afternoon, as Pax walked through the district, he heard it circulating: not exaggerated or twisted but repeated word for word from lips that didn't know its origin.

Pax paused mid-step as a slow breath escaped his chest.

They had done it,the seemingly worthless had transformed into assets, not because of power but due to precision in communication.

That night, Pax returned alone to the courtyard and glanced at the faint chalk mark on the wall, it was still there: unnoticed and unchanged.

For the first time, a small yet dangerous thought crept into his mind: This will work.

Not loudly or quickly, but inevitably.

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A/N: Thanks for the support everyone. And sorry for the delay.

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