The copper coins bought food.The silver bought access.
Alex learned early that in Pentos, money didn't talk. It whispered. Loud voices got cut. Quiet ones got rich. Coins moved like information here — hand to hand, back to backroom.
By the third morning since his arrival, he no longer looked like a starving orphan. A pair of worn but clean boots. A patched vest. A cloak long enough to hide a dagger. He didn't wear the look of a boy anymore. He wore the look of someone useful.
He'd found shelter in the backroom of an old candle-maker's shop. The man was half-blind, paid little attention, and had no children. For a single silver stag a week, Alex rented a mattress and a lock on the door.
From there, he began working the city.
Not as a sellsword. Not as a thief. But as a listener.
He had eight traits now.
✔ Keen Smell (Level 0 – 1/10 Uses)
✔ Brutal Strength (Level 0 – 1/10 Uses)
✔ Swordplay Fundamentals (Level 0 – 1/10 Uses)
✔ Echo Memory (Level 0 – 1/10 Uses)
✔ Balanced Footing (Level 0 – 1/10 Uses)
✔ Quick Bind (Level 0 – 1/10 Uses)
✔ Pain Resistance (Level 0 – 0/10 Uses)
✔ Intimidating Presence (Level 0 – 0/10 Uses)
(Author's Note: "Uses" can be interpreted as activations, attempts, executions, or instances — any time the trait is applied.)
He cycled the first six daily — forcing use where he could. Memorizing overheard arguments. Sparring with wooden sticks behind the inn. Sprinting up and down wet alleys to improve balance. Copy. Use. Progress.
His goal wasn't just survival.It was positioning.Power was always earned before it was taken.
Pentos was divided into invisible layers.The Magisters sat at the top — eleven merchant princes who ran the city through gold, blood, and favors.Below them were the trade families — wealthy in land and ships, but lacking titles.Then came the freemen — artisans, sailors, and guildsmen.Beneath them: the slaves.
And scattered between all levels were the knives — mercenaries, thugs, spies, smugglers. The silent machine that made Pentos work behind closed doors.
It was among the knives that Alex planted his roots.
His first move was in a wine house. Not a noble one. A dark, cracked place where coin changed hands for secrets instead of drinks. He listened to every whispered deal. Every bribe. Every hissed warning of guards bought or rivals watched.
The man he watched most was called Tregar Vohn, a lean, cruel-eyed fixer who handled debts and information for one of the Magisters. He ran errands during the day and sold names at night.
Alex watched him work for four days. Then made his move.
He timed it carefully — after dusk, when the place was half-empty, when Tregar was finishing his second cup of Myrish red. Alex sat across from him without being invited.
Tregar looked up, unimpressed."Street rats die young in this district."
Alex smiled. "Only the loud ones."
A pause. Calculating eyes.
Alex reached into his cloak and pulled out a slip of parchment — a list of names and times. Three cargo crates moved through the dock under different flags. The smugglers had bribed guards to look the other way.
Tregar read it. Then looked at Alex like he was a different person."You want coin?"
"No," Alex said. "I want a name. A low-level job. Someone who needs things done quietly."
Tregar studied him again. "You new?"
"New enough."
A long moment passed. Then Tregar tucked the parchment into his coat and leaned back."Come here tomorrow. Dawn. Bring no weapons."
Alex nodded once. Then left.No pleading. No gratitude. Just business.That was the language men like Tregar understood.
The job came quick.
A tavern cook owed coin to one of the lesser trade lords. Kept missing payments. Claimed his son was sick. The money wasn't important. But the disobedience was.
Alex's task was simple: deliver a message.
Not words.
Pain.
He waited until the man closed shop, followed him down a side street, and blocked the path with a quiet step. The man turned, confused, drunk. He didn't even see the punch.
Alex didn't break bones. He didn't stab. He just hit the man in the gut, three times fast, then once in the leg. Then whispered:"Pay next time. Or it's your son."
He walked away before the man could speak.
Brutal Strength – Use Registered (2/10)
Intimidating Presence – Use Registered (1/10)
Tregar paid him in silence the next morning. A single silver, and a nod. That was all. But in Pentos, nods from the right people were worth more than coin.
Word spread fast.
Within a week, he had four new jobs:
Watch a wine shipment from Norvos for tampering.
Deliver a pouch of black powder to a guild master's apprentice.
Shadow a council scribe for three nights.
Intimidate a drunken guard into silence.
Each job taught him more about the city's hidden flow. Who bought protection. Who feared exposure. Who ruled the taverns and brothels in truth.
He copied more traits.
New Traits Gained:
Observant Eye (Level 0) – From the guild scribe.
Steady Nerves (Level 0) – From a poison seller.
Tavern Tongue (Level 0) – From a bard, granting passive persuasion bonus in social settings.
He was building himself like a weapon.One feature at a time.No wasted traits. No noise.
The first real turning point came on his ninth job.
Tregar sent him to retrieve a stolen letter from a merchant's safehouse. Quiet. Clean. No attention.
Alex went alone.
He scouted the safehouse from an alley. No guards. One servant visible through the window. Candlelight flickering. He waited until midnight, scaled the back wall with Balanced Footing, and slipped through an open window.
Inside, he used Keen Smell to trace the scent of ink and wax. The letter was hidden in a hollow behind the fireplace stones. He pulled it free — old parchment, red seal — and turned to leave.
That's when he heard the floorboard creak.
A man stood in the hallway. Thin. Scarred. Fast.A sellsword guarding the place, armed with a dagger.
"Too clever for your own good, boy."
Alex didn't respond. He dropped the letter into his coat and let the system fill him.Brutal Strength. Balanced Footing. Pain Resistance. All activated.
They fought in silence.
It was ugly. Fast. Sharp.
Alex took a cut across the ribs. But he landed a punch that cracked bone. He dodged the second swipe, wrapped a rope around the man's throat with Quick Bind, and choked him out cold. Not dead. Just unconscious.
He escaped through the roof.
Brutal Strength (3/10)
Quick Bind (2/10)
Balanced Footing (3/10)
Pain Resistance (1/10)
Echo Memory (2/10) – remembered every move the man made.
He delivered the letter to Tregar personally.
The older man looked at the cut on Alex's side, then at the bloodied rope still hanging from his belt.
"You fought."
Alex didn't deny it. "Didn't kill him."
Tregar tossed him two silvers this time.Then paused.
"You're not just a runner."
"No."
"You've got sense."
"I plan to live long."
Another nod. This one slower. He waved a hand."Come back tomorrow. I have something better."
By the time Alex left, the alley was misted in rain. The city lights danced on the puddles.
Pentos had opened its gates to him.
And inside, behind the whispers and blood, were opportunities far greater than gold.
This wasn't just a city.It was a network of weaknesses.
All he had to do…was keep finding the cracks.