The invitation came folded in blue linen. No signature. Just a symbol.
A coiled serpent. Red ink. Wax-sealed.
Alex recognized it from Tregar's office. It belonged to Magister Silco, the richest of Pentos's eleven merchant princes. Silk, spice, and shipbuilding — the man owned fleets that never touched dock for more than a week.
He also kept killers in fine clothes.
Getting invited by Silco wasn't a reward. It was a test.
Alex cleaned himself. Wore a tunic he'd bartered for, dark grey with silver trim. Neat. Not noble. Respectable.
The dogs stayed behind.
The Silco estate sat on a terraced cliff above the trade harbor, wrapped in walls of pale stone and guarded by a dozen men in black and red. Their armor was clean. Their eyes were not.
One of them stepped forward, tall and scar-faced, with a bastard sword across his back. He raised a hand to stop Alex at the gate.
"No weapons?"
Alex opened his cloak. Empty. Just a belt pouch and his hands.
The man nodded, then stared hard at him. "Name?"
"Alex Murray."
The scarred guard frowned faintly, as if trying to place it. Then nodded and waved him through.
Alex walked past him — brushing against his shoulder ever so slightly.
Contact. System chimed.
Passive Analysis – Target Detected
Name: Harros Vale – Chief of House Guard
Copyable Traits:
Battle Reflex (Level 0) – Boosts reaction time and awareness in combat.
Tactical Memory (Level 0) – Enhances retention and recall of strategic layouts, formation shifts, and movement patterns.
Alex kept walking, calm on the outside.
Tactical Memory.
That was the kind of trait people underestimated — until they started losing to someone who never forgot their moves.
He filed the choice away. He still had 2 copies left for the day.
Inside, the Silco estate was clean but cold. Marble floors. Scented candles burning too strong. Gold-framed maps lined the halls, each showing shipping lanes, trade winds, and captured pirate routes.
Alex was led into a domed courtyard with a mosaic floor of pale green glass. Silco waited there, seated on a stone bench under a lemon tree.
He wore a thin, layered robe. White and rust red. Gold chains sat heavy across his chest. His fingers were ink-stained. A man of trade. Of books. Of secrets.
"Sit," he said without looking. "You're younger than I expected."
Alex sat. Silent.
"I hear things," Silco continued. "That a boy works for Tregar now. That he walks with dogs like shadows. That he delivers messages faster than ravens."
Alex said nothing.
Silco finally looked up.
His gaze was... measured. Not hostile. Not warm. Analytical.
"I believe in efficient tools. You've shown yourself useful. I'd like to see if you can be more."
Alex didn't nod. Just waited.
Silco gestured toward the far end of the courtyard, where four guards stood around a table.
"You'll join my head of house guard for a trial. He's training new recruits this week. I want you there. Don't stand out. Don't fail."
"Understood."
"And Alex—"Silco's eyes narrowed."Don't steal from my men. I'll know."
Alex gave a short smile. "I don't steal. I collect."
The training yard behind the estate was sand-covered, with target dummies and sparring circles. Half a dozen recruits were there already, sweating in boiled leather, listening to orders from the same scar-faced guard Alex passed earlier — Harros Vale.
He barked commands like a warhound.
"Strike low. Reset. Again. Not wide. Not wild. Again."
Alex watched from the edge at first. Then stepped into line without being told.
Harros didn't acknowledge him. But he didn't stop him either.
Over the next two hours, Alex mimicked everything. Sword stances. Movement drills. Dagger rolls.
He activated two traits quietly:
Swordplay Fundamentals
Balanced Footing
Use Registered: ✔ Swordplay Fundamentals (2/10) ✔ Balanced Footing (4/10)
He wasn't flashy. He was clean. Precise. Fast enough to hold his own. Sharp enough to not waste motion.
After an hour, Harros finally nodded to him. "Good footwork. Better than half these gutterboys."
Alex gave a respectful tilt of his head. "I watch first. Act second."
Harros grunted. "Good rule. Might keep you alive a while."
It was enough.
When Harros turned to yell at another trainee, Alex stepped close to hand him a fallen glove.
Contact.
Copy Initiated – Tactical Memory (Level 0)
Daily Copies Remaining: 1 / 3
It slid into his brain like a metal rod into soft earth.
Suddenly, the layout of the courtyard fixed itself. Every guard's stance. Every corner blind spot. The weight distribution of the recruits' footwork. The breath pattern of the injured one. The scent of sweat layered over oil and steel.
Retention. Real-time. Permanent.
This trait wasn't for the battlefield.
It was for the war room.
Alex spent the rest of the day in drills. Learning how Harros gave orders. How the guards responded. Where they obeyed blindly, where they hesitated. He wasn't just training anymore — he was absorbing the system behind Silco's estate defense.
That night, back in his candle-lit room, he opened the Archive menu.
New Trait Registered – Tactical Memory (Level 0)
Retains tactical layouts of any seen battle, movement pattern, training set, or siege plan.
Passive mental recall.
Memory expands with level.
Allows reconstruction of events for predictive counter-planning.
He smiled. Not because of the power — but because of what it meant.
Silco had let him through the door.
Now Alex knew how many guards protected his vault. Which ones hesitated when surprised. Where the reinforcement horns were hung.
Even if he never acted on it, that knowledge was power.
Stored. Quiet. Growing.
The next day, Silco summoned him again.
"You handled yourself well," he said simply. "Harros doesn't praise recruits. He did not insult you. That's more than most get."
Alex waited.
"I'll be sending cargo to Lys soon. The manifest includes one item I don't want listed publicly. You'll travel with it. Guard the crate. Watch the crew. Report anything strange."
"Understood."
"You leave tomorrow."
Alex gave a small bow. "Will I be carrying a sword?"
Silco smiled faintly. "No. Just questions. And ears."
Outside, the dogs waited. Still loyal. Still watching.
Alex looked down the harbor road and saw not the ships — but the systems inside them. The factions. The moving pieces. The whispered deals.
Now he had a trait that helped him track it all.
He wasn't just learning how to fight anymore.
He was learning how to command.