Chapter 16 – Roots in the Market
---
The morning was gray, overcast, as if refusing to offer clear light.
Adam stood on the wooden balcony overlooking the port, watching the ships sway atop deceptively calm waters.
Below, in the market, life began to stir cautiously—like a beast blinking open its eyes to watch its predator.
Beside him stood Gyro, holding worn-out papers.
His face was composed, but his eyes couldn't hide the tension.
"Sir, the reports."
Adam took them in silence.
Opened them slowly.
His eyes scanned the numbers and names with cold detachment:
> "Food trucks arrived at dawn. New merchants hovering around the port. The governor summoned reinforcements from the capital."
He closed the papers with his thumb and exhaled heavily.
He looked toward the horizon as if seeing beyond the fog.
> "Good. They've started taking us seriously."
He placed a hand on Gyro's shoulder:
> "Tell them: Today, we smile. No stupid threats. No brawls in the market. Let them see us laugh and sell. That scares them more."
Gyro nodded in agreement.
---
Adam descended into the square.
His men, women, and children were lined up for training.
But he didn't just want soldiers.
He raised his hand and signaled them to stop.
He walked among them slowly.
They watched him the way soldiers watch their commander before a charge.
> "Today, you won't learn how to kill—but how to win without fighting. How to strangle your enemy until he kneels with his own hands."
A faint murmur rippled through the group.
Adam motioned for silence.
> "Patience is our weapon. No blood in the market. No incidents that draw attention. We're a hidden disease—not a loud bullet. We want rumors to spread: These aren't thugs—these are the new law."
---
He sat with them on the dirt.
Drew lines and circles with a stick:
> "These alleys—they smuggle gold through here. Here's the port. Here are their warehouses. And here… our eyes."
He lifted his head, his eyes glowing with steel:
> "How do we take control?"
A burly man muttered:
> "We choke them?"
Another whispered:
> "Burn them?"
Adam smirked coldly:
> "Fire burns its wielder before the enemy. We don't want ashes to rule—we want a living city that fears us and serves us."
---
He stood and pointed clearly:
> "We've divided into units."
His tone became practical:
> "You are the eyes. Every whisper in the market reaches me."
"You are the tongues. Tell the people—we protect them from theft, from murder, from chaos. We are the order they choose."
"You are the claws. I don't want bloodthirsty killers. Anyone who kills without permission—we kill them ourselves."
Gyro jotted everything down, his hand trembling slightly.
Adam noticed, but said nothing.
---
At night, he called the group leaders into a cramped room.
Lit a single candle in the center.
Shadows danced on their faces.
Adam pointed at the shadows:
> "This is the city. Half light, half shadow. Use the shadow—let the light confuse them. But listen: anyone who stabs us from the dark… we bury him in it forever."
---
He stepped out of the room.
Found Gyro near a quiet fire.
Sat beside him.
Poked a coal with a wooden stick.
Gyro spoke softly:
> "Sir… why don't we just kill them all? End it."
Adam turned the ember calmly.
> "Because the fire that devours everything quickly dies quickly. We don't want to rule ashes—we want land, people, and a system that acknowledges us… even if we die for it."
He raised his eyes to the gray sky:
> "We're building a state, Gyro. Not a massacre."
---
Days passed.
His people became familiar faces in the market.
They sold firewood for cheap.
Repaired boats for free.
Lent the poor money without interest.
And at night, their units trained in silence—in shooting in the dark, in silent takedowns.
---
Then came the night they had waited for.
A man from the governor's inner circle arrived in secret.
His face pale, glancing over his shoulder every second.
He almost fell to his knees:
> "Sir… the governor wants a deal. He's willing to pay."
Adam's lip curled into a smile devoid of warmth:
> "How much?"
> "Ten thousand gold coins."
Adam shook his head slowly:
> "Tell him I don't sell my men. Tell him I don't want his gold—I want his seat. And if he doesn't give it to me, we'll rip out his roots."
---
When the man ran off in panic, Adam placed a hand on Gyro's shoulder:
> "Tomorrow the real negotiations begin. You'll go to him. You'll lie. Tempt. Threaten. Paint him a hell he can't escape—but sign nothing."
Gyro swallowed hard:
> "Sir… I'm afraid."
Adam gripped his shoulder tighter:
> "Good. Fear means you'll think. The brave fool dies fast. The wise coward builds empires."
---
Late at night, Adam sat by the fire.
His men around him, faces weary, eyes sharp as blades.
His voice came out rough, but steady:
> "We don't steal just to fill our bellies. We're stealing legitimacy from their mouths. We break the fear in our hearts—and plant it in theirs. We are not a gang. Not a mercenary army. We are an idea: that the poor are not slaves. That pirates pay their dues. That rulers rule only with our consent."
He raised h
is scarred hand:
> "This hand is stained with blood—but today it's held by faith, not fear. Tomorrow, we enter the hell of negotiations—and we'll make them say our name. We'll set this world ablaze until it echoes with us."
---
End of Chapter 16